Betrayed Read online

  My hands were shaking as I reached for my keys. My eyes strayed to the top of the stairs and a feather of anxiety brushed at my throat. I trawled my brain, trying to work out why a girl like Zadie would be drawn to looking up something so awful. It was a struggle to reconcile what I had seen on the screen with the introverted, withdrawn teenager having an anxiety attack in my bathroom. In my mind, she became even more of an enigma.

  On the doorstep stood Jamie, his cheeks flushed, school tie askew over his shoulder. ‘I forgot my locker key,’ he said, groaning. ‘Now I’m gonna be late.’

  ‘Oh, Jamie,’ I said, shaking my head. ‘Don’t worry. Grab your key and I’ll give you a lift.’

  ‘Ah, thanks, Mum,’ he said with relief, all trace of adolescent bravado gone. He planted a rare kiss on my cheek and raced off to his room.

  Up in the bathroom I handed Zadie a glass of water. She refused to meet my eyes but thanked me for the drink and took a few tentative sips. Perched on the edge of the bath, she looked so small and frail that I was tempted to draw her into a hug. I rested my hand on her shoulder but she instantly tensed, angling herself away from me. Overcome with a sudden feeling of déjà vu, I recalled the interactive dance played out between myself and Phoebe when she had first arrived – how she would draw me in with one hand and yet hold me away with the other. Sometimes I would catch the nine-year-old watching Emily, Jamie and me with a sad yearning, her past a barrier that held her in limbo, despite her longing to be part of a loving family. Phoebe kept her distance until the trust between us grew strong enough to overcome her fears, something that couldn’t possibly happen overnight. I was beginning to suspect that with Zadie it was also going to be a case of playing the long game.

  At some point we were going to have to have a frank discussion, but with the teenager still struggling to get her breath back and Jamie waiting impatiently in the hall, now was definitely not the right time.

  Chapter 4

  I drove towards Jamie’s school on autopilot, trying to assemble my thoughts in some sort of rational order. Every time I tried to figure out what had possessed Zadie to search for pornography, naked bodies punctured my concentration. Sashaying to the forefront of my mind, they taunted my already churning stomach with grinding gyrations and twisted leers.

  I considered the possibility that Zadie had stumbled onto the website by mistake. But whatever the reason, exposing a child to pornography was a form of abuse, and since it had happened under my roof and while Zadie was in my care, it followed that I was responsible. I let out a sigh, guiltily admonishing myself for not installing security locks before allowing Zadie to use the computer. I had tried parental controls before but quickly grown frustrated with them. The problem was that even tame sites seemed to be blocked by family-user settings, ones that Emily and Jamie found useful for homework, so I always ended up giving up on them.

  My mind was so caught up in what had happened that I almost drove straight past Jamie’s school. Fortunately we got there with a minute or two to spare. After dropping him at the gates I suggested to Zadie that we should take our walk then, rather than going out later in the day. The sky was already clouding over and I wasn’t sure how long the dry weather would hold out. Zadie nodded in lacklustre agreement. She had seemed reluctant to leave the house, as if the walls were a protective shell she couldn’t do without. As we headed towards the woods she seemed to withdraw even further into herself.

  The traffic grew lighter with the school-run chaos over, and as I approached an almost empty crossroads an idea came to me. Swinging the car into a U-turn, I drove back through a small village and on to a fellow foster carer’s house. Besides caring for three young boys, Jenny had recently taken in a rescue dog. Bobby, a Labrador, was still a puppy; just the sort of lively company I felt we needed. I knew that Jenny would probably be more than happy for us to give him some exercise.

  As I’d thought, Jenny readily agreed. ‘You’re in luck, Bobby,’ she called out, bending over to pat her knees. The excited puppy skidded along the wide hallway and collided into her legs, his tail wagging furiously. ‘You do know they forecast rain, Rosie?’ she said, clipping the lead onto the dog’s collar.

