Groomed: Danger lies closer than you think - Casey Watson

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soon enough.’

      I handed Mike the air freshener and polish.

      Trouble. The word sprang to mind then. I expected trouble. She was fifteen and had made a serious allegation against a male carer. However that panned out, whether it was substantiated or otherwise, there would be trouble aplenty, and for all concerned.

      I handed Mike a duster. And kept my thoughts to myself.

      Within half an hour the spare room was suitably freshened and, with the addition of the fairy lights Mike had wound through the headboard of the bed, looked positively cheerful.

      I sent him off to update Tyler – assuming he wasn’t already asleep – and tell him we could do all the meet-and-greet stuff in the morning.

      ‘Lovely!’ I said to myself, feeling my usual prickle of anticipation. A quick whizz round downstairs and we’d be ready to receive our visitor.

      ‘And put the kettle on!’ Mike whispered, following me from the landing as I headed down the stairs. ‘It’s probably going to be a long night and I’m going to need coffee.’

      ‘Not necessarily,’ I said, as we regrouped in the kitchen. ‘The poor girl is probably exhausted and just wants her bed.’

      ‘So say you,’ Mike said. ‘She might not even want to be brought here. Out of the frying pan and all that …’

      I sprayed some air freshener on the kitchen counter. ‘And into our delightfully fragrant and lovely home.’

      By the police. Which was a second thought that struck me, and wasn’t wonderful. As foster carers we had to be ever sensitive to the fact that we weren’t necessarily the most popular of neighbours. Indeed, in our former home, if not exactly hounded out, we had been at one point the subject of a petition urging us to move, after a child in our care went on a neighbourhood nicking spree. And the sight of police cars outside this house never went down terribly well either. Much less the armoured security van that had famously delivered one boy a while back.

      But, with any luck, our latest charge would be delivered more discreetly and not give cause for any tongues to start wagging.

      But it wasn’t our night for that kind of luck. Within the hour, as Helena had promised (though, sadly, before the promised phone call), there was an enormous squad car pulling up outside the house. It was definitely a proper, full-blown police car.

      No sirens, thank goodness, but, under the glow of the streetlamps – not to mention our neighbour’s carriage lamps – it was about as inconspicuous as a polar bear.

      ‘Trouble,’ Mike said, coming up behind me at the window. ‘Seriously. I can feel it in my bones.’

       Chapter 2

      The car stopped and I let go of the living-room curtain. So once again we were going in cold. Which was a far cry from the way it had been when we started. And, from what I heard from other foster carers, that seemed to be increasingly the case.

      With our first foster child, Justin, the placement had been a staged process. First an initial meeting, then another, to make sure the match was right, then, finally, after some thinking time on both sides, he moved in. Sight-unseen placements were then something of a rarity. But ever since then, it seemed, the balance had been shifting, as more and more children were coming into care in emergency situations, leaving no time for any of the normal preliminaries. Instead, like tonight, it was more often than not a case of ‘will you take them?’ And if the answer was yes, there they were.

      Not that it was quite like that with Keeley. She had a file; I’d just yet to see it. But I wondered if, actually, it really mattered anyway. It might to some, I supposed, but since our whole speciality was to try and successfully foster the unfosterable, it wasn’t like we were going to say no, was it? Whatever horrors lurked in their files. And if we took a child in extremis, even if it was supposed to be temporary, how could we then send them on their way? Come one, come all. That was us.

      Hmm, I thought, perhaps that was why we got called …

      ‘Squad car no less,’ I said to Mike.

      ‘See?’ he said. ‘Trouble.’

      ‘Love, I don’t think it being a squad car has any of those kinds of implications. It was probably just the first car they had to hand. Anyway, come on, let’s get the door open, shall we?’

      By the time we were on the doorstep, they’d emerged from the car. An older male constable, a younger female PC and Keeley herself, who appeared to be laughing at something the latter had just said. So that was something. At least she wasn’t too traumatised.

      The female officer stuck a hand out as they reached us. ‘Hi,’ she said brightly. ‘I have one Keeley McAlister for you. I gather you’re expecting her?’

      The girl had stopped laughing now, returning my smile with her best sullen expression – the kind I’d seen many times before. Just as teachers were always instructed not to smile before Christmas, so some kids in care, particularly if they’ve been in care a while, adopt a ‘whatever’ look as a shield.

      I ignored it. ‘Hello, love,’ I said, as brightly as the policewoman. ‘I’m Casey, and this is Mike.’ Mike smiled too.

      ‘Come on through,’ I went on. ‘It’s getting a bit nippy out there, isn’t it?’

      ‘Not according to young Keeley here,’ the male officer told us as they trooped one by one into the living room. ‘She doesn’t feel the cold, do you, love? Not even after walking twenty-five miles.’ He grinned. ‘It was twenty-five miles, you walked, wasn’t it, love?’

      I followed the policeman’s smiling gaze, taking Keeley in properly. She was a good-looking girl, with thick, glossy hair, which was conker-coloured and tied back in a neat ponytail. And she was clearly well looked after, at least in all the practical ways; wearing very expensive trainers – clean, just like the rest of her – below a pair of high-end labelled tracksuit bottoms and zip-up hoody.

      Taking my cue from the officer, who was clearly gently ribbing her, I widened my eyes. ‘Twenty-five miles!’ I gasped. ‘My God, you must be exhausted! Did you get lost?’

      Keeley turned to me, now adopting an impressive look of condescension. ‘I didn’t get lost,’ she drawled. ‘I knew exactly what I was doing. I was just trying to put a bit of distance between me and “home”.’ She raised her hands and did the quote marks with her fingers. Her nails were perfectly manicured and painted in blood-red polish. ‘It’s not my fault that these lot are a bit slow in locating missing kids, is it? Thought I was gonna have to walk around all night.’

      ‘Um, excuse me, young lady,’ the female officer said, stepping forward. ‘I think you’ll find you were located half an hour after you were reported missing. Your foster carers had no idea you were missing at first, did they?’

      ‘Pft!’ Keeley hissed, swinging her ponytail for effect. ‘By foster carers you mean Zoe and her paedo husband, I guess? I’m surprised they didn’t just leave me to rot.’

      Mike and I exchanged a glance, then we both looked at the police officers. Since they’d liaised with all parties concerned, I presumed they’d have something to add.

      The female PC duly flipped open her notebook. ‘As I think you’ve been told, Mr and Mrs Watson, Keeley has made an allegation about her foster dad, and that will have to be investigated, of course. But in the meantime she doesn’t want to go back, and the carers have said they are happy with that.’ She looked at Keeley. ‘They also, understandably, feel the placement is at its end. No going back. Anyway, that’s obviously for social services to discuss with you after the weekend. In the meantime, as I say, we’ll be looking into the allegations.’

      I looked at Keeley too, wondering exactly what had happened.

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