Angels with Dirty Faces: Five Inspiring Stories. Casey Watson

old enough to know this stuff, you know.’

      ‘So you are,’ I said. ‘And ugly enough, too,’ I teased. ‘Seriously, I know that. Not just right now, though, eh, Ty? We barely know anything ourselves.’

      Which seemed to satisfy him. And would give me time to decide on the edited version. You were never old enough – or ugly enough – to need to know this particular kind of ugliness.

      Once Mike and Tyler had left, I kept popping upstairs and listening stealthily at the bedroom door. I could see only the shape of Darby’s lower half from my vantage point, and didn’t want to disturb her because I was keen that she wake up naturally. Which she did eventually, having slept a solid thirteen hours.

      While I was waiting I used the time productively, going through the piles of children’s clothes I kept in the wardrobe in the other spare bedroom – the one I didn’t use for foster kids on account of the wardrobe being the kind that, in a happy kid, would conjure dreams of trips through a forest of coats to Narnia and, in an unhappy one, just your bog standard nightmares. It was a family heirloom, however, so there was no question of getting rid of it, and it did sterling service as a repository for all my fostering essentials – clothing and bedding, plus all kinds of toys and games that I’d picked up from various charity shops down the years.

      I pulled out a selection of items to which clung familiar memories – of Olivia, one of the siblings who’d been in such similar straits. I wondered how she was now and tried to calculate her precise age. Tried to picture the beautiful young woman she’d soon become. Physically perfect, yes, but how badly scarred? Would she ever be able to form normal relationships? I tried to console myself that her youth when she’d been abused was always on her side. More so, I remembered grimly, than her elder brother, Ashton. What scars – and proclivities – would he carry through his adult life? The saying the abused often becomes the abuser came to mind, and I shook it away as I shook out the little outfits.

      I didn’t want to think such things. There was no benefit in doing so. What I had to do with Darby was live entirely in the moment. Take care of her needs to the best of my ability, and leave the professionals to chew over The Bigger Picture.

      I picked up my selection and made my way back across the landing, and seeing the shape in the bed had moved, pushed the door gently open with the pile of clothes in my arms.

      Darby was sitting up in bed, knees to chest, the butterfly duvet cover pulled up to her chin, and she visibly flinched when she saw me.

      She’d been crying again, and continued to as I put the clothing down on the chest of drawers and went to her.

      ‘I want my mummy,’ she sobbed. ‘I want to go home to my mummy and daddy.’

      I sat on the edge of the bed and stretched out a hand to comfort her. She pulled her hand away. ‘Darby, I’m sorry, baby, but, like I said last night, you need to stay with me and Mike for a little while. Do you remember?’

      ‘But I want to go home!’ she sobbed. ‘Why can’t I go home?’

      ‘Because you can’t, sweetie, not right now. And I’m very, very sorry. I know how scared you must be. And how strange this will all seem. But nothing bad is going to happen here, I promise you. Come on, sweetie,’ I said, taking hold of her hand more firmly. ‘Let’s go downstairs to watch some cartoons and have some breakfast. How about that? I have banana or chocolate milk. Do you like either of those?’

      She didn’t answer the question, but at least she didn’t try to fight me as I gently pulled the duvet back so she could get out of bed.

      Her T-shirt had ridden up and I noticed that her tiny, elasticated-waist jeans had left a deep red weal around her waist. I really needed to get her into the bath as soon as I could and into some fresh clothes. But not until I’d fed her. She’d eaten hardly anything the previous evening, and I knew a full belly would be at least a little of the battle won.

      And she clearly was hungry, especially when I told her she could have anything she wanted. ‘Well, as long as it’s not toenails of toast,’ I had quipped, ‘because I’m all out of those,’ which at least elicited a wan smile.

      So, chocolate milk and jam sandwiches it was – apparently her favourite – and while she got stuck in I chattered on about the family – about my own children and their partners and my gaggle of lovely grandchildren, all of whom I promised her she’d get to meet and play with over the coming days. Being an only child, and given the depravities that went on in her own home, I had a hunch she’d be sorely lacking in normal play dates.

      ‘In fact,’ I told her, ‘I thought I’d have Riley bring the children over today. So you can have someone to play with. Would you like that?’

      She nodded, seeming ever so slightly cheered up by the news. A temporary respite from the fear and bewilderment, at least. Which would still be there – how could it not? – but at least she’d be distracted. ‘So,’ I said, ‘after breakfast, we’ll run a nice bath for you, shall we? With lots of bubbles and ducks and mermaids, and then we’ll get you dried and dressed. I’ve found some lovely outfits for you to choose from –’

      ‘But not high heels and lipstick,’ she said, pouting now a little.

      ‘No, sweetie, of course not. Not high heels and lipstick. Just nice little girls’ clothes. I think I have a princess jumper – would you like to wear that? It has Rapunzel on the front, and someone else on the back, and I’ve got some lovely pink leggings to go with it. They’ll just fit you.’

      ‘But not high heels and lipstick,’ she said again. It wasn’t a question. ‘I don’t want no high heels and lipstick today.’

      Since Riley was climbing the metaphorical walls just as much as I was plumbing the metaphorical depths, she was only too happy to bring the kids over to play, seeing it as something of an unexpected bonus.

      ‘How’s she been anyway?’ she asked, when she arrived and had disgorged her small three-person wrecking crew into my festive front room.

      ‘Up and down,’ I said, ‘as you’d expect, but mostly up for the moment. Forgetting everything else – which I am trying extremely hard to do – I think she must have led a pretty lonely life. So this is a blessing for both of us, even if it does mean my to-do list will have to go hang.’

      And, as I so often did, having adult sensibilities, I watched them all shouting and laughing and pulling out the dressing-up clothes, and found myself marvelling at just how quickly Darby was assimilated into the crew; not to mention happily taking Leo’s orders. ‘You’d never even know, would you?’ I mused to Riley, as Darby, in her turn, began organising Marley Mae’s toy buggy for her. And you really wouldn’t. She seemed a world away from the distress of having been dumped with strangers. Children, particularly young ones, really were astonishingly adaptable, their ability to shut off parts of their brain and compartmentalise never failing to impress me.

      Perhaps the placement wouldn’t turn out to be as traumatic as I’d predicted. Perhaps Darby would be resigned, in the short term, distracted by the children, and we’d manage to do all we could under the circumstances – give her a peaceful and as-happy-as-it-could-be kind of Christmas, and see what was what in the New Year. We were due to return to full-time fostering then, after all.

      Which just goes to show that, when the situation seems to need it, adults are good at compartmentalising as well.

      Chapter 5

      The next day, to my undying gratitude, Riley brought the grandchildren over again and babysat Darby for a couple of hours, so that Mike and I could dash into town and get the poor girl some presents.

      Darby had come with nothing, of course, but that wasn’t to say that some familiar things couldn’t be collected for her. So I’d called Katy and double-checked, and she’d even managed to get a message through to Darby’s parents on remand. And it turned out that they’d not done their Christmas shopping yet (no surprise there), so, no, there were no presents to be collected.