Finding Me: Book 1: All I've Ever Wanted (A New Adult Romance Series) (21 page)

Chapter 9

Father Andrew made his way slowly to the freshly dug grave. His sister, Judy held the hand of her son, Ned. Ned was wearing a small suit, something John remembered from Ned's First Communion.

'You missed a good service.' Judy said.

'I was called elsewhere.'

'You are always elsewhere. She needed you.'

John took his hat off. 'It isn't as simple as someone else needed me, truly needed me. Jenni knew what she was getting into.'

'Jenni was our mum! You abandoned her!' Judy retorted. She looked over at Ned and felt bad for having him see her flare up. She then nudged him to go play.

'Ned darling, why don't you play a bit by the benches? I want to talk to Uncle John a bit.'

Ned scampered off with a small toy aeroplane in his hand. He pretended to fly away from the great Red Barron. When he was a bit further away, Judy grabbed her brother's shoulder. She started to say something but couldn't get the words out.

'Father McKinney said the weather was great and everyone was in a good cheer of sorts. He has that effect on people, you know. That's why I hand picked him...'

Judy beat her hand against John's shoulder. She tried to keep her voice down, but failed miserably.

'You chose him? Is that what you tell yourself? You were her son, John! You should have been there, not some stranger! You! Her son!'

'What do you want me to say, Judy? You want me to say that a part of me is glad she's gone? She turned her back on the Lord with the drink! She wasn't our mother any more, Judy! She fell and rejected the faith. Between the bottle and the pills, she couldn’t even walk to the shops without passing out in the middle of the road! Is that not the truth? A young child who did not make such a choice, needed me! Needed my help?' John's voice was earnest, perhaps even pleading.

'Oh, now you show emotion! A bit of that would not have gone amiss when she was sick, when she called out for you. You didn't even come when she was hit by that bloody car! I talked to Father McKinney. He was surprised you weren't there too. He said Cardinal MacNelly was sending you home to be with Mum. She paused to catch her breath. 'You could have come home. You could have, couldn't you?'

John looked at his sister and stared silently. His mouth felt dry. His tongue refuse to move. Not due to effort. It just didn't have the will. He knew once his sister was on the warpath. Things were easier if one kept silent. They just were.

'You overly pious bastard!' she slapped him. Her eyes welled with tears. 'You could have come home! She died begging, John! Begging! Begging for you to give her Last Rites. None of the other priests thought. tha.' She was interrupted by her own tears and broke into uncontrollable sobs.

John’s voice was now soft. 'Thought? Thought what?' He put his hand around her in an attempt to console her.

'Thought...thought she would be abandoned like that. They thought you'd forgive her and perform the rites. You owed her that John. You owed her that! They....they...just waited. Prayed. Waited and prayed. She slipped out of consciousness towards the end John, and nobody....'

'Judy, I....' John cut in with tears building in his eyes. She pulls away from him forcefully.

'I don't know you anymore. Don't know who you are.'

She stopped and looked at him like he was a stranger. 'Who are you John? Who are you? '

John was lost for words.

'I don't think even you know.' She turned away.

'Stay away from me, John. Stay away from me and Ned. As far as I am concerned, you died when Mum did.'

Judy put her hands into her coat pocket and pulled the coat close to her body. She knelt down and put a kiss on her hand then placed it momentarily on the gravestone. The dirt clung to her slacks, but she didn't care. She walked over to Ned and they started their way towards the cemetery gates. The wind picked up, as if it were a conscious supporter, as though it supported her parting words.

Father Andrew started to walk towards her. 'Judy.... I....I'm sorry....' But it was too late, his words were lost in the wind.

Chapter 10

Paul Moss sat staring at the solicitor across from him. The desk they sat at was slightly worn and aged from use. It held a mound of case files that threatened to come crashing down at any given moment. Charles Latham shifted his spectacles so they rested low on his eagle-line nose. His nose, a gift from his father, looked better with the spectacles resting low than when they rested normally. Latham looked over a document briefly and then at the doctor next to him.

'Well, Wendy? This is one of yours, right?'

Doctor Wendy Mitchell adjusted her own glasses and nodded while chewing on the end of her pen.

'That's the one. Case 39721.'

‘She’s been at your facility three months?' Charles enquired. Wendy nodded. Then Latham gave the dossier another cursory glance and signed it before addressing Paul.

'The girl's a UK citizen' he began. 'Parents escaped some political shit-storm or another in their native country. They sought and were granted asylum status, courtesy of Her Majesty.'

