The Silent Witness

‘Yes, too frightened of him. She was apparently quite open about it, too. No allegations of anything inappropriate – nothing like that’s been suggested, and he’s not known to social services or anything. But all’s clearly not well where the family is concerned. She’s close enough to the grandmother to spend time with her reasonably regularly, but neither Bella nor her mother see anything of the grandfather. Never go to the house. There’s obviously some kind of rift there. Course, it might not have any bearing on anything, but I thought it worth you knowing. It’s another piece of the jigsaw at least, isn’t it?’

I agreed that it was. And he was right. It was definitely worth us knowing. How it affected anything I didn’t know, but it all added to the picture. And one thing I’d learned a very long time ago was that there was rarely smoke without at least a small hint of a fire. Time would tell. I signed off with a ‘Don’t you dare ring me again till at least the 27th,’ then put my head round the kitchen door and summoned my husband. I needed a kitchen hand, a confidant and coffee.

Chapter 3 (#u89468748-1129-5c6f-abfc-ea9afb434db5)

It was almost midnight when we heard the car pull up and both Mike and I hurried to peek out of the window.

Mike whistled, long and low. ‘Wow,’ he said. ‘Social workers must be on some good pay these days. I’d give anything for a car like that.’

He then fell silent – out of respect – as the black BMW convertible finished its manoeuvre into the just-big-enough space under the street lamp outside our frost-bitten front garden.

I tutted and pulled a face at him, as I often had to do, if only in support of our own elderly car, which was sitting hunched on the driveway, and no doubt feeling very inadequate in the face of so much beauty. ‘Nothing wrong with our old reliable,’ I reminded him. ‘It gets us from A to B, and it suits me just fine, thank you very much.’

‘I know,’ he said. ‘But a man can dream, can’t he?’

We had to dart backwards then, sharpish, as the driver door opened and a woman stepped out. ‘Honestly, Mike,’ I hissed. ‘Look at us! We’re like a pair of nosey old neighbours. Come on.’ I yanked on his arm, and we hurried out into the hall, putting our best welcoming smiles on to greet our visitors.

The social worker was young, and very pretty. Even more so in the glow of my twinkling archway of outside fairy lights, which I’d agonised about leaving on or switching off out of respect for the gravity of our house guest’s situation. It wasn’t like me to dither, but I couldn’t stop thinking that the poor girl’s stepfather might die at any moment. (Lights on, Mike had decreed. Let’s keep everything normal.)

‘Hi,’ I said, offering my hand to the social worker, who was carrying a supermarket ‘bag for life’ which presumably held Bella’s presents. I then moved my gaze to the girl at her side, who was wearing a heavy winter coat, with the hood up. She looked slight for her age, with what looked like long, dark blonde hair – difficult to say how long, given the hood. She too had a bag – a black backpack, which she held at her side. ‘And you must be Bella,’ I said brightly. ‘I’m Casey, and this is Mike. Come on in. You must be freezing, not to mention exhausted.’

I led them straight into the living room, a little concerned by the fact that Bella hadn’t even looked up at me when I’d spoken to her, let alone said hello or anything else. She hung on to her backpack, and made no move to take her coat off, and not even a glance towards the enormous, all-singing, all-dazzling tree that currently dominated the room. She was simply afraid, I supposed, on top of everything else. Just as she was settled in one place, here she was being moved again. Shut down. That was what John’s email had said, hadn’t it? Shut down and shut in. I didn’t press it.

Instead I pointed out the sofa to the social worker, who’d introduced herself as Sophie Taylor, and shrugged off her overcoat to give to Mike, who had already taken the bag. She sat down and Bella immediately sat down next to her, keeping close, head still tucked down like a turtle’s into the neck of her black winter coat. It had a thick collar of grey fur that provided the perfect hideaway for her little face.

‘So,’ I said to them both. ‘A hot drink? You’ve had a long journey, haven’t you?’

Bella’s only response was to glance nervously at Sophie, who then nodded. ‘Coffee would be manna from heaven, trust me. Thanks so much. And how about you, Bella? Cuppa tea?’ She then turned back to me. ‘Cup of tea, please. White, one sugar. Bella is a proper teapot.’

The girl didn’t so much as move, let alone smile at this. ‘Okay then,’ I said, rubbing my hands together and looking at Mike. ‘Shall you and I go and make some drinks, love, while Sophie and Bella warm up a little?’

Mike nodded eagerly, clearly feeling the tension too.

‘God, she’s young, isn’t she?’ he commented, as I rummaged in the cupboard for matching mugs.

‘Who, Bella?’

