goodness in them. Easy to mock – and, of course, tragically, there are unhealthy variants of this scenario – but whatever else was true, I trusted my instinct in this. Our young Polish visitor was being fleshed out as a person before our eyes, and I was increasingly confounded by what I was seeing; this lovely young girl, seemingly all alone in the world, and interacting with Marley Mae with such natural affection. It made me feel sad to think that she must be craving attention of her own and had no one familiar around to give it to her. Or perhaps I was wrong – perhaps attention was exactly what Adrianna didn’t need. Perhaps she was escaping something very bad and being with us was a means of avoiding whatever that something was.
‘But you know what?’ I said to John Fulshaw, when I called him first thing Monday morning. ‘I don’t think there’s much point in the interpreter coming back just yet. Unless there’s some protocol that requires you to get chapter and verse as a matter of urgency, I think we’re better off letting her settle in a little more first.’
This wasn’t just because my instinct was to first build on the success of our initial weekend together, and give Adrianna a chance to regain some equilibrium. It was also because she already had a keen interpreter in Tyler. And a much more amiable and pleasant one than had been provided by the council, for sure. Yes, this did mean she had learned his version of a number of words usually defined slightly differently, such as ‘bad’ and ‘wicked’, not to mention a couple of non-words, such as ‘reem’. But that was fine – as a teenager, she’d need to familiarise herself with ‘yoof’ speak, even if it did mean she pronounced her Sunday-night toasted sandwich ‘standard’, requiring our in-house interpreter to intervene.
‘I was thinking much the same,’ John said. ‘I’m not sure Adrianna and Mr Kanski really hit it off, did they?’
‘I’m not surprised,’ I said. ‘He wasn’t the most likeable of men, was he? I got a strong sense that he was doing us some massive favour just by turning up. I don’t know … I just didn’t warm to him. Or his comment as he left, come to that. Of course she isn’t telling us the truth! She’s terrified of something, clearly, and grumpy old sods like him won’t help tease her story out, will they?’
John laughed. ‘Really? I’d never have guessed,’ he said drolly. ‘But that’s fine. And actually, Casey, I’m inclined to agree with you about him. Oh, and I’m also going to hold off getting her a social worker for the moment, if it’s all the same to you. It seems pointless to allocate her someone who can’t understand a word she’s saying, and I’ve a hunch I can put some feelers out and see if I can “buy” someone in from another area. Someone who speaks Polish, of course. In the meantime, can you manage? It doesn’t sound like she’s proving too challenging, and you never know – by this time next week, we might be moving her along anyway, mightn’t we?’
I told him that was fine. ‘Though, John, as I said, we’re really in no rush. I think she will open up once she feels more settled.’
‘You’re a star,’ he said. ‘You all are. And – hey – learning a new language! Don’t they reckon that’s one of the best ways to stave off dementia? Anyway,’ he added, ‘while she’s with you the service have also offered to do any translating you might need electronically. So if Adrianna is really struggling to get something across – or you are, for that matter – then they’re happy for either of you to drop them an email and they’ll translate it for you. It would be an improvement on what you’ll manage online, for sure.’
That seemed a great idea – and definitely something I would try to encourage Adrianna to think about. But, in the meantime, I was more concerned that she get her health and strength back, and continue to make strides in terms of her learning to trust us, and to begin living a more normal life.
To which end, I decided, once I’d finished the call to John, that I’d take her out somewhere. She’d been stuck in the house for the best part of a week now, after all, and, with Tyler back in school, and just the two of us rattling around, I thought I’d take her out on a bit of a girly jolly, to buy some clothes for her, which were very badly needed, then perhaps pop in to Truly Scrumptious for some lunch. I knew Donna would be happy to see us and perhaps Chloe might be there too. And I was sure they’d hit it off.
And it seemed my idea would be a good one, because when Adrianna came down for her breakfast, her first utterance was ‘Quiet, yes?’ and her second a question: ‘I go school, maybe? With Tyler? Sometime?’
It took me aback. After so long on the move – well, at least allegedly – I’d have imagined education might be the last thing currently on her mind. But, no, it seemed not. Quite the contrary.
‘I’m not sure when, yet,’ I said, as I prepared her a bowl of porridge. ‘We need to wait till social services decide what’s going to be best for you. Where you should stay. If you’re determined that you’re not going back home to Poland, that is.’
She shook her head, at least apparently understanding that last bit. ‘No home,’ she said. ‘No Polska. I stay here in UK now.’
I nodded. ‘Okay. And I am sure we’ll find out soon. You must have missed so much school. Lots to catch up!’
I was all too aware how much I was modifying my language. How I was speaking so slowly, in clipped, simple sentences, enunciating so clearly, like something out of a comedy sketch about Brits abroad. But it seemed logical, because it at least gave her a chance to pick words out. Get the gist of it. Which I thought she probably did. She certainly seemed deep in thought as she sat and ate her breakfast.
How I’d have loved to have a real conversation with her. To know her concerns, what had happened to her, how I could help. How we could help. And not just us as a family. How we could help as a society. Or even if we could help – or should. I was so painfully ignorant of such political matters.
But I wasn’t ignorant generally. I had never been that. This was a vulnerable child in need of support, and, as far as I was concerned, she could have come down from the moon. It made absolutely no difference to our duty of care to her.
Though I wasn’t naïve, either. I knew not everyone would feel as I did. I didn’t, however, expect to have that spelled out to me quite so starkly and so soon.
Adrianna proved easy to buy clothes for. Well, once we’d got past the business that I was determined to do just that – no arguments – and, via another series of comic hand gestures before we set off, making the point that she could not spend the foreseeable future with just one very elderly set of clothes.
We were soon, therefore, sorted. And Adrianna was kitted out with a small but decent wardrobe. Two distressed-looking T-shirts, bearing slogans – I had a suspicion she was a bit of a rock chick – plus a couple of hoodies and a nice pair of black skinny jeans. The very height of fashion, Riley had assured me. And once our haul was complete, including a selection of lingerie, socks and tights, we set off for our visit to my sister’s café.
I’d hoped my niece Chloe might be working and was pleased to see she was. Though I doubted she had any more Polish than I did, there was a natural affinity between girls of similar ages, wherever they came from – one of the plus points of a global social media being that, culturally, they probably had more in common than they didn’t.
And sure enough, once the complicated introductions were done with – and it is definitely tricky trying to establish ‘sister’ and ‘niece’ via the medium of flapping hands – Adrianna was coaxed into shyly showing Chloe our various purchases, while I went down the back with Donna to get some drinks for us.
We were late, in terms