The solicitor could barely say the words 'Her Majesty' without a tonal sneer, but he continued.

'Without a surviving relative, the court has granted that the subject, one Miss Abigail Morozov, be made a ward of the state and remain in its care until such time as a suitable family can be found for adoption.' Latham slid the dossier across the desk and towards Paul.

'You sure she's ready yet? It's only been three months. Three months with the shrink doesn't sound much. I mean, after what's happened. How's her mental state?' Paul asked.

Doctor Mitchell took the pen out of her mouth long enough to answer Paul’s questions.

'Abigail is remarkably resilient. She's coped better than any of us could have expected. Of course, with that said, in cases such as this, the likelihood of post-traumatic stress is high. We'll need to keep an eye on her.' Mitchell put the pen back in her mouth and returned Paul an intimidating stare. How dare this cocky social worker question her decisions, she thought.

Paul sighed and took another scan over the paperwork. The file provided details on a six-year-old girl who was found alone after her family and friends were brutally murdered. The killer was still at large. Paul kept flipping through the papers while trying to avoid looking at any of the photographs. He signed it, then took the carbon copy of the signature sheet from the desk and stood up.

'Okay, fine. I'll set the wheels in motion. Thank you, oh beloved taxpayer.'  With a sigh, he left the office.

Part Two: Mortem Angelus

10 years later

Chapter 11

Paul's car drove slowly up to the Glencoe care-home. A location not to be mistaken for its Scottish namesake under any circumstances. Although anyone who had the fortune to visit the real Scottish vista would most certainly not make such a foolish mistake. A solemn teenage girl was seated on the back seat, while his trainee, Karen Swinson, rode alongside of him. The radio was off. Nobody spoke. The silence made them somewhat uncomfortable.

However, it was the overtly pessimistic sixteen-year-old girl who broke the silence whilst staring out of Paul's rear passenger window.

'It looks so old. Is this place even supposed to be open? I think that roof tile is about to fall off.'  She was looking to the far corner of the dilapidated building. She wasn't wrong.

Paul turned his attention to the girl, 'Right. Let's give this another try, shall we, Abigail? I know you think it looks old, but that just means it's well-worn like a comfy slipper.'

Paul's consolation did not work.

'Or it's where people put you when no one else wants you.' Abigail responded as she held her now very dirty and one-eyed toy rabbit close to her chest. While most children may have ditched or even lost such a thing, Abigail held to it with tenacity perhaps, as the last reminder of her long gone family.

Paul sighed. 'Listen, you know the game. My job's to place you in a home. Your job is to try and stay there long enough to see your next birthday. Can you do that for me, Abigail?'

Abi looked down at her hands and said nothing. Paul was in one of his moods again. She'd grown accustomed to it over their ten-year strained relationship and could tell when he was about to erupt. He was subtle like that so she kept quiet.

'I've been taking Abi through the system going on ten years now. Sometimes, families just click and sometimes, well, there are special girls like Abi who need a bit of tender care.'  He was being sarcastic.

'It must be difficult...' Karen started to say.

'It is, believe me, it is'. Paul acknowledged.

'I meant for Abi.'

Paul ignored the last comment as he turned off the ignition. The house, grim from afar, didn't improve with a closer vantage point. There was more than just the roof tile which Abi had pointed out. Some of the paint on the wooden window frames was so badly peeled that one could see the rot and bug infestation underneath. The insulation left much to be desired too. To the left of the main house was a tree that had a tire swing attached. Had, being the operative word. The steel cable that held the tire was still wrapped around the branch, but the tire itself was missing. A small shed bookended the house on the other side. Its roof was better for the wear, but the walls were covered with graffiti. A rusted lock held the otherwise bulging doors shut.

Paul and Karen exited the vehicle. Karen went towards the rear passenger door and opened it. She smiled as she looked in.

'Come on Abigail. You have to give it a try. I know things haven't been brilliant, but this place is different. I've heard good things about this place.'

Abigail didn't respond. Instead, she sat in the car in protest. Karen looked at her with her hands clasped together in a plea. A moment or two later with a huff, Abigail exited the car and slung her tattered knapsack over her shoulder. Her rabbit was held firmly in her left hand. She followed Karen and Paul up to the front door of the care home. The smell of stale smoke made Abigail's eyes water.

A woman in her early fifties came out to welcome them. Her hair was a bit wild and let loose in a long and unkempt way. She moved her body like a dancer who was slightly off rhythm. That was how