Groomed: Danger lies closer than you think - Casey Watson

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face and now a head shake. ‘God!’ she huffed. ‘I’m just off to meet mates, that’s all. I won’t be late and Tyler has my phone number if you want it.’ Oh, really? Already? ‘I just need my pocket money, please, because there’s stuff I need to buy. Cigarette filters and papers,’ she added, as if further keen to challenge us. ‘Is that all right?’

      Despite everything I’d reminded myself about Keeley’s awful background, I was only human, and felt suddenly livid. But recognising that had been entirely her intention, and that this was just the first step in a process that would involve lots of boundary realignments, I picked up my handbag, found my purse and passed Keeley five pounds. ‘There you go,’ I said, ‘but you should know that you can’t smoke here, at our house, and that tea will be at six. It’s entirely up to you whether you want to come back and eat with us, but that’s the time the food will be out, okay? And if you don’t want to eat – and, again, that’s your choice, love – then we’d like you to be no later than nine o’clock tonight. I think that’s fair for someone of your age. Is that okay?’

      Mike and Tyler were now staring at me as though I’d lost the plot, but Keeley, nodding, took the fiver, stuffed it in her own bag, and made for the front door. Then, as an afterthought – to wind me up a little further, I imagined – she turned back again. ‘I don’t suppose you have a spare bottle of wine I could take with me?’

      Mike spluttered into his coffee mug. Actually spluttered, spraying liquid out of the top of it. ‘Afraid not, love,’ I said nicely. ‘We’re all out.’

      ‘Oh. My. God.’ Tyler said, hauling his jaw up as soon as the front door banged shut. ‘Is she for real?’

      ‘It’s all bravado, love,’ I said, conscious that my pulse was thumping in my temples. ‘She’s just trying to shock us. Just testing the water. She’ll soon settle down.’

      Mike ran a hand through his hair. ‘I hope you’re right,’ he said. ‘I’m starting to hope it’s all a big mistake and that her usual carers will ask for her to be sent back home.’

      ‘I don’t think that’s going to happen somehow,’ I said, looking towards the hall she’d just swept down, and imagining her strutting off down the road, trying to work out who’d won the first round. Did she even know where she was? Have any idea where she should be heading? ‘I have a feeling that this might just be the start of quite a long journey.’

      Tyler still looked aghast. ‘Mum, was I like that when I came here? She’s so cheeky!’

      ‘No,’ I said. ‘Well, a bit. But don’t you worry. Not for long!’

      Though with a good deal more confidence than I felt.

       Chapter 4

      Keeley arrived home just as I was dishing up our roast dinner, so I assumed she must have been hungry. We’d normally have had it at lunchtime, but with the weather having been so nice it made sense to move it along to early evening. And I was glad I had, because Keeley sniffed the air appreciatively as she unzipped and took off her hoody.

      ‘Perfect timing,’ I said, smiling at her, the morning’s tensions forgotten. As I’d intended they should be. Rome wasn’t built in a day, after all. (How many times had I told myself that, since I’d been fostering, I wondered?) ‘Roast chicken,’ I went on as she followed me into the kitchen. I gestured towards the pans on the stove and lifted lids in turn. ‘Do you like all these vegetables?’

      ‘Yeah,’ Keeley said, ‘all of them. But not too much gravy, please. Zoe used to drown everything she cooked with the bl— the stuff.’

      Progress, I thought. ‘Good,’ I said. ‘Well, off you go to wash your hands – Mike and Tyler are doing likewise, so you’d best nip upstairs. Then straight to the table. I’m about to dish up.’

      ‘I’ll do it here,’ she said, going to the sink. ‘And then I can help you, if you like.’

      Well, well, I thought. Progress indeed.

      So that’s what she did, washing her hands at the kitchen sink and drying them on a clean tea towel. ‘What’s that?’ she asked, nodding towards a misshapen array of coloured lumps on a board on the window sill.

      I turned to look. ‘Oh, that’s just a few of my granddaughter’s salt dough creations. Marley Mae,’ I clarified. ‘My daughter was over earlier. She’s four. Not my daughter,’ I said, correcting myself. ‘My granddaughter.’

      Keeley made a cooing noise as she studied the various creations. ‘Ah, that’s so sweet,’ she said. ‘What is it? A sheep or something?’

      ‘I believe that one’s a unicorn.’ I told her. ‘Just a rather short one.’

      Keeley laughed as she finished drying her hands. ‘Blimey. You don’t look old enough to have a grand-daughter,’ she said. ‘You don’t even look as old as Zoe. Are you?’

      ‘I have no idea,’ I told her. ‘But you’re right. I’m not that well preserved – I’m just quite young for a grandmother, I suppose.’

      She smiled. She had a nice smile. It really transformed her face. As was so often the case with teens who made a look of scowling cynicism their default expression. ‘Have you any more?’ she asked.

      ‘I have four,’ I told her as I pulled the chicken from the oven. ‘The oldest is ten now. Which I can’t quite get my head round, to be honest.’

      I wondered as I spoke about Zoe Burke and what she might be like. I wondered if they’d adopted their first child because they’d tried for quite a while and failed to have one of their own. It made sense, given Keeley’s comment about her probable age. For how long had they tried? I wondered how old they were now.

      ‘Blimey, ten?’ Keeley said, gaping.

      I smiled. ‘My daughter started very early.’

      ‘And you’ve got a son as well, haven’t you? I mean, as well as Tyler. He told me. Sorry, I’m not being much help, am I? What can I do?’

      ‘I tell you what,’ I said, because my guilty secret was that I preferred dishing up solo. ‘How about you take a look at something while I do the dishing up?’ I went across to my junk drawer (which of course held the exact opposite; everything in it was indispensable, obviously) and pulled out a much-thumbed pink A4 plastic wallet.

      ‘What’s this?’ Keeley asked as she took it from me.

      ‘It’s the family,’ I told her, because that was exactly what it was.

      It was a relatively recent thing, the family file, but our fostering agency had encouraged all of us to make one. It was a kind of rogues’ gallery, containing mug shots of all the family members foster children who stayed with us might come into contact with, together with names, ranks and serial numbers – well, sort of. It was a good idea, too, because it was a quick way to orient a new house guest – right down to pictures of the house itself (it could be sent out to a prospective new child as well, of course), plus some light-hearted details about the family routines.

      ‘Take a look,’ I said. ‘And I tell you what, why don’t you take it on through. I’m sure Mike and Tyler will be happy to fill in any gaps.’

      I smiled as she ambled off into the dining room, file in hand. And leaving me to plate the food up unmolested.

      ‘This is just so cool,’ Keeley was saying to Tyler when I came through with the plates. ‘Your mum and dad are so cool too,’ she added, glancing at Mike. ‘And so young.’

      Tyler grinned. ‘Oh, they’re older than they look, you know.’

      Keeley giggled, and I noticed how it made Tyler blush. I made a mental note that I’d

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