Casey Watson - The Silent Witness

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.’