Chapter 18 #2
‘He’s sixteen – used to be the age we threw looked-after-kids out into the big wide world to fend for themselves.’
‘And now? The only real experience I’ve had is of fostering small children. You know, those temporarily removed from their home for whatever reason.’
‘So, yes, this will be a bit different. We talk about independent living rather than fostering. And remember, Joel isn’t a looked-after kid as such.
He’s still on bail to the local authority.
I mean, he probably could return to his mum, but with his younger sister there, she’s not that keen to have him back just yet. ’
‘But I have an eleven-year-old here. Are you saying that’s going to change things?’ I was rapidly going off the whole idea of having this kid in my box room, and this seemed a good get-out of what I’d conceded with Sorrel.
‘No, not at all. I have to tell you, Jessica, that Joel is one of the nicest kids I’ve met in a long time.
Mind you, to be fair, the kids I meet and work with on a day-to-day basis are never going to be The Famous Five, their one aim in life solving the mystery of the village vicar’s stolen candlesticks. ’
I laughed at that.
‘You know what I mean.’ Andy smiled. ‘The kids I deal with are off their heads on ketamine rather than ginger beer and have been sucked into working for an OCG rather than trailing the gang after Uncle Quentin’s scientific discoveries.
’ He paused and laughed. ‘D’you reckon Uncle Quentin was actually a spy working for the Russians? ’
I laughed in return. ‘More than likely. No one is who they appear to be these days.’ I passed over the mug of tea and Andy immediately drank deeply of the contents.
‘Jessica, if I thought Joel was a danger to himself or to your family, I most certainly wouldn’t be having this conversation with you now. I’d be taking him right back to his aunt in Castleford.’
‘Even though she’s booked on to some cruise?’ I raised an eyebrow at this earnest social worker.
‘Oh, you know about that? Yes, well, we will have to be looking for alternative accommodation somewhere. Anywhere, I guess. He’s a bright boy – very bright – and, according to your sister, a talented dancer. He’s kept that under wraps. We’d no idea.’
‘I really don’t know about that, but if Robyn – and Sorrel – say so then I’ve no reason to disbelieve them.’
‘So, Jessica, it would just be until the summer, until Joel has sat his GCSEs. He’d be classed as “independent living”’ – Andy air quoted the words – ‘as opposed to being fostered. Obviously, if you agree to having him, we’d need to do all the usual background checks.
I don’t want to get his hopes up if you’re not up to date with all of that. ’
‘I had one of Robyn’s kids at St Mede’s here for a couple of nights last year,’ I said, feeling slightly affronted that I was now agreeing to have Joel to stay and yet the powers that be might decide, after all, that I wasn’t suitable.
‘I heard.’
‘Oh?’
‘You were checked out then, even though it was only for such a short period.’
‘Blimey, does nothing go unchecked these days?’
‘’Fraid not. We can’t just allow anyone to look after these kids. They’re vulnerable.’
So am I, I wanted to say, but realised that wasn’t going to look good in this man’s professional eyes.
‘And Joel is a totally different kettle of fish to Blane Higson.’
‘Oh, you know about Blane?’
‘Of course.’
‘You know then that I had something to do with his accident?’
‘You did?’ Andy stared.
‘I was parked on double yellow lines. If I’d not been there, Blane wouldn’t have landed on my windscreen.’
‘No, he’d have ended up in the road,’ Andy said. ‘Or possibly on the spikes of the school’s perimeter fence.’
I closed my eyes at the very thought of Blane being impaled, trying to rid myself of the utterly awful image.
‘Look, Jessica, can we get Joel in for a chat?’
I nodded. ‘If I pass all the red tape, then yes, I’m happy to have him. He can move in as soon as he’s able to collect his stuff…’
I broke off briefly as Pat Butterworth appeared in the kitchen, her already small eyes almost lost in a face left pale and puffy from her afternoon nap, her dress creased and rucked up to reveal a wrinkle in her tights.
‘Hmm, someone else here now?’ Pat eyed Andy. ‘Your new man, Jess? Now that you’ve decided to discard my son once more?’
‘Patricia’ – I decided to give the woman her full handle – ‘I have spent the last eleven years being discarded by your son. Now, if you don’t mind, I am talking to Mr Somerville here on a business matter.’
Pat obviously wasn’t prepared to leave it at that.
‘Oh? Oh? So now you’ve thrown Dean out on to the street – although why he should be the one to go is beyond me.
Beyond the pale actually. I mean, if you do intend on this divorce business, wouldn’t it be a kind thing to do to move yourself out?
Let Dean have this place? I mean, it is his house.
He’s paid the mortgage all these years…’
‘As have I…’ I began, but Pat was in full flow.
‘I’ll say my piece,’ she said. ‘Now that I’ve started. I’ve held back in the past from saying what I really think. I’m not one to interfere as you know…’
‘Not one to interfere?’ I actually laughed out loud at that.
‘I’ll say my piece and then I’ve said it,’ Pat repeated. ‘You could move next door now that mother of yours is doing a flit. Moving in’ – Pat’s mouth pursed – ‘after just a few months of being with that Sattar man. Well, at least she won’t go short of a few frozen pies…’
Pat’s monologue was interrupted by a now obviously embarrassed Andy Somerville, who was edging towards the door, indicating with a wave of his hand that he’d go and have a word with Joel.
‘So, yes, I reckon you could move into your mother’s place and let our Dean have his house. It is his after all. Once your mother swans off to be Lady of the Manor with that Asian chappie. He’ll have a bit of brass… She won’t be badly off, will she? Won’t need to sell her cottage…’
‘Enough.’ I held up a hand. ‘Enough, you baggage—’
‘I beg your pardon! What did you just call me?’
‘A baggage, Patricia. A baggage who’s produced a spoiled, entitled son who has led me a merry dance all these years, sleeping around with every floozie going.’
‘Wash your mouth out,’ Pat spat. Two spots of red had appeared in her otherwise pale and pasty face, the too-red lipstick she’d started out with now bleeding into the downturned corners of her thin, discontented mouth.
‘Other women, Patricia. And lots of them. Sleeping around, even before we were married. Yes, I’ve never really acknowledged that to myself but, if I’m honest, I knew but refused to believe the scope of his shagging around.’
‘There’s no need for such filthy language, Jessica Allen.’
‘My mum knew. She knew what he was like. She tried to stop me marrying him, encouraged me to go along with what Dean really wanted…’
‘What Dean wanted? What did our Dean want? He took you on when you got yourself pregnant. Made sure you’d got your hooks into him…’
‘Got myself pregnant? Hmm, not sure that’s biologically correct, Pat.’
‘Oh, you! You always were a clever little bitch. With your… your A levels…’ Pat spat the words as if A levels were the work of the devil himself. ‘So, go on then, what did our Dean want?’
‘For me to have a termination.’
‘No, I don’t believe that. Dean didn’t want that!’
‘You’ve no idea, have you?’ I actually laughed at Pat Butterworth’s face.
‘There were two of us: two of us both pregnant to Dean at the same time. It was a bit like “Eeny, meeny, miney moe… Ooh, which one shall I marry? Who’s the best option? Well, Jess is always a pushover and a bloody good cook. I’ll have an easy life with her: tea on the table, shirts ironed, down to the pub and clubbing and able to carry on with my life as before… ”’
‘No!’
‘Yes, Pat, yes! Luckily for our Dean, the other girl did the sensible thing. Listened to her mother who took her off for a—’
‘I don’t believe you!’ Lola was at the kitchen door, her face white. ‘You’re just horrid, you are, Mum. You’re making it all up. You’re a horrible, horrible mother saying horrible things about my dad. I hate you…!’