Casey Watson - Groomed - Danger lies closer than you think

‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘I know you will.’

The consensus wasn’t quite so positive when I returned to the living room. ‘Yes,’ the female officer was saying, presumably in answer to something Mike had asked her, ‘we do think the accusation against Mr Burke is probably false. It just came out of nowhere, for one thing, and was quite a time coming. We were asking her why she didn’t want to go back there, obviously, and she was coming up with all kinds of reasons for running away. They were too strict, too fussy, too stupid and so on. The usual teenage things you’d expect. And, of course, at that point there was no question that we wouldn’t be taking her home again. Of course we would be. But when we explained that – that we had no choice but to do that – out the accusation suddenly came. With a smirk, even, like she knew exactly what she was doing. ‘‘Steve’s been touching me up,” she goes. “There! You can’t take me back now, can you?’’’ The policewoman flipped the cover of her pad back. ‘And she’s right, of course. We have to act on the allegation. But we aren’t convinced there’s any truth in it. Not as yet.’

Even though I’d had my own suspicions about the veracity of Keeley’s allegation, I was still a bit stunned. Would a fifteen-year-old really be so bad that she would make up something so horrible, and even smirk about it? I knew the answer, of course, because I wasn’t born yesterday. And as foster carers, Mike and I heard about things like this all the time. Well, if not all the time, at least often enough to scare us, because it was a situation we could potentially find ourselves in. It didn’t bear thinking about.

I shook my head, said my farewells and, while Mike showed them out, went into the kitchen to pour a glass of milk and find some Jaffa Cakes.

Then I went back upstairs with them (Mike was still on the doorstep, talking about the engines in squad cars – at this time?) and pushed the slightly ajar bedroom door open with my foot.

‘Here you go, love,’ I said as I entered.

Keeley, already in bed, yanked the duvet up to her chest. ‘Don’t we have rules about knocking?’ she asked. She also blushed, instantly and furiously.

I could have kicked myself. And now I felt my cheeks flush as well. ‘I’m sorry, love,’ I said, placing the drinks and snack down on the bedside table. ‘Of course we do. I should have knocked. I’m just tired as well, I suppose. And I didn’t think you’d be so quick getting yourself into bed.’ I smiled apologetically. ‘Next time, I will knock. I promise.’

‘It’s okay,’ Keeley said. She raised a hand holding a smartphone. ‘I just wondered. Could I have your wifi password, please? I just want to drop a message to my foster sister. You know, to let her know I’m okay and that. I won’t phone her,’ she added meekly. ‘I know it’s late.’

I could hardly say no. It was a reasonable enough request. The girl was fifteen and how many of those didn’t have a smartphone? And it made perfect sense that she’d want to tell the one person she obviously felt close to that she was okay. I recited the password – long since memorised from having to constantly give it to the grandkids and other guests – and once she’d typed it in and got connected I went back downstairs.

‘She’s online,’ I told Mike once we were back on the sofa. It was very late but, despite what I’d told Keeley, I now felt wide awake.

‘So all’s well with the world,’ he said, rolling his eyes. ‘Spot of James McAvoy, then?’

I was just opening my mouth to share my joy at that prospect, when my own smartphone buzzed, with no caller ID, which I knew meant the lady from EDT again.

Mike put down the remote he had only just picked up. Yes, it was late, but if there was trouble ahead, we might as well know where it was coming from.

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