The Little Princess Read online

  We also took the decision to end the family gathering early. Again, the kids were used to such things, and, with Christmas still to come, the little ones weren’t bothered either. We just explained to Levi and Jackson that we were taking in a little girl over Christmas and, so she wouldn’t be too traumatised, we needed a slightly quieter household when she arrived. Which was probably true anyway. John had told us that she’d been inconsolable. There’d been much clinging and screaming and sobbing apparently. It would be a pretty intense job for the poor social worker.

  Levi, who’d just turned nine, was excited. A sociable little chap and a typical eldest, he was always in his element when there was a new young friend to take charge of, and wouldn’t leave without a promise that he’d be meeting her soon, which I was only too happy to make for him. Once she’d settled, I told him, what she’d need would be the same as all kids need. Comfort and routine and to be enveloped in love. ‘I’ll give her lots of hugs, Nana,’ he solemnly promised me.

  First of all, however, she’d need a bedroom. So, as soon as we’d waved everyone off (in my case, with a pang of regret, as I watched the cars disappear down the road, Mike and Tyler in one of them, taking Kieron, Lauren and a rudely awoken Dee Dee) I hotfooted it upstairs to the bedroom.

  Which wasn’t so much bedroom as junk room just lately. Since little Paulie had left it had slowly reassigned itself, almost without me realising it was happening. Knowing we’d not be needing it for a good while, we’d both found it all too easy to say ‘I’ll just pop this here’ and ‘It can stay there for the moment,’ and to such an extent that there was very little floor space – particularly since Mike had one of his major garage clear-outs and earmarked a ridiculous amount of stuff to go on eBay. ‘Yeah, right, Dad,’ Tyler had said. I remembered that well now. ‘Yeah, right, bet you a tenner it’ll still be here this time next year.’ Though to his credit, he’d downloaded some ‘app’ (apps were still something of a mystery to me) and managed to sell a good deal more than a tenner’s worth, at a hard-won but decent commission.

  Still, there was a fair bit that still needed shifting, not to mention the fact that our Christmas presents were all stored there, safely away from several pairs of prying eyes, till such time as I poured myself an eggnog, popped on a favourite Christmas movie and settled down to wrap them in peace.

  John had laughed about that, the tension broken as he’d left, having correctly identified the look of sudden stress on my face. ‘Look at her, Mike,’ he said. ‘Full-on panic mode now. Thinking about how she won’t have time to go out buying new curtains and duvets.’

  Mike had laughed too. ‘You know her too well, John. But under the circumstances, Casey,’ he’d placed a hand on my shoulder, ‘I don’t think you need to be worrying about that.’

  It had set the tone again, that, after our brief moment of levity. He’d been right. What this poor kid needed was a safe place. A sanctuary. Not a frilly duvet and a pair of matching bloody curtains.

  Still, she needed a clean space, and this definitely wasn’t that, so once I’d cleared the floor somewhat and piled the presents in our bedroom wardrobe, I ran back downstairs for a bin liner, disinfectant spray and cloth. And then, as an afterthought, ragged the small set of fairy lights from around the hall mirror. After all, they weren’t going to be needed to illuminate any poinsettia, by the looks of things. And, for all that little Darby wouldn’t need a new Frozen quilt cover, she would need a light in her current darkness, however small.

  Chapter 3

  Mike and Tyler were back within half an hour and, to at least stem the tide of typical Tyler-questions (which was totally reasonable, as he’d come to us as a traumatised child himself) we told him just a little – just enough to satisfy his curiosity. We told him Darby had been abused by her parents, that it was physical rather than just mental, but we left it at that. We were of one mind, Mike and I – and it had never been any different. No child should have to know about such things – that such things went on in apparently normal families. Not until they had to, at any rate. Of course, the hardest thing when Darby came to us would be to ensure that remained the case, but as Tyler, now off school for Christmas, had a packed programme of football and various teenage gatherings, I hoped we’d be able to achieve that much at least.

  ‘So what do you think?’ I asked Mike as we all trooped up to the bedroom, their presence required to relocate some of the junk from landing to loft.