  ‘Hmmm, it does look overcast,’ I said, leaning in conspiratorially and stroking Bobby’s velvet ears. ‘But we need a bit of a distraction …’

  ‘Ah, right.’ Jenny nodded. ‘Time for a catch-up, I think,’ she said, leading Bobby to the car. ‘When are you free?’

  I cradled my chin with my forefinger. Zadie would obviously have to come with me, with her not being in school. I wanted to give the teenager a bit of time at home, a chance to get used to us before introducing her to lots of other strangers. ‘How about the week after next? Monday?’

  ‘Fine by me,’ Jenny said, guiding Bobby onto the back seat. ‘I’ll ask Rachel and Liz along as well. Hi, Zadie. Lovely to meet you.’

  Zadie lifted her chin in acknowledgement, her solemn face breaking into a rare smile when Bobby rested his heavy paws on her lap and nuzzled against her.

  Jenny remained on her front step as I pulled away, waving silently in my rear-view mirror. I was looking forward to getting together with some of the other carers. Working from home can be an isolating experience, and when coupled with the need to maintain confidentiality it was often a relief to meet up with Jenny, Liz and Rachel. Apart from the company, each of us was able to share any concerns or challenges we were facing openly, instead of keeping them bottled up.

  At the end of Jenny’s road we pulled onto a wide, tree-lined street. We drove on, past a little park and then back through the picturesque village where rows of shops and restaurants were prettily co-ordinated with awnings in complementary shades and window boxes ablaze with jasmine and trailing lobelia. Soon we reached the main road that runs parallel to the river. The tide was high and a light wind was buffeting the blue-grey water into miniature, white-crested waves. As I crossed the steady flow of traffic, I noticed a colourful steam barge emerging from beneath an ornate bridge, the top deck dotted with passengers. ‘Do you see that, Zadie?’

  She glanced sideways. ‘Oh, wow!’ she said, the unexpected enthusiasm in her voice taking me by surprise. In the rear-view mirror I could see her smiling and craning her neck as Bobby strained to lick her face. In that moment she looked so carefree that I felt a spike in my throat, upset to think that someone so young could, within minutes of logging onto the internet, access images as disturbing as the ones I’d seen earlier that morning.

  The memory brought an unpleasant roll to my stomach, my discomfort compounded by the fact that it had happened ‘on my watch’. A fine mist lowered itself over the river and my windscreen clouded with condensation. Flicking the wipers on, my gaze drifted across the water where several ugly 1970s tower blocks stood. The featureless concrete buildings rose from their scenic backdrop to dominate the skyline, casting ominous shadows over the natural beauty surrounding them. Their incongruity struck me as fittingly apt; the corrupting influence of a fast-paced world on someone as fragile as Zadie seemed to be.

  Three-year-old Charlie fell from a first-floor window of one of the blocks, into a large container of rubbish below. I would never forget how frightened he looked when he first arrived at my house, the cut on his head covered with a white bandage. I had recently heard how Charlie was getting on, living with his paternal grandmother; he was thriving and doing brilliantly at school. Pictures from the past often danced their way to the forefront of my mind, helping to boost my confidence at the beginning of a new placement. When things weren’t perhaps progressing as well as I hoped, it helped to remember how resilient children can be. Charlie’s rapid recovery was testament to that. Little did I realise back then that Zadie’s problems would take far longer to mend than Charlie’s cuts and bruises.

  Despite the watery grey sky it was pleasantly warm, and as we pulled into a car park at the end of a narrow lane I felt my mood lighten. Zadie seemed to have relaxed. She was giggling and chattering softly to Bob
by as I opened the rear door and beckoned them out. On reflection, there was no reason why I couldn’t delay our internet safety chat until another day, by which time Zadie was likely to feel more comfortable in her new environment.

  As we walked side by side down a gentle slope and through a canopy of trees, a rich, woody fragrance rose to greet us. A narrow path stretched ahead into the forest, as far as the eye could see, and when we were a safe distance from the road I let Bobby off his lead. He bounded off with his tail high in the air, every so often tripping over his large front paws in his eagerness to explore. We strolled without speaking, our eyes focused on Bobby as he darted between trees and sent squirrels scattering in all directions.

