* * *
When Paula and Lucy arrived home at 3.30, I was trying to manoeuvre Barbie into her sports car beside Ken. I heard the door close, followed by Lucy’s reaction as she saw the bags I hadn’t had time to move. ‘Christ. How many have we got staying?’
‘Only one,’ I answered.
To prove it, Jodie jumped up and dashed down the hall. ‘Who are you?’ she demanded, hands on hips, assuming the grumpy housewife pose again.
The girls said nothing, but I knew what they were thinking. With her odd features and aggressive posture, she wasn’t exactly the little foster sister they’d been hoping for.
‘This is Jodie,’ I said positively. ‘She arrived at lunchtime. Jodie, this is Lucy and Paula.’
She stuck out her chin, in a take-me-on-if-you-dare attitude.
‘Hello,’ said Lucy, with effort.
‘Hi,’ Paula added weakly.
Jodie was blocking their path, so I gently placed a hand on her shoulder to ease her out of the way. She pulled against me. ‘Get out!’ she suddenly exploded at the girls. ‘This is my home. You go!’
I was shocked. How could she believe this when I’d told her about the girls and shown her their rooms? They laughed, which was understandable, but not advisable. Before I could stop her, Jodie rushed at Paula, kicking her hard on the shin. She jumped back and yelped.
‘Jodie! Whatever are you doing?’ I shouted, as I turned her round to face me. ‘That’s naughty. You mustn’t kick. This is their home as much as it is yours. We all live together. Do you understand?’
She grinned.
‘Are you OK?’ I asked Paula. She’d experienced aggression from foster siblings before – we all had – but never so immediate and pronounced.
She nodded, and I eased Jodie back as the girls went up the stairs. They always spent time unwinding in their rooms when they got home from school, while I prepared dinner. I took Jodie through to the kitchen, and reinforced again how we all lived as one family. I asked her if she’d like to help, but she folded her arms and leant against the worktop, muttering comments, most of which were impossible to follow. ‘They’re not mine,’ she grumbled.
‘The potatoes?’ I responded. ‘No, I’m peeling them for dinner for us all.’
‘Who?’
‘Who are these for? For all of us.’
‘In the car?’
‘No. You came here in the car. We’re in the kitchen now.’
‘Where?’ she asked, lifting the lid on the pan I’d just set to boil.
‘Be careful, Jodie,’ I said. ‘That’s very hot.’
‘I was walking,’ she said, and so it went on, with Jodie mumbling disjointed phrases, as though she had a basket of words and pulled them out at random.
She helped lay the table, and I showed her which would be her place. We always sat in the same places, as the children preferred it, and it made life easier.
‘Paula! Lucy! Dinner,’ I called. Adrian was playing rugby that evening, so his dinner was waiting for him in the oven. The girls came down and we all took our places. Once she was seated Jodie suddenly became angry that she couldn’t sit in Lucy’s place.
‘Lucy always sits there, Jodie,’ I explained. ‘It’s her place. And that’s your place.’
She glared at Lucy, then viciously elbowed her in the ribs.
‘Jodie, no! That hurts. Don’t do it. Good girl.’ I knew I should ask her to apologize, but it was our first meal together so I let it slide. She was still staring at Lucy, who shifted uncomfortably away. ‘Come on, Jodie, eat your meal,’ I encouraged. ‘You told me you like roast chicken.’
The front door opened and Adrian came in, still muddy from playing rugby. He was over six feet tall, and stooped as he entered the kitchen. I hoped Jodie wouldn’t find him intimidating, but reassured myself that he had a gentle manner, and children usually warmed to him.
‘Adrian, this is Jodie,’ I said.
‘Hi Jodie,’ he smiled, taking his plate from the oven and sitting opposite her. She transferred her glare from Lucy to him, and then wriggled down in her chair, and started kicking him under the table.
‘Jodie. Stop that,’ I said firmly. ‘No kicking or elbowing. It’s not nice.’
She scowled at me, then finally picked up her knife and fork and started eating. I watched her out of the corner of my eye. She could barely grip the knife and fork, and her movements were so uncoordinated that her mouth had to be inches from the plate to have any chance of getting the food in.
‘Would you like a spoon?’ I asked after a while. ‘If I cut it up first, it might be easier.’
‘My gloves,’ she said. ‘It’s hot.’ Then, for no apparent reason, she jumped up, ran round the table three times, then plonked herself down, and started eating with her fingers. I motioned to the rest of the family to say nothing, and the meal passed in an unnatural, tense silence.
I was relieved when dinner was over, and I suggested to Jodie that she might like to help me load the dishwasher. As she came into the kitchen, she spotted Toscha sitting contentedly by the boiler.
‘Why’s it looking at me?’ she demanded, as though the cat had some malicious intent.
‘She’s not looking at you, sweet. Cats often sit and stare into space. She’s found the warmest spot.’
Jodie lurched towards the cat with large, aggressive strides, and I sensed another kick was about to be delivered. I quickly intercepted her. ‘Come on, Toscha’s old, we’ll leave her there to sleep.’
I decided the dishwasher could wait until Jodie was in bed, and took her into the lounge. I tried to amuse her with more games and puzzles, while Adrian, Lucy and Paula did their homework upstairs. By seven, I was exhausted. She needed one-to-one attention to keep her involved in anything, and the meaningless chatter that never stopped was starting to get on my nerves.
‘Let’s go up and finish your unpacking before bedtime,’ I suggested.
She stood up. ‘I want the park.’
‘Not today, it’s too late. But we’ll go tomorrow if it’s nice.’
She turned her back and started talking to David, another imaginary friend. I caught the odd words – ‘you see … in there! …’ – but nothing that related to the park or the games we’d played, and I consoled myself that her imaginary world would fade in time as she started to feel safe with us. It took a mixture of coercion and repetition to persuade her upstairs, where we unpacked another bag, then changed and washed her ready for a story at eight. She found a book she’d brought with her: The Three Little Pigs. I read it to her twice, then coaxed her into bed and said goodnight.