‘No, the social worker. Sophie.’ He didn’t need to add what I imagined he was thinking, which was how someone so young could be in possession of such a flashy car, while he was fifty-something and hadn’t progressed beyond a family hatchback.

‘She does look very young,’ I agreed. ‘Maybe she’s very new to the job. Or maybe we’re just losing track. Like policemen, aren’t they? Just keep getting younger and younger.’

He smiled. ‘Heaven forbid that it’s us getting older, eh?’

But Sophie Taylor’s youth – and likely lack of experience – didn’t seem to affect her confidence. ‘So,’ she said, when we returned, bearing the designated refreshments, ‘the famous Watsons! I’m so pleased to meet you. I’ve heard so much about you.’ She looked towards Bella, and, smiling, continued, ‘Casey and Mike have been fostering for ever such a long time, Bella. You’re in very good hands, sweetheart. You’ll love it here.’

It didn’t quite seem the time to be singing our praises, nor being quite so gung-ho. Blasé, almost. After all, Bella was hardly going to ‘love it’. She’d endure it as best she could, possibly even adjust to it eventually. But ‘love it’? Under the circumstances, I didn’t think so.

But perhaps I was being picky. The poor girl was doing her best to jolly things along. And judging by what I’d so far seen and heard had been doing so since the outset, and today, with all the upheaval, perhaps doing so for a good part of the day and evening. So she’d be tired too.

‘You know what,’ I said, once Mike had given Sophie her coffee. ‘It’s beyond silly o’clock now, and I, for one, am bushed. Which means you, Bella, must be absolutely exhausted, and not in the least interested in having to sit here and listen to the adults all blabbering on.’ I stood up then, from where I’d perched on the edge of the adjacent armchair, took two steps and stuck a hand out in Bella’s direction.

It was one of my tried and tested openers and was surprisingly effective. Not every time, but more than you’d expect given the situation – given that me and whichever child I was offering a hand to were complete strangers. But maybe not so surprising, given children’s natural need for order and security. In some situations, and with some people – people in authority, like head teachers, nurses and foster carers – it was actually quite natural to take the adult’s hand.

‘Come on, sweetie,’ I said, nudging the hand towards her, ‘before we get roped into a very long night, let’s me and you go up and see your room, shall we? And leave Mike and Sophie down here to chat.’ I glanced meaningfully at Sophie then, because usual protocol was for the social worker to go up and look at the room initially, and her answering nod indicated she was happy with my suggestion. ‘Then if you want to sneak into your bed,’ I went on, still hoping Bella would put her hand in mine, ‘that would be fine. Or just two minutes’ peace and come back down. Entirely up to you.’

The wait for a reaction from her felt like for ever, but slowly, under the onslaught of words, presumably, Bella raised her little face from the nest of fur, revealing a pair of beautiful, wide blue eyes. She glanced at my hand nervously, but then – yes! – she took it, and allowed me to guide her, holding her tea in my free hand, past Sophie, past Mike, into the hall. ‘Top of the stairs and turn left,’ I said as she started up the stairs before me. ‘I don’t know what you like, Bella, but I’m forewarning you, it’s very pink. You have any sunglasses?’

I was rewarded again then by a brief backwards glance, and though the fur was very thick and I didn’t know if I’d raised a smile, it was at least an acknowledgement that I’d spoken. Progress of some sort at least.

Bella waited at the top of the stairs, head tucked back into her nest of fake fur, so I reached past her and opened the bedroom door for her. ‘Go on in, love,’ I said. ‘All yours. I promise I won’t pester you.’ I then flicked on the light switch to illuminate where everything was and was pleased to watch Bella’s chin inching out of the collar, as she turned her head and began taking it all in.

‘So,’ I said, since she clearly wasn’t about to say anything. ‘I’ll leave you up here for a bit, shall I? The remote for the TV is on the dressing table, if you’d like to put it on. Though quietly’ – I gestured back out towards the landing – ‘because Tyler, our son, our foster son,’ I qualified, thinking it might help reassure her, ‘is in the room right over there. He’s fifteen,’ I added, realising she was finally looking at me. ‘And a bit of a light sleeper. He can’t wait to meet you.’ I smiled and pointed to the little backpack she’d been clutching. ‘Do you have your nightwear in that, or should I get something out for you? There are pyjamas in the chest of drawers over there.’

In answer, she shook her head and lifted the bag slightly. Which, again, was progress, even if not very much.