  As we ventured deeper into the woods, the soft drone of traffic receded until it was barely audible. The loamy earth beneath our feet muffled the sound of our footsteps so that, apart from the occasional crack as we stepped on a twig, the scuffle of small pawed animals or the distant squawking of gulls, there was near silence. I began to chatter about other places we had visited in the past, hoping that Zadie might begin to reciprocate. She smiled politely and nodded in all the right places but, apart from the odd gasp when Bobby tumbled over, she remained more or less mute. Fortunately, just as I had hoped, the puppy’s presence transformed the atmosphere so that our one-sided conversation felt companionable rather than strained.

  Another hundred metres in, the path began to widen. Dappled light picked its way through the trellis of overhanging leaves, the shadowed earth shrinking as we reached a glade. Fast-moving clouds swirled overhead and there was the odd rumble in the distance. Looking up at the hooded sky, I wasn’t sure how long we would have before the rain set in. With the grassy area opening further, Zadie jogged ahead, trying to keep up with Bobby. She cut a solitary figure out there in the middle of the clearing and as I followed I hoped it wouldn’t be too long before she was brave enough to reach out to me.

  My drifting thoughts were interrupted by Bobby, barking and leaping up at a fence. On the other side was a meadow strung with daisies. Further into the distance the fields sloped away to give a view of the village we had driven through and the lower foothills beyond. Zadie gathered her robe in her hands, lifting it above her ankles like a character from a Jane Austen novel. Suddenly childlike, she ran towards Bobby and pointed to a stile beyond some bushes. ‘Over here, Rosie,’ she called out, her soft voice almost swallowed by the wind. Grasping Bobby around his midriff, she lifted herself to the top plank of the stile and slipped over in one smooth motion.

  I climbed over with far less elegance, even though I was wearing jeans. Zadie waited nearby, her arm flickering at her side as if ready to catch me if I stumbled. I was surprised by her gentle consideration. ‘You see over there, Zadie?’ I said, slightly breathless, pointing to a large yellow sandstone building. ‘Inside that hall are boxes of material from all over the country, from Cornwall all the way up to Scotland.’ As we crossed the meadow I told Zadie about my mother’s voluntary job at WEPH, Working to Eradicate Poverty and Hunger, a committee based at the local church. The group, mainly women, met regularly to fundraise; their latest project was to provide desks and equipment for a blind school in the Congo.

  ‘What are they going to do with all the material?’ she asked softly. I could tell that her interest was piqued. It was the first time she had voluntarily spoken since we left the house but, then, children in foster care are often fascinated by stories of hardship and tales of triumph over adversity. I think that hearing about other children in difficult situations gives them a yardstick to measure their own problems against, one of the reasons why all of the Jacqueline Wilson books in our house were so well thumbed.

  Like adults who enjoy watching tragic or sad films, perhaps feeling relief that their lives could be worse, I think that children gain a sense of perspective and learn that they’re not alone in their sadness and uncertainty. One of the therapeutic games I play with older children works on the same principle, where they have to imagine a situation worse than their own. It may sound like a grim activity but it often works a treat and it’s surprising how many colourful and inventive scenarios they come up with.

  I remembered playing the game with ten-year-old Taylor, who came to stay with her five-year-old brother. The siblings had endured years of witnessing domestic abuse between their mother and father and, using her personal experiences as a template for relating to others, Taylor would replicate the violence at school. She had a reputation for bullying and most of her classmates shied away from her. It wasn’t unusual for hers to be the only book bag in the class without a colourful little envelope containing a party invitation inside, and she would often come home to me and break her heart over the rejection.

