Torn: A terrified girl. A shocking secret. A terrible choice.. Rosie Lewis

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      I laughed. ‘Yes, but you don’t have to. It’s up to you.’

      ‘All right,’ she said, which, in Taylor’s personal vocabulary constituted enthusiastic acceptance. She shuffled towards the kitchen with slow wariness, as if suspicious that the floor space between the living room and kitchen might be set with a series of small mines.

      ‘Turn the TV off on your way through, could you?’ I said, standing in the doorway that separated the kitchen from the living room, wiping my hands on a paper kitchen towel.

      ‘I want it on.’

      ‘Well, no one else is watching it and we’ll be quite a while. I thought we could have lasagne today, although we’ll make Reece a small one without onions.’

      ‘Na. I like it on in the background.’

      ‘But what about our environmental footprint?’ I said, trying to sound jokey. Since arriving home from school she had spent over half an hour on the computer, assuring me that she never ever went anywhere near chatrooms (‘I swear on my life, Rosie, for God’s sake-er!’), and the rest of the time watching Disney sitcoms that seemed more suited to teenagers than someone of her age. But at least they were milder than CSI, a television programme she insisted her parents allowed her to watch. I reached for the remote and switched it off. ‘Now, how confident are you with a sharp knife? Have you used one before?’

      Taylor was too savvy to be sidetracked. Drawing herself to her full height (roughly an inch shorter than me) she set her jaw and flicked her fingers close to my eye. I stood unmoving, not wanting to give her the satisfaction of flinching away. ‘Changed me mind, I don’t wanna help you now. Put it back on, can yer? I wanna finish me programme.’

      I hesitated, trying to work out whether agreeing would make me seem like too much of a pushover. Whenever Taylor refused to do something I was instantly ruffled, a sad indictment of my lack of experience. It was so much easier with toddlers, I thought. Counting to five and then sweeping them up in my arms if they refused to co-operate. Flailing, pudgy limbs and tiny fists were well within my capabilities. And then I reminded myself that I was supposed to be the adult so, unwilling to get drawn into childish games, I said: ‘Well, OK, but it’s going off in an hour when dinner’s ready.’

      Just over an hour later I asked everyone to wash their hands. Six plates were arranged on trays I had bought earlier, since there was no longer a dining table for us to sit around. Taylor didn’t move.

      ‘Taylor, could you turn the television off and wash your hands for dinner, please?’

      ‘Just give us my tray here, ta,’ she said blithely from the sofa, as if she had special dispensation from the rules that the rest of us followed. When I hesitated she flicked her wrist at me as if to say, ‘Come on, come on’.

      I drew a deep breath and walked backwards from the kitchen to the living room. ‘I’d like you to wash your hands like everyone else, please, Taylor.’

      Teeth bared, she threw me a disgusted look and then slowly dragged herself to her feet, groaning as if crippled with arthritis. When she returned from the bathroom the television was off and all of us were sitting down, trays on our laps. It wasn’t ideal but when the weather improved I planned to scrub the patio table and chairs down so that we could eat our meals outside.

      Instead of taking the space on the sofa that I’d left for her, Taylor reached over me to grab the remote.

      Reece stiffened, the muscles in his cheeks tensing so hard that I could see them trembling.

      ‘It’s all right, Reece,’ I said gently. ‘There’s nothing to worry about, but, Taylor, we’re not having the television on while we eat. Now, sit down, please, there’s a love.’

      She threw her arms up in disbelief. ‘Oh, why not-er?’ she screeched. ‘Mum lets us have it on all the time.’

      Well, Mum’s not here is she? I was tempted to say. But I didn’t. Instead, I took a breath and then overwrote the mental retort: ‘Everyone has different rules, Taylor. In our house we each get to choose some programmes we’d like to watch. You and Reece can as well, but the TV doesn’t stay on all the time. You’ve been on the computer and watched some TV. I think that’s enough screen time for the moment. Now, come on, sit down or your dinner will get cold.’

      Torn between eating and flouncing off, she stood for a moment, rocking on her heels. Food won out in the end. Without further demur, she slumped herself down on the sofa, so hard that Emily’s plate flew up, some pasta sliding onto her lap. She stared at Taylor with an expression of forbearance, glanced at me then silently lifted her knees, cradling the tray closer to her lap. I felt a flare of gratitude for her Zen-like nature, her ability to take upsets in her stride.

      ‘So, how was school today, guys?’

      Reece spoke through a visible roux of pasta and mince. ‘Mrs Stanley moved me up to green level for my reading,’ he mumbled, tomato sauce dripping from the side of his mouth. I resisted the urge to say anything about it; they had only arrived twenty-four hours earlier and there was so much for them to take in. Table manners were lower down my list of priorities than making them feel comfortable and I didn’t want to be constantly nagging them.

      ‘Well done, Reece. That sounds good,’ I said, clueless as to what green level meant. Emily and Jamie had worked their way up a numbered reading scheme at their school.

      ‘It ain’t good,’ he said, shovelling an overburdened forkful in his mouth. ‘Still way too easy for me. The stories are boring.’

      ‘Oh, well, perhaps we could have a word with your teacher about that.’

      He nodded, looking pleased.

      ‘Bethany’s still on those green books,’ Taylor piped up, suddenly emerging from her sulk.

      ‘Who’s Bethany?’ I asked, keen to encourage a continuing thaw.

      ‘Oh, just some lame girl in my class.’

      ‘What’s lame about her?’

      ‘Everything, basically.’

      I lowered my fork to the tray. ‘Everyone has something special about them, Taylor. Perhaps you should give this Bethany a break.’

      She sighed heavily, eyes skyward. ‘God, I don’t think so. For a start she wears glasses, no offence, Reece.’

      Reece narrowed his eyes and looked at me as if undecided whether he should feel insulted or not. ‘So does Harry Potter,’ I said, winking at him. That was all it took. His face lit up and he carried on eating.

      ‘Yeah, well, Bethany’s fat as well. Oh, the other day it was hilarious, yeah? You shoulda been there. Basically, we was in the hall for games, right? Cos the field’s blocked off at the moment with all scaffolding and stuff. And she goes and falls over and literally skids all the way across the floor on her arse.’ I looked up from my plate but she carried on, oblivious. ‘Oh my God, it was so fucking funny. And she always has these marks on her arms where her uniform clings to her. We call her Lardface.’

      ‘Please don’t use bad language in front of the others, Taylor. If you must say something, say, “Oh my giddy aunt” or how about, “Oh my goodness”?’

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