Broken: A traumatised girl. Her troubled brother. Their shocking secret.. Rosie Lewis
that everyone must stay covered up at all times, whether in pyjamas and dressing gown or fully clothed. Every member of the house must also stay out of every bedroom but their own. Even as the children’s foster carer, I was supposed to knock before entering their room, and should never, under any circumstances, sit on their beds.
Strictly speaking, only the under-fives or same-sex siblings should share bedrooms, but with foster placements in short supply there’s sometimes no alternative but to stretch the rules. I knew that if a vacancy became available with a foster carer who could provide the children with a room of their own, it was likely that Bobbi and Archie would be moved on.
‘But it’s a rule,’ Megan said with feeling. She yawned and leaned against my leg, looking crestfallen.
I smiled. ‘You’re right, sweetie, it is.’ We’d spent most of yesterday evening at my mother’s house and, being New Year’s Eve, she hadn’t gone to bed until late. I could tell she was flagging so I quickly showed Bobbi the bathroom, pointed out where I’d be sleeping, and then opened the door to the room opposite my own.
‘Wow!’ Bobbi shouted, running in and diving face down on the sheepskin rug in the middle of the floor. We had spent yesterday afternoon filling the room with Lego and Bratz dolls, Transformers and Brio; anything we thought might appeal to children of Archie and Bobbi’s age. There was a large purple beanbag beside the bunk bed and a giant teddy next to the bookshelf in one of the alcoves. Of all the accessories, it was the furry rug that always seemed to appeal most to the children I looked after.
Archie walked slowly around the room, stopping to examine the framed pictures on the wall that I’d put up when he was referred. I wasn’t a fan of stereotyping but sports tended to be more or less a safe bet when it came to boys of Archie’s age, and several of the pictures around the top bunk were football related. ‘It’s such a cool room,’ he said, straightening one of the slightly lopsided frames. ‘Thanks, Rosie.’
I smiled at him and he made an attempt at smiling back, though his eyes once again refused to join in. My stomach contracted with pity. I was beginning to get the sense that his compliments were driven by panic, as if his survival depended on them.
‘I thought you could have the top bunk, Archie. Happy with that?’
He nodded. ‘We have bunk beds at home.’
I had dotted a few soft toys around the bottom bunk and one of them, a pink rabbit, seemed to take Bobbi’s fancy. She dived onto the mattress, grabbed it in her mouth and then rolled back onto the rug with it dangling from her jaws. ‘This is the best bedroom in the whole world!’ she declared, rolling around. I smiled, wondering what her bedroom at home was like. I looked at Archie, but his expression was unreadable.
After the tour we all sat in the living area to watch Paddington. When I say ‘sat’, Megan, Archie and I sat. Bobbi spun in circles on the rug, threw herself into kamikaze-style forward rolls and snatched every soft toy that Megan chose to sit on her lap. Every time I intervened, she asked if she could have more food.
Megan lost patience about twenty minutes into the film and began throwing herself around as well. Mungo watched the rumpus from beneath the coffee table, growling softly whenever Bobbi got too near. ‘Tell you what,’ I said, ‘let’s get you into your coats and shoes and you can have a bounce on the trampoline while I prepare dinner, okay?’ It was only two o’clock, but I had a feeling that late afternoon held the potential for trouble. I wanted to prepare something to throw in the oven so that I’d be free to deal with whatever cropped up.
I watched them through the kitchen window as I fried some mince and peeled potatoes for a cottage pie. Megan and Bobbi dived crazily around the trampoline, giggling and bumping into one another. I felt a jolt of encouragement as I watched them. Archie bounced to one side, slowing protectively whenever they veered close.
After a particularly violent collision Megan fell awkwardly and bumped her ear on one of the posts holding the safety net. She clamped a hand to the side of her head and looked mournfully towards the house. I slipped my shoes on, but by the time I’d reached the door Archie had already given her a cuddle.
About twenty minutes later she climbed, rosy cheeked, through the net and pulled Archie by the hand to the house. ‘She wants to show me how to draw a cloptikler,’ he said with a wry smile as they came into the house.
‘Oh, brilliant!’ I mouthed a thank you over the top of Megan’s head. He gave me a slow eye roll and shook his head, the sort of reaction I’d expect from someone much older. I tried to remember being nine years old. Shy and home-loving, I knew I wouldn’t have coped with such a momentous move the way Archie seemed to have done.
I realised then what Joan had meant when she said that Archie was an unknown quantity. Was it possible that he possessed enough resilience to cope with what the last few days had thrown at him, without the tiniest crack in his composure? As I stood at the sink washing up, my eyes drifted back to the trampoline at the end of the garden. Bobbi was still there but her movements had slowed. She was bouncing lethargically, without the faintest glimmer of enjoyment on her face. All alone, she looked completely bereft.
Abandoning the saucepan I was holding, I was about to go outside and talk to her when Megan shot past me, back into the garden. ‘Bobbi, we’re back!’ she yelled, running towards the trampoline with her arms in the air, jazz hands shimmying all the way. Bobbi’s expression brightened. She ran over and parted the net for Megan to pass through, and the pair stood grinning at each other.
‘Here we go again,’ Archie said, trudging past me. I laughed, but again I was struck by the sense that his words mismatched his age. It was as if he were acting a role, one he didn’t have much heart to play.
‘Archie, just a second. I thought I might sort your clothes out now. Are you happy for me to go through your suitcase? Or would you prefer to do it yourself?’
He shrugged. ‘Not really. You can do it. Not my rucksack though, I can do that.’ He went to the door but then stopped and turned. ‘Thank you, Rosie.’
A slow shiver ran across the back of my neck as I watched him walk down the path. I took to mashing the boiled potatoes, trying to shake the uncomfortable feeling away. I puzzled over my reaction. I couldn’t quite fathom why his apparent maturity should make me feel so uncomfortable.
His sister’s struggles were clear to see. Bobbi was in ‘flight’ mode, so that she literally couldn’t keep still. I told myself that, being that bit older, Archie had perhaps managed to devise better coping strategies in dealing with the stress.
At a little after half past four, when I put the cottage pie in the oven, there was still no sign of their play fizzling out. I decided to make the most of the time by sorting through their clothes to see if anything needed to be washed. When children arrive in placement I usually wash most of their clothes straight away, only holding a few items back to retain the comforting smell of their home. I carried their suitcases into the kitchen and set them down in front of the washing machine, but when I opened them up, the fresh scent of washing powder rose to greet me. Joan had washed everything. It was a lovely, welcome surprise.
I watched the children from the upstairs window as I put everything away in their room. They were still playing happily and I began to feel quietly confident that the placement would be manageable, and that everything was going to work out just fine.
‘But I’m still hungry-y-y-y, Rosie,’ Bobbi whined an hour later, after making short shrift of two helpings of cottage pie. I could tell she was full because her voracious gorging had slowed to a sort of lethargic nibble, but she didn’t seem able to admit to herself that she had had enough. ‘I am, I am, you know, Rosie.’
‘There’s plenty of food on its way to your tummy,’ I said cheerfully from across the table. ‘You need to give it a chance to go down.’
Reluctant to concede