  The sad truth was, the only way Taylor knew how to relate to anyone was by using physical force and harsh words. It wasn’t surprising that parents steered their own children away, keeping their distance and encouraging them to have nothing to do with her. The awful, alternative universe situations she managed to dream up were truly terrible to hear, but we would always end the game with strategies for helping ‘Alex who had lost his entire family and was sleeping rough inside a large rat-infested drain’ or the teenager who was made to drink bleach by her drug-addled parents. Imagining what it must be like for others who experience hardship encouraged Taylor to see things from their point of view. It is a proven fact that when we empathise with others our brains release oxytocin, and slowly Taylor learned the simple lesson that showing kindness felt good. It didn’t take long for her to stop hitting out and gradually her peers became less wary of her.

  ‘They’re going to make patchwork quilts. They have a small army of women working on them already, and since mentioning it on Facebook they have lots more people keen to sign up. I’ve started on one myself.’ I twisted my mouth. ‘Only I haven’t got very far yet.’

  I tapped my forehead. ‘And that reminds me, Mum asked me to find out where they can sell the quilts that are already made. Another thing I haven’t gotten around to.’

  Zadie seemed so interested in the blind school that I wished I knew more about it. Making a mental note to find out more from Mum, I drifted onto other subjects, none of which caught her interest in the same way. She fell silent but I no longer felt like I was jabbering away to myself. Bobby loped ahead, every now and again performing an emergency stop to grab a stick or a stone between his teeth. Zadie delighted in his company, frolicking around with him in the long grass. Nettles stung my ankles as I waded after them and I was beginning to long for a cup of tea.

  Eventually Zadie came to a halt by a cobbled stone wall. A large oak tree stood nearby, skirted by a wooden bench. When I caught up with her I asked, ‘Shall we sit here for a bit?’ Bobby’s breath was raspy and his tongue was hanging out. ‘It looks like I’m not the only one who could do with a rest.’

  We sat down, Zadie planting herself a couple of feet away from me. She crossed her legs and rested her hands in her lap but then they tumbled over themselves in that nervous way of hers, continually smoothing invisible folds in her robe. I made a mental note to get some aqueous cream; her skin looked painfully sore. The wind was picking up and there was a sudden chill in the air. I wrapped my cardigan around myself and watched her movements surreptitiously.

  She sat hunched over, her head trailing low. On closer inspection I noticed that her chapped fingers weren’t just wringing themselves in a random way; they were strumming a particular beat. Not only that, but her lips were moving silently, as if she was counting or chanting something. Recalling the way she had rearranged her toast so fastidiously earlier that morning, I was beginning to suspect there was more to her twiddling than absent-minded nerves.

  ‘Your hem is wet through, honey,’ I said. ‘Are you cold?’

  Her fingers froze for a moment, then she rested them sedately on her knees. She shook her head.

  I sat staring into the middle distance, trying to think of ways to get a conversation going that invol
ved more of a response than a nod of the head. I told her about the time Emily and I went blackberry picking, her clothes getting so heavily plastered in squashed fruit that they turned her car seat blue. I talked about the day I took Jamie for a walk in the hills when he was just three or four. ‘It started to rain and his wellies got stuck in the mud. I had to lift him out of them and carry him to the car. We never did get those little boots back.’

  Nothing sparked a response that wasn’t closed-mouth silence. Darker clouds gathered and the air around us was scented with the cloying dampness of impending rain. I listened to the stillness and decided to plunge right in with direct questions. It wasn’t going to be an easy time for her in foster care unless she learnt that she could trust us. ‘So, enough about us. Tell me about your family.’

  She turned abruptly, a bit taken aback.

  ‘There’s not much to tell,’ she said, twisting her lip.

  ‘Well, do you have any other brothers and sisters, apart from Chit?’

  She nodded. ‘I have another older brother. Vijay.’

  ‘And do Chit and Vijay both live at home?’

  She nodded.

  ‘So there are five of you?

  A shadow crossed her face. She shook her head again. ‘Just my brothers, Papa and me.’

  ‘Ah,’ I said softly. ‘I didn’t know that.’

  She lowered her head, the silent curtain of her headscarf shielding her expression. I could tell she was uncomfortable but then I remembered Peggy’s earlier words: if we didn’t find out something soon, Zadie could find herself having to return home. While I phrased the next question in my head, the silent pause worked its magic.