having no other family, had left her with nowhere to go over Christmas.
We also took the decision to end the family gathering early. Again, the kids were used to such things, and, with Christmas still to come, the little ones weren’t bothered either. We just explained to Levi and Jackson that we were taking in a little girl over Christmas and, so she wouldn’t be too traumatised, we needed a slightly quieter household when she arrived. Which was probably true anyway. John had told us that she’d been inconsolable. There’d been much clinging and screaming and sobbing apparently. It would be a pretty intense job for the poor social worker.
Levi, who’d just turned nine, was excited. A sociable little chap and a typical eldest, he was always in his element when there was a new young friend to take charge of, and wouldn’t leave without a promise that he’d be meeting her soon, which I was only too happy to make for him. Once she’d settled, I told him, what she’d need would be the same as all kids need. Comfort and routine and to be enveloped in love. ‘I’ll give her lots of hugs, Nana,’ he solemnly promised me.
First of all, however, she’d need a bedroom. So, as soon as we’d waved everyone off (in my case, with a pang of regret, as I watched the cars disappear down the road, Mike and Tyler in one of them, taking Kieron, Lauren and a rudely awoken Dee Dee) I hotfooted it upstairs to the bedroom.
Which wasn’t so much bedroom as junk room just lately. Since little Paulie had left it had slowly reassigned itself, almost without me realising it was happening. Knowing we’d not be needing it for a good while, we’d both found it all too easy to say ‘I’ll just pop this here’ and ‘It can stay there for the moment,’ and to such an extent that there was very little floor space – particularly since Mike had one of his major garage clear-outs and earmarked a ridiculous amount of stuff to go on eBay. ‘Yeah, right, Dad,’ Tyler had said. I remembered that well now. ‘Yeah, right, bet you a tenner it’ll still be here this time next year.’ Though to his credit, he’d downloaded some ‘app’ (apps were still something of a mystery to me) and managed to sell a good deal more than a tenner’s worth, at a hard-won but decent commission.
Still, there was a fair bit that still needed shifting, not to mention the fact that our Christmas presents were all stored there, safely away from several pairs of prying eyes, till such time as I poured myself an eggnog, popped on a favourite Christmas movie and settled down to wrap them in peace.
John had laughed about that, the tension broken as he’d left, having correctly identified the look of sudden stress on my face. ‘Look at her, Mike,’ he said. ‘Full-on panic mode now. Thinking about how she won’t have time to go out buying new curtains and duvets.’
Mike had laughed too. ‘You know her too well, John. But under the circumstances, Casey,’ he’d placed a hand on my shoulder, ‘I don’t think you need to be worrying about that.’
It had set the tone again, that, after our brief moment of levity. He’d been right. What this poor kid needed was a safe place. A sanctuary. Not a frilly duvet and a pair of matching bloody curtains.
Still, she needed a clean space, and this definitely wasn’t that, so once I’d cleared the floor somewhat and piled the presents in our bedroom wardrobe, I ran back downstairs for a bin liner, disinfectant spray and cloth. And then, as an afterthought, ragged the small set of fairy lights from around the hall mirror. After all, they weren’t going to be needed to illuminate any poinsettia, by the looks of things. And, for all that little Darby wouldn’t need a new Frozen quilt cover, she would need a light in her current darkness, however small.
Chapter 3
Mike and Tyler were back within half an hour and, to at least stem the tide of typical Tyler-questions (which was totally reasonable, as he’d come to us as a traumatised child himself) we told him just a little – just enough to satisfy his curiosity. We told him Darby had been abused by her parents, that it was physical rather than just mental, but we left it at that. We were of one mind, Mike and I – and it had never been any different. No child should have to know about such things – that such things went on in apparently normal families. Not until they had to, at any rate. Of course, the hardest thing when Darby came to us would be to ensure that remained the case, but as Tyler, now off school for Christmas, had a packed programme of football and various teenage gatherings, I hoped we’d be able to achieve that much at least.
‘So what do you think?’ I asked Mike as we all trooped up to the bedroom, their presence required to relocate some of the junk from landing to loft.
‘It’s fine,’ Mike reassured me, while Tyler pulled down the loft ladder. Then, ‘Love, stop fretting about the décor. More important is how we’re going to play this. You know, I hate this. And it seems to be the way more often than not now. Going in blind. Nothing to go on … not knowing how to deal with her.’
I could see what we’d been told was still weighing heavily on him, and I got that. How could it not? He was a father. And, more specifically, of a daughter – not to mention two granddaughters. Though you’d have to be naïve not to be well aware that it could equally have been a little boy.
‘I think there’s a car pulling up,’ Tyler shouted down from the loft, being blessed with superhuman hearing.
And indeed there was. A swift glance out between the spare bedroom curtains confirmed it. The headlights snapped off and I could see the car door opening. ‘Well, here goes nothing,’ I said, as Mike followed me down the stairs, Tyler clattering down the ladder and close behind.
The social worker, whom I’d not come across before, was as grim-faced and stressed-looking as John had been. She introduced herself as Katy Morris, and gently touched the shoulder of the little girl by her side. ‘And this,’ she said, smiling down at the tiny child, ‘is Darby.’ She leaned down slightly. ‘Are you going to say hello, Darby?’ she said gently. ‘This is Casey, and that’s Mike. Remember, I told you all about them in the car?’
‘And this is our son Tyler,’ I added, conscious of how the little girl kept her head down, unwilling to look at us, but sufficiently interested to briefly look up at the sound of my voice. Her gaze flickered past us and I imagined Tyler beaming his mega-wattage smile. He could be a handful – he was a teenager – but I don’t think he’d ever forget what it felt like to be dumped on a stranger’s doorstep.
‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ Katy Morris said. ‘I literally had about ten minutes to read your file.’
She looked so apologetic that I felt like patting her reassuringly on the shoulder too. She must have been on call. What festive delights had she been dragged away from? She was also quite young. No more than late twenties, I reckoned. Though with a reassuring air of quiet confidence.
Even so, this would have been a grim day for her too. ‘No apologies necessary,’ I reassured her, liking her immediately. ‘Come on. Come on in. Follow me,’ I chirped, leading the small procession into the living room, where it still looked as if a small typhoon had recently passed through. ‘Grab a seat anywhere you like,’ I added, willing myself not to start straightening cushions. ‘How about a hot drink? It’s so cold out, isn’t it?’
She nodded. ‘Can I?’ she answered. ‘I’d love a quick one. It’s been manic, as you can imagine.’ She put her bag down on the floor and started unbuttoning Darby’s coat, talking to her all the time in soothing tones. It was an old coat and cheap-looking, and I belatedly realised it was the only thing she had with her. Had they not even had the chance to gather up some familiar clothes and toys? Evidently not.
Mike, ever practical, put the TV back on, flicking from DVD player to the channels as
