Nowhere Child Page 8

  As she drove home she was so busy thinking about what treats she could make for Tasha and Ollie’s tea that she didn’t notice until the last moment the strange car parked in her drive. It wasn’t Tom’s. His was further in, closer to the house.

  For a moment, Emma felt a rush of dread. Whoever it was, it seemed Tom had let them into the house. Were he and Tasha safe?

  She pulled up behind the car, blocking it in. Whoever it was, they weren’t getting out of there until she – Emma – said so.

  She jumped out of the car and lifted Ollie from his chair, trying to root one-handed through her bag for the front door keys.

  She unlocked the door and pushed it open with her hip, anxious to know what was going on and who was in her house. As she pushed the door closed, she heard voices coming from the kitchen – the deep rumble of Tom’s voice and the lighter, higher tone of a woman. She breathed again. A woman didn’t seem so threatening. Maybe it was one of Tom’s colleagues.

  Emma lowered Ollie to the ground so that he could trot along at his own pace – which was usually at a bit of a run. Ever since he had started to walk he had had a tendency to put his head down and charge, rather than walk at a normal speed, and this time he was heading straight for the kitchen door. He had pushed it open and was through before Emma could take her coat off.

  ‘Wow, Ollie, that was some entrance,’ she heard Tom say with a laugh. Definitely not an unwelcome visitor, then.

  With a smile, Emma followed Ollie through the door, and Tom and the woman both stood up. Emma glanced from one to the other, and then at Tasha. Apart from the fact that the girl looked clean, there was something else. She seemed nervous and uncertain – not the girl Emma had left, and much more like the child of eight months ago. Emma’s ready smile collapsed, and she gave Tasha a questioning look. Tasha looked down at her hands.

  What was going on?

  The woman was holding out her hand. ‘Mrs Joseph, I’m Elizabeth Webster from social services. Mr Douglas called me with the exciting news that Tasha is here, safe and sound. Congratulations. You must be thrilled.’

  Emma glanced at Tom, who had the grace to look slightly sheepish, and then she turned to face Elizabeth Webster. ‘I am absolutely delighted to have my family back together again, Mrs Webster. Tom told me you would have to be informed, but I didn’t really expect to see you so soon.’

  She glared at Tom again.

  ‘I said before you went out that we needed to inform social services, Emma, and that I would make the call. We want Tasha to give evidence in a court case, and at the moment nobody has parental responsibility for her. That could make the whole thing impossible, so we can’t afford to hang around. On top of that, we need to keep you all safe.’

  ‘I can take responsibility for her. I told you that, Tom. She’s my family – so if you need her for anything, you can ask me.’

  There was silence for a moment, and then Elizabeth Webster started to speak – slowly and calmly, in a voice that Emma guessed she must have been taught to use for tricky moments.

  ‘Mrs Joseph – Emma – we completely understand your desire to look after Natasha. It’s such good news for the girl, and in time I’m sure we can make that happen. But for now …’

  ‘What do you mean, in time? She’s here now.’

  ‘Come and sit down, Emma, and let me explain what’s got to happen.’ The social services woman smiled reassuringly.

  Emma just glared at her and stayed standing.

  ‘I am sure that if you apply for parental responsibility, eventually it will be granted. But we need to do a risk assessment first.’

  ‘What risk? A risk to me? A risk to Tasha? I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  ‘We’re not worried about a risk to you. It’s the children we’re concerned about, and in view of the events of earlier this year we do have to assess the situation very carefully to make sure that neither child is at risk.’

  ‘Mrs Webster, I have spent months trying to find Tasha, to bring her home. I love Tasha. We love Tasha. Do you think she’s at risk from me? I’m not going to harm her. Come every day, if you want to. Check she’s not got a mark on her, and that she’s happy. Ollie adores her. Look – do your risk assessment if you have to, but don’t scare her. She’s had a tough enough time as it is.’

  Emma saw a glance pass between the social worker and Tom.