  ‘It’s fine,’ Mike reassured me, while Tyler pulled down the loft ladder. Then, ‘Love, stop fretting about the décor. More important is how we’re going to play this. You know, I hate this. And it seems to be the way more often than not now. Going in blind. Nothing to go on … not knowing how to deal with her.’

  I could see what we’d been told was still weighing heavily on him, and I got that. How could it not? He was a father. And, more specifically, of a daughter – not to mention two granddaughters. Though you’d have to be naïve not to be well aware that it could equally have been a little boy.

  ‘I think there’s a car pulling up,’ Tyler shouted down from the loft, being blessed with superhuman hearing.

  And indeed there was. A swift glance out between the spare bedroom curtains confirmed it. The headlights snapped off and I could see the car door opening. ‘Well, here goes nothing,’ I said, as Mike followed me down the stairs, Tyler clattering down the ladder and close behind.

  The social worker, whom I’d not come across before, was as grim-faced and stressed-looking as John had been. She introduced herself as Katy Morris, and gently touched the shoulder of the little girl by her side. ‘And this,’ she said, smiling down at the tiny child, ‘is Darby.’ She leaned down slightly. ‘Are you going to say hello, Darby?’ she said gently. ‘This is Casey, and that’s Mike. Remember, I told you all about them in the car?’

  ‘And this is our son Tyler,’ I added, conscious of how the little girl kept her head down, unwilling to look at us, but sufficiently interested to briefly look up at the sound of my voice. Her gaze flickered past us and I imagined Tyler beaming his mega-wattage smile. He could be a handful – he was a teenager – but I don’t think he’d ever forget what it felt like to be dumped on a stranger’s doorstep.

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ Katy Morris said. ‘I literally had about ten minutes to read your file.’

  She looked so apologetic that I felt like patting her reassuringly on the shoulder too. She must have been on call. What festive delights had she been dragged away from? She was also quite young. No more than late twenties, I reckoned. Though with a reassuring air of quiet confidence.

  Even so, this would have been a grim day for her too. ‘No apologies necessary,’ I reassured her, liking her immediately. ‘Come on. Come on in. Follow me,’ I chirped, leading the small procession into the living room, where it still looked as if a small typhoon had recently passed through. ‘Grab a seat anywhere you like,’ I added, willing myself not to start straightening cushions. ‘How about a hot drink? It’s so cold out, isn’t it?’

  She nodded. ‘Can I?’ she answered. ‘I’d love a quick one. It’s been manic, as you can imagine.’ She put her bag down on the floor and started unbuttoning Darby’s coat, talking to her all the time in soothing tones. It was an old coat and cheap-looking, and I belatedly realised it was the only thing she had with her. Had they not even had the chance to gather up some familiar clothes and toys? Evidently not.

  Mike, ever practical, put the TV back on, flicking from DVD player to the channels as he did so. ‘How about some cartoons?’ he suggested to the girl, as he navigated the remote for something child-friendly. ‘Would you like that, Darby? While the grown-ups have a quick chat? And a biscuit, perhaps? And a drink of juice or milk?’

  At the mention of food and drink, Darby finally properly looked at us, and I was immediately struck by the arresting nature of her looks. She had the sort of dirty-blonde hair that young actresses paid a fortune for, shoulder length, fine, with a messy, choppy fringe t
hat looked like it had been done with kitchen scissors. Behind it, I could now see a hauntingly beautiful little face. She had clearly been crying a lot – her cheeks were streaked with tear stains and very grubby, but those eyes! They were an amazing, almost luminous electric blue. Wide set and almond shaped, they were framed by thick lashes. Of the kind young actresses probably paid good money to have stuck on, too. It was a face that could stop you in your tracks, and, along with an appreciation of her gorgeous elfin looks, came the same sense of revulsion as had come earlier. People had paid good money. Bad people.

  Sick people, I mentally corrected myself, trying to banish the image. Sick people watched her – I intuitively knew that – but it was bad people, evil people, who put her on show.

  She smiled shyly at Mike. ‘Yes, please,’ she said politely. ‘I’d like milk.’ She glanced at her social worker. ‘And I’m hungry.’

  ‘I saved you a chicken dinner, Darby, if you’d like that?’ I asked her. ‘D’you think you could eat a dinner?’ I gestured towards the coffee table. ‘You can eat it in here if you want to watch some cartoons.’

