Rosie Lewis - Broken - Part 2 of 3 - A traumatised girl. Her troubled brother. Their shocking secret.

‘Hi, mate,’ Des said softly, a cheery though slightly puzzled smile on his face. Archie blinked and stared. There was a look of fear in his eyes, as if Des’s presence was somehow a threat.

I cleared my throat. ‘Archie’s a whizz at Rummy, Des. Do you fancy joining us for a game?’

‘Fantastic,’ Des said with a smile. Archie continued to stare at him wordlessly, his eyes finally straying to the bottle of wine and glasses on the coffee table. Something about the angle of his shoulders made the hairs on the back of my forearms stand on end. Mungo began to bark.

‘What’s wrong, Arch,’ I said gently. ‘Has something upset you?’

He turned his eyes on me, his lips twisted in disgust. ‘You slag,’ he said slowly. His words were cool and measured but his cheeks were crimson. ‘You horrible, dirty slag.’ Taken aback, all I could do was stare at him. Wisely, Des stayed where he was, his face angled away.

‘Archie,’ I said, at a loss as to where all this had sprung from. I glanced at Des. He raised one eyebrow and then looked away again. ‘What’s this about, honey?’

Archie’s chest began to heave. Without warning he kicked out at Mungo, catching his soft underbelly. Mungo yelped in pain and hid behind my leg. ‘Archie!’ I shouted, crouching down and wrapping my arms around the trembling pup. Archie glared at me then turned on his heel and disappeared.

‘You sure you donnae want me to stay?’ Des said quietly in the hall a minute or so later. ‘Just as back-up if you need it.’

‘I’ll be fine, really,’ I whispered. ‘Outbursts are my bread and butter. It’s the phoniness I find hard to cope with.’

‘If you’re sure.’ He touched the pad of his thumb to my cheek. ‘Text me if you need a wee hand and I’ll come straight back.’

I rested my forehead against his, patted his hand. ‘Thanks, Des.’

When he left I leaned back against the front door and glanced up at the banisters, my legs trembling. There was no sound coming from upstairs but, despite the confidence I had expressed to Des, for a second I regretted asking him to leave. I took a breath, trying to compose myself. I knew that any sign of stress on my part would only escalate Archie’s own.

Sometimes being a foster carer is a bit like being a detective. Archie was suffering, but the reasons for his distress were, for now, closed off from me. I had sensed that something was wrong when I first met him, and now it was becoming clearer that Archie’s inner world was broken. I pushed myself away from the door and rolled my shoulders back. No matter how distressing a place it might be, I had a feeling that if I wanted to understand him, I was going to have to join him there.

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