  ‘The thing is, Emma, social services need to take Tasha to somewhere secure,’ Tom said. ‘They can assess her there and keep her safe at the same time. You can apply for parental responsibility and when the assessment is done, everything will be above board and she can come home. If you don’t follow the rules, you’re putting your chances of ever being granted parental responsibility in jeopardy, and then you would lose Tasha for good. And that’s not what you want, is it?’

  Emma felt herself boil over.

  ‘No it bloody isn’t, as you very well know. But for the record, you, Tom Douglas, or should I call you Judas, are worse than she is.’ Emma pointed at the social worker.

  Suddenly Tom seemed to change from the friend who was looking slightly embarrassed to the policeman he was, intent on doing the right thing. The conciliatory tone disappeared. He was now all business, his voice firm.

  ‘Call me what you like, Emma, but I’ve told you many times that this would have to happen. My concern is to ensure that all three of you are safe, and frankly pretending you can ignore everything that happened earlier this year is naive. Tasha, we know, has had a terrible time, and none of this is her fault. Everybody – not just you – wants what’s best for her. If you follow the rules for a short time, you will get your happy family, and I will do anything and everything I can to make that happen. But don’t obstruct Elizabeth. It’s not helping anybody.’

  Emma was quiet for a moment. Then her chin went up.

  ‘And I if I say that you’re not taking her – that Tasha’s staying here with me? What then?’ she said, forcing a tight smile.

  Elizabeth glanced at Tom and then looked Emma straight in the eye, a flash of compassion warning Emma that she wasn’t going to like what the social worker had to say.

  ‘Emma, I’m so sorry, but we cannot – whatever you say or think – leave Tasha in the same house as Ollie until we’ve done our assessment. You must understand why that is. We have a duty of care to both of these children, and if you insist that Tasha stays, then I’ll have no choice but to take Ollie to somewhere we know he’ll be safe.’

  *

  The room is silent. Nobody seems capable of speaking, and Emma has gone the colour of my bedroom walls.

  They want to take Ollie. If she keeps me, they will take Ollie! How can that be right?

  I think I need to do something, but I don’t know what, so I just sit and stare at everybody. I can feel my heart pounding. After everything Emma’s done and all the stuff with Andy, they’re going to take me away – because there’s no way that Ollie is going anywhere, and we all know that.

  Finally, Emma finds her voice, and it’s as if she is inside my head. She says exactly what I expect her to say.

  ‘You’re not taking Ollie.’ Her voice is dangerously quiet.

  ‘Fine. I understand that, Emma, but then we do have to take Natasha. As I said, we just have to be sure she’s no risk to your son.’

  ‘Oh, come on. Of course she’s not a risk to Ollie. Do you think I would have her in the house if I believed that she would ever do anything to hurt him? Do you seriously think I would risk Ollie’s life or well-being in any way if I thought there was a problem? Of course I wouldn’t.’

  The Elizabeth woman just stands, her sympathetic smile fixed in place, and waits. But Emma hasn’t finished.

  ‘Tasha has had a terrible life, and none of it has been her fault. She lived through more than six years of hell after she was abducted and has just lived another eight months on the streets. This isn’t the time to make her feel unloved and unwanted. She’ll just run away again, and all of this – e
verything I’ve tried to do – will have been for nothing.’ Emma’s voice breaks on the last bit of the sentence, and I feel myself tense. I know what’s coming.

  ‘She won’t run away from us, Emma.’ There is total confidence in the woman’s voice.

  Emma’s brows go down in the middle. She’s puzzled, but I’m not. It means I’ll be placed somewhere secure, where I can’t do any harm to anybody – in particular to Ollie.

  Tom at least seems to realise that I’m still in the room, and he turns to me, sitting down again so he’s at the same height as me and he can look me in the eye.

  ‘Tasha, neither Emma nor I believe you’re a threat to Ollie – but that doesn’t mean we can ignore the system. If you want to be part of this family there are things that have to be done properly, otherwise you could be taken away again in the future. That’s all we’re trying to do here. Make sure everything is sorted so that you can stay here forever. I promise, there’s no sinister plan. And we do need to keep you safe – not from anybody in this house, but you’re well aware of the threats from outside this room, aren’t you?’