  Again she nodded and, again, gave that ghost of a smile. ‘Yes, please,’ she said simply. ‘And then I’ll go home to Mummy and Daddy.’

  It was a statement rather than a question, which spared us the necessity of having to answer, so I went straight to the kitchen, Tyler following along behind, while Mike showed Katy Morris to the dining-room table, where Darby could still see them. And while Tyler microwaved the plate of food for her and poured her a tumbler of milk, I made us strong coffees. It could well be a long night, after all.

  ‘I’m sorry about that,’ Katy said, once we were assembled around the table, and Tyler had plonked himself down in front of the telly while Darby set about her food. ‘It must be her age. She’s very young to make any sense out of what’s happened this afternoon. Although I explained it all to her as simply as I could during the ride over, she just isn’t taking it in. I think she assumes that we’ve collected her for an outing and that she’ll be going back home after she’s eaten.’

  ‘She’s not going to understand,’ I said, grateful for the volume coming from the box now, and mindful that we were all of us reeling at the moment. ‘She’s probably in shock … This must be extremely confusing for her after all. But she’ll be fine,’ I added. ‘Honestly. Don’t worry. Once you leave, she’ll get that she’s staying with us for a bit.’ I smiled reassuringly. ‘We’ll take it from here.’

  Katy sipped her coffee, and I noticed the way her hands gripped the mug, whitening her knuckles. ‘It was horrible,’ she said, lowering her voice. ‘I was there. The police just burst in. And I followed.’ She looked like she was reliving it as she spoke. ‘And there was a whole filming setup in the back bedroom – camera on a tripod, arc lights. The lot. And manacles attached to the bedhead – seriously, it was horrible. The mother was screaming. The father was trying to drag Darby from me. It was just awful. The poor kid didn’t know what was going on and just kept crying for her mummy. Honestly, just when you think you’ve seen it all …’

  She left the rest of her sentence hanging. I could see she’d been badly affected by the afternoon’s events. I smiled gently at her. She was so young herself.

  ‘I know what you mean,’ I said. ‘And it doesn’t get any easier, does it?’

  ‘It shouldn’t,’ Mike said. ‘The day we are no longer shocked by this kind of thing is the day we become desensitised. And that can’t happen – not in this job.’ He glanced across at Darby. ‘God help us.’

  The handover paperwork was minimal, so, given that Darby had begun stealing glances across at us as she ate, I left it to Mike and went to join her in the living room.

  ‘Blow on it, sweetie,’ I prompted as she was about to load a forkful of hot potato into her mouth. ‘Do you normally have a fork, or would you like a spoon?’

  Darby blew hard as directed, and bristled a little. ‘I’m six,’ she said, before putting it to her mouth. ‘I’m allowed a fork. And a knife,’ she added accusingly. Tyler grinned.

  ‘Wow! You’re a big girl, then,’ I said, dropping down to my knees on the other side of the coffee table. ‘A fork and a knife! It’s almost like you’re seven – not six!’

  That earned me a smile, once she’d finished chewing, followed by a belch. ‘Pardon me,’ she said, smiling sheepishly. There was no faulting her manners. What kind of humans made a child say please and thank you, and, at the same time, abused her so foully?

  Darby speared a piece of broccoli. ‘Is the lady taking me back to Mummy when I’m finished? ’Cos I have to go back for bedtime.’

  ‘Sweetie,’ I said, leaning in towards her. ‘We have a lovely big girl’s room here for you to sleep in tonight. It’s got fairy lights and a pink rug. And teddy bears.’ I tried to gauge her reaction, but her blue eyes betrayed nothing. Just stared. And a horrible thought flew into my head. Did they drug her with something when they had her perform? I’d heard of such things more than once.

  But no. She was just trying to take things in, clearly. ‘There was some trouble earlier, wasn’t there?’ I persisted gently. ‘At home. You remember? And Mummy and Daddy have had to go and speak to some policemen. Which means, well –’ I glanced over at Katy, who was just closing her folder. ‘Well, Katy, there, who brought you, well, she has to leave you with us for a bit. So you’re going to spend some time with us – us and Tyler here. That’s right, isn’t it, Tyler?’ He nodded and smiled encouragingly. ‘Just till things are a bit better. Sorted out. Do you understand?’

