Betrayed: The heartbreaking true story of a struggle to escape a cruel life defined by family honour. Rosie Lewis

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СКАЧАТЬ Zadie heard their steps on the gravel driveway she washed her hands and then left the kitchen. After a hurried greeting in the hall, she withdrew to the dining room, burying her head in her book.

      Emily went straight up to her room and Jamie, following his usual after-school routine, raided the biscuit tin then switched on the Xbox. Leaning his head into the dining room, he invited Zadie to join him. She shook her head shyly, diving straight back into her book. A little pride swelled up in me; it was always so lovely to see my own children’s efforts to welcome others in, even though their friendliness was often shunned in the early days. Jamie shrugged off her rejection and carried on with his game.

      Des arrived just before dinner time, as was his usual habit. Jamie answered the door, greeting the social worker by thrusting an Xbox controller in his hands. Although half the time my son made an effort to show that he was now beyond all forms of play by shrugging nonchalantly and forcing a look of disinterest, computer games seemed to be an acceptable caveat.

      ‘How about you let me take my shoes off first, eh, Jamie? He doesnae give me a chance,’ Des muttered, removing his shoes using the heel of each foot and leaving them in the hall. ‘Hi, Zadie,’ he said casually when he passed the dining room, as if he’d met her dozens of times before. ‘How do you put up wi’ him, you lot?’

      Jamie grunted, revelling in the banter. Zadie peered over the top of her book, a little intrigued. Des was such an affable character; he just had that way that some people have about them, of creating an immediate air of familiarity.

      ‘Don’t start another game yet, Jamie. Dinner’s almost ready,’ I said, leaning against the doorway. It was one of those moments when I wished I had thought to run a brush through my manic hair. I managed to tuck some of it behind each ear. ‘Hi, Des. Would you like to join us?’

      He looked at me sideways, his blue eyes shining with their usual glint of humour. ‘What are you having?’ There was no mistaking the caution in his voice and I couldn’t disguise my smile. Des struck me as such a bold character. He was outgoing, charming and had travelled all over the world, yet he was such a baby about food. One sniff of something spicy and his lips would go pale. ‘Not that I’m fussy,’ he insisted, ‘so you can stop looking at me like that, Rosie Lewis.’

      ‘Chicken pie. We made it this afternoon, didn’t we, Zadie?’

      She raised her eyes, nodding silently.

      ‘You didnae sneak anything hot in there, I hope?’ he teased.

      Zadie looked serious. She frowned, shaking her head.

      ‘Don’t worry, Zadie. Des thinks pepper is an exotic flavouring, don’t you?’

      The social worker snorted. Zadie pinched her lips in imitation of a smile but her features didn’t soften accordingly.

      ‘Yes, count me in then, if there’s enough,’ he said as I leaned my head into the hallway and called up to Emily. ‘Dinner’s ready, love.’

      At the table, Des and Jamie argued playfully about the upcoming friendly football match between England and Scotland, Des going into a rant in imitation of a well-known sports commentator. Dark wavy hair that was usually swept back from his temple flew out at odd angles and soon Jamie was in fits of laughter. It was easy to picture Des in his earlier days, as a bit-part actor in dodgy American sitcoms. Tonight he surprised us by throwing into the conversation that he’d also been the lead guitarist in an unsuccessful rock band known as The Bad Natives. Lifting his leg, he wrapped one hand round his shin, strummed his thigh and threw his head back, launching into a rendition of ‘Mustang Sally’.

      Jamie whooped, drumming his palms on the table. Zadie raised her eyes, interested but a little taken aback by the banter. Every now and again she would cast a furtive glance around the table but whenever any of us looked her way she would stare into her plate and play lifelessly with her food. But she wasn’t the only one. I could see that Emily was troubled too. I can read my daughter’s expression from across a room, interpreting her mood from the angle of her head or slant in her shoulders, but that night I didn’t need a mother’s instinct to know she was upset. She was usually animated when Des came to visit but she prodded at the same speck of food with her fork, barely glancing in his direction.

      ‘Are you all right, Ems?’ I asked.

      ‘Yes, fine,’ she nodded. Des stopped teasing Jamie for a moment and turned to look at her. Emily smiled but quickly returned her attention to her plate, clearly stewing over something. It was unusual for anything to cloud Emily’s brightly glowing aura. She was such a cheerful, buoyant soul that it was a surprise to see her gloomy. I wondered whether Zadie’s brooding silence was affecting her, but then I dismissed the thought. Emily had grown used to children arriving in a much more distressed state than Zadie appeared to be in. I was wondering whether to say anything more when Jamie distracted my attention. ‘Can I leave the table, Mum? I told Ben I’d meet him on FIFA at 7.’

      As usual, his plate was clear. ‘Go on then.’

      We watched silently as Jamie sprang to his feet and disappeared from sight. Des can’t be described as anything other than a people person; his ability to mingle was the trait I admired in him the most, yet without Jamie at the table he seemed to lose his momentum, as if the silence of the rest of us was contagious.

      Our attention soon focused on Zadie. Holding her fork in her right hand, she separated the food on her plate into small mouthfuls; a couple of peas, a piece of her own mini-vegetarian pie and some mashed potato were dotted around the plate in small mounds. If a pea rolled away she manoeuvred it back to the required position with robotic movements. It was mesmerising.

      A minute or two of silence passed before Des recovered. ‘I’ve been thinking about reviving the old band actually,’ he said, reaching for his glass of water. ‘First there was the Spice Girls, then Take That. I think the world might be ready for a Bad Natives reunion. What do you think, Ems?’

      That was it. Emily guffawed, much like her usual self. Zadie touched her forefinger to the tip of her nose and examined what was left of her pie. She tilted her head then set to work rearranging the layout, making minute adjustments. Des put his fork down and cocked his head, giving me a knowing look. I stretched my lips and gave a slight nod.

      It wasn’t unusual for fostered children to display symptoms of OCD, especially where food was concerned. But Zadie’s compulsive behaviour went beyond that; the strumming, the counting under her breath, the tidying. And then it suddenly struck me: the chapped skin on her hands might have nothing to do with sleeping out in the cold for two nights, and all the time she spent in the bathroom may not have been just purifying herself for prayers.

      ‘Had enough of social work then, Des?’ I heard Emily ask Des.

      ‘Funny you should say that,’ he answered.

      But their conversation faded into the background. I was quiet, absorbed by my own thoughts. I remembered Zadie washing her hands after doing the dishes. I had thought it was nerves but now it all fell into place – she was an obsessive hand washer.

      Just after 8 p.m. Des stood at the front door manoeuvring his feet back into his shoes. With his uncanny ability to read me he looked down and touched me on the shoulder. ‘Give it time.’

      I sighed. ‘She just seems so very far away.’

      ‘She’ll come out of herself,’ he said, speaking with absolute conviction, ‘once she feels comfortable.’

      He СКАЧАТЬ