  I know he’s right, but I want to stay here so much in my lovely room with my cute little brother. I want Emma to care for me and hug me again, every day. When she held me so tightly, it felt as if all my pain and unhappiness were escaping, seeping out through my skin.

  It doesn’t matter what I want, though.

  I put both hands on the table and push myself back.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Emma asks, her voice sharp.

  ‘Getting my coat.’ What did she expect me to do?

  ‘Sit down, Tasha. You’re not going anywhere. I’ve told you.’

  I see the Elizabeth woman bite the corner of her lip. She’s not pleased with Emma – that’s obvious.

  ‘Emma, we can go round and round in circles as often as you like, but if Natasha stays here, Ollie has to come with me. I’m sorry – I really don’t have a choice.’

  I start to get up again, but Emma flaps her hand at me.

  ‘You are asking me to choose between my children.’

  The woman gives her a funny look, which I think means what are you talking about – you’ve only got one child. Emma obviously gets the same message, and I can see the anger in her eyes.

  ‘As far as I’m concerned, these are both my children, and choosing one over the other isn’t acceptable.’

  ‘Come on now, Emma. You’re making this far more difficult than it needs to be. Ollie is your son.’

  ‘Of course he is. And from this point forwards, Tasha is my daughter. If I choose Ollie, what message is that giving Tasha? That she’s not as important as her brother?’

  ‘I understand how difficult it is for you. I’d like to think Tasha will understand why we have to do this and will appreciate that it’s only for a short time. That might be harder for a two-year-old to grasp, don’t you think?’

  Emma was fighting so hard for me, and although I knew what the outcome was going to be, it was kind of her at least to try.

  She starts to pace the room, not speaking, head down, hands on hips. She’s thinking, but I have no idea what her plan might be.

  Suddenly she stops and spins round, facing the Elizabeth woman.

  ‘What about if Tasha stayed with me, and Ollie went to stay with somebody that I choose – somebody responsible who you could totally trust?’

  The woman puts her head on one side. Her bottom lip sticks out as if she’s thinking, and her face looks like one of those pug dogs. I can hear Andy whispering in my ear, ‘Not a good look on her, is it.’ I push thoughts of Andy to the back of my mind for now, because the woman has sorted out her face and is talking, but she starting to sound impatient, as if she’s keen to get on – to take me away.

  ‘I don’t think that would work. There aren’t many people that we could have total confidence in. Let’s just get this over with, shall we?’

  Emma bends down and picks Ollie up. She holds him tightly to her and whispers against his sparse hair, kissing his little pink cheeks. All I can hear is ‘I love you, little man – and I’ll see you very soon.’

  With that, she walks over to Tom.

  ‘Your godson, I believe.’ Emma turns to pug-face. ‘Is a detective chief inspector, who happens to be on leave this week and who is also Ollie’s godfather, good enough for you, Elizabeth?’

  I can’t believe she’s doing this. And she’s doing it for me.

  17

  After Tom had gone home with Ollie and pug-face had sucked in her lips and left, clearly not at all happy with the outcome, Emma and I had spent the evening in silence. She tried to make conversation, but I was too upset. Not for me – I was hurting for her. What had she done?

  I told her over and over that I would go, but she wouldn’t let me talk about it. She found something on the television that neither of us wanted to watch, but it filled the silence – the emptiness of the house without Ollie. We sat cuddled together on the sofa and pretended we were interested in a diving expedition in Antarctica.

  In the end, we went to bed early: Emma because I am sure she thought the sooner she was asleep, the sooner it would be tomorrow, when Tom could bring Ollie for a visit; me because I couldn’t stand the pain I seem to cause to everybody I touch. But I couldn’t sleep. My head was spinning, my thoughts hopping from one thing to another – never settling before racing off to somewhere else. I couldn’t quite grasp them as they flew by.