  The broccoli sat untouched on the end of Darby’s fork. Then began to wobble, then was thrown down, fork and all, on the plate. The wailing began almost immediately. ‘I want to go home!’ Darby cried, making fists and rubbing her eyes hard with them. ‘I want my mummy and daddy! I’m sorry if I was a bad girl! Tell the lady! I’m sorry! I’ll be good! I promise I’ll be a good girl. Oh, please, lady, please let me go home!’

  I came around the table and sat beside her on the arm of the sofa, trying to pull her towards me for a hug, but was repeatedly pushed away. She was surprisingly strong.

  ‘Oh, darling, you haven’t been bad,’ I said, trying to get a grip on her, to help calm her. ‘That’s not it at all. The grown-ups just have to sort some things out so that you don’t get hurt. and then, once that’s happened, we can talk about what comes next.’

  ‘Please!’ Darby cried. ‘No one will hurt me! They won’t. I want to go home!’ She seemed to have a revelation. ‘If you take me home, Daddy will give you some of his pennies. I promise. And I’ve got some in my piggy. You can have those as well. Please, lady, please …’

  She was shaking as she sobbed now, and I finally got a hold of her, even though she was still trying to drum angry fists against my chest. Ransom money. Was that it? That she thought she’d been kidnapped?

  Behind Darby’s back, Katy took in the jerks of my head and, with a thumbs up, she mouthed her goodbyes. And in responding I obviously loosened my grip on Darby too much, because she sprang from me, almost knocking over both tea tray and coffee table, and sprinted to where her little coat was over a chair.

  Katy looked at us helplessly, and took a step to gently part child and coat, but Mike, who’s so good in such situations, beat her to it. Sweeping Darby up, with a bright ‘Come on, let’s see your bedroom, shall we?’ he took her off up the stairs, one decisive step at a time, weathering her kicking and bucking and screaming.

  Chapter 4

  Darby had cried her eyes out for almost two hours after Katy had left. Having seen the bedroom and having allowed Mike to bring her back down again, she’d sat briefly on the sofa, seemingly drained of all emotion – or, more likely, realising resistance was useless – then was off again, in some sort of panic attack, stamping her feet, pulling her hair and railing at us all to go away, then dissolving into paroxysms of gulping, racking sobs, which went on well into the evening.

  Unable to comfort her, I let her cry.
She probably needed to cry it out a bit in any case. At least if she did so she’d have a chance of falling into an exhausted sleep. Because, in truth, there was almost nothing anyone could do for her – not in the short term, anyway. We couldn’t grant her wish to go home, and we couldn’t make any promises about the future. From the few details we already did know – particularly about the collusion of the mother – there seemed little possibility she’d be allowed to return home ever again.

  And she did eventually tire, and she did eventually stop, and though I had to accept that there was no way we’d be able to bath her or get her into pyjamas, I was happy enough for her to sleep in her clothes.

  And now it was morning. Tyler, being naturally curious about why she’d come to us, was bombarding me with questions I couldn’t answer.

  ‘But what did they do?’ he wanted to know. ‘Why did the police have to bang the door down?’

  ‘Tyler, they didn’t exactly bang the door down.’

  ‘But the social worker said they burst in.’

  ‘Knocked on the door –’

  ‘And wasted no time in taking Darby out, Mum.’

  ‘You, young man,’ I said sternly, ‘do a great deal of earwigging.’

  ‘So did they beat her up? She looks okay. And she obviously loves them. And they obviously didn’t want her taken away, did they?’

  I didn’t miss the look of wistfulness that visited his face briefly. No matter how much love he was showered with by his new forever family, the memory of his rejection by his father would never wholly go away.

  I pointed towards the kitchen clock. ‘Don’t you have to be showered and dressed in ten minutes, my lad?’ I asked him pointedly. Mike, who was thankfully now off till New Year, the factory he worked at being closed, was taking Tyler and Kieron, and Tyler’s mate Denver, on some tour of their beloved football club’s ground. Santa was said to be putting in an appearance but, of course, everyone was much too old to care about that. It was a gift for me, however. A big one. It meant the day I’d earmarked for a long list of wrapping and prepping was at least free for me to focus on our tiny visitor.