‘Well, you get sorted then,’ I said, stepping back out onto the landing. ‘Bathroom’s just over there, see? And it really is up to you. If you want to go to bed, then that’s fine, but if you want to come back down again that’s fine too. No sweat either way, sweetie. You do what you like tonight, all right?’ I nodded towards the bedside table. ‘And get that tea down you before it gets cold.’

A nod this time. I closed the door softly behind me.

I decided not to hang about, either. I suspected she’d need to hear I was actually back downstairs before she could properly relax, get undressed, use the bathroom or whatever, so I made a bit of a stomp about going back down so that she’d know she was safe to move around.

Back in the living room the mood, despite the light show, was darker.

‘She’s not spoken a word hardly,’ Mike told me as soon as I entered. ‘I was just asking Sophie about the post-traumatic stress thing, and apparently she’s barely spoken since they took her.’

‘I thought she might be, by now,’ Sophie said, ‘you know, since being with the other carers, but there’s no change, not while we were there, not while we were waiting, not in the car. Not a single word, nothing. It’s like she’s mute.’

I had some experience with mutism from back during my days as a school behaviour manager. Not this kind of mutism, as in an extreme response to a trauma – the girl in my care had longstanding selective mutism, which only manifested itself while in school. But this kind – the ‘response to severe stress’ kind of mutism was, I’d read, a great deal more common. And it wasn’t just that it had only been a matter of days, either – it was ongoing; she’d witnessed something no child should witness, and, to compound it, she was now being told what to do by complete strangers while her dad was in hospital and mum was in jail. It was a miracle she wasn’t hysterical. She may yet be. These things could be episodic, ebbing and flowing, triggered by all sorts of things.

‘It’s understandable,’ I said. ‘It’s a nightmare, all this, isn’t it? And now, to compound it, she’s been moved here, so it’s like she’s back to square one. And for who knows how long?’

‘Mike was just asking me about that,’ Sophie said. ‘And the honest truth is that we have no idea.’ She flicked her hair, which was long and dark, back across her shoulders. ‘It’s all so sad, isn’t it? And no guessing what the outcome’s going to be either. Still, soon as Christmas is over, we’re arranging for Bella to see a counsellor. Which might help. We hope. There’s no question of her being returned to her previous placement, by the way – John might have told you?’

‘Oh no,’ I said. ‘What’s happened? Have there been complications with the baby?’

Sophie shook her head. ‘No, no – well, not as far as I know. No, they just don’t have any idea when they’ll return right now. And to be honest, even when they do they’ve already said they’d rather not have her back. They said they were struggling with her, to be honest – not sure they were the right couple for her. Just the three of them in the house, rattling around, Bella so silent. They feel she’d be better placed with a younger, busier family …’

‘We’ll we’re certainly busy,’ Mike said.

‘Excuse me? And young …’ I couldn’t help adding.

‘Exactly,’ Sophie said. ‘Which is why it’s so great that you’ve said you’ll have her. Big noisy family. Lots of distractions. Your other child – Tyler? It is Tyler, isn’t it?’ We both nodded. ‘Let’s hope they bond, eh? Oh, and that reminds me. I’ve already spoken to her about keeping off of social media. I don’t know how much she uses it, because it’s impossible to get anything out of her. But she’s got an account – I checked – though I have no idea how much she uses it. Parents do too. So I’ve explained how it’s important that she should avoid it – all the chitter-chatter and idle gossip and so on – and that if she wants to get in touch with friends, she needs to do it the old-fashioned way: putting pen to paper, through you. But you’ll know all that anyway, of course. Sorry.’ She gave an apologetic little grimace. I was really beginning to warm to her. ‘Anyway, we really are incredibly grateful,’ she finished. ‘And I’m here, of course – well, I say “here”, I need my bed now, as I’m sure you do. But you know, as a port of call – I’m on call right through Christmas. You know, if there are any problems that you need me for and so on … And I’m a constant,’ she said. ‘I’ve been assigned full time to Bella’s case, so at least there’s that.’

‘That’s good news,’ I said, because it really was. I knew all too well that, in their early days in care, children often went through many different social workers. It was no one’s fault. It was just that, often, there was simply no one free to take them on as a long-term commitment; caseloads were huge, always, and there was also the problem that a lot of the time no one knew how long a child was even going to be in the system. So it was often a case of filling in, helping out, the child being passed hither and thither, between social workers who already had way too much to do. And at Christmas, of course, all these problems were compounded. So, yes, it was indeed good that Bella already had that continuity in her social worker, even if Sophie might not be the most experienced one in the world.

But, arguably, she was at least the brightest.

‘I’ve got to say, Casey,’ she said, once she’d drained her mug and put her coat back on, ‘your Christmas tree is magical.’