  Emma loves me. Emma kept me instead of Ollie. I’ve got a home. I should leave for their sakes. What’s happening to Andy? It’s my fault Emma has lost Ollie again. I never want to leave here. Finn McGuinness – he’ll stare at me in court with those glassy, black eyes, and I’ll freeze.

  I had never been so comfortable in a bed before. Even when I was here last time I didn’t have a new, soft mattress like this one – just the old one that had been there for years. When Emma redecorated this room, she bought a brand new bed – just for me. I’m so used to hard, cold floors that to start with it felt as if the mattress was going to swallow me whole. But I fidgeted around for a bit and settled in, burrowing down beneath the big, soft duvet.

  It made no difference, though. My head was spinning, and each time I drifted off, I jerked awake again.

  At some point during the night I must have finally dropped off to sleep, and I woke needing the bathroom. I had drunk more water, milk and juice in the past few hours than I had in weeks, and I crept silently from my bedroom – scared of waking Emma.

  I needn’t have worried.

  Her door was ajar, as was Ollie’s, and I remembered that she always left them like this so she could hear her little boy if he cried in the night.

  But she wouldn’t be hearing him tonight.

  From Emma’s room there was a sound, muffled by pillows, but it was a sound I knew well.

  Emma was crying, weeping for her lovely baby, who should have been there with her. He should be here, not me, I thought. I bet she can’t help being reminded of that time just a few months ago when she thought she had lost Ollie for good – because of me.

  I stood on the landing for minutes, listening to her sobs. More than anything I wanted to go into her room and climb into bed, put my arms round her and offer her some comfort. But she might push me away.

  I waited, trying to decide what to do, but I couldn’t go in. It wasn’t me she wanted.

  I thought again about leaving – running away, back to a life underground. I thought about the cold, the hunger, the odd bite of food on a good day. But if I went, Emma’s life could get back to normal. It would be the right thing to do.

  My body felt heavy, as if a weight was pressing down on me, on my chest, on my head, and I went back into my bedroom and silently began to get dressed. I got as far as the landing before I remembered.

  Before we came to bed, Emma said she had set the alarm, and I didn’t know the code. She had locked the door with a key, which she had removed and taken with her. We both knew why –
but neither of us said a word.

  I stood, looking down over the bannister, knowing that I could find a way out if I really wanted to. But I didn’t. I could pretend I was locked in, but really I knew it was an excuse to stay.

  I went back to my room and lay down, fully dressed, curled up into the tightest ball I could manage, waiting for morning.

  Emma was up really early. I heard her, but I thought seeing me would remind her that I’m the reason Ollie’s not here, so I lay on the bed until she knocked on my door. I pretended I had just that minute finished getting dressed.

  We haven’t talked about her unhappiness this morning, but she’s obviously tried to cover her red eyes with more makeup than she usually wears.

  Tom is bringing Ollie round for a visit – which social services have allowed as long as Tom stays here too. I don’t blame them for this. They don’t know me, and they don’t know that I would die rather than hurt Ollie. Emma looks at her watch every two minutes.

  Tom is doing some shopping as well. He says that until something has been worked out – and I know he means protection – none of us should leave the house, and I have to keep away from windows. We don’t want anybody to know that I’m here and from tonight we are going to have policemen staying downstairs in the house to keep us safe – all in preparation for the court case.

  18

  The November weather was pressing down on Emma. It was raining again today – a cold, thin drizzle oozing out of grey skies and driving the hardiest of people indoors. Miserable was the best word to describe it, and it matched her mood.

  She wanted to be elated because of Tasha – and in many ways she was. This was what she had fought for, and now she had the girl back with her. But she should have listened to Tom. He had told her it wasn’t going to be plain sailing, but she had believed that her love and her desperate need to make up to the girl for such a terrible childhood would be enough to persuade social services to do the right thing.

  It seems they didn’t doubt her intent – but they were concerned for Ollie, and he had to be protected. She couldn’t have let them take Tasha, though – like a stone cracking a windscreen, the girl’s last shred of hope and trust would have shattered into a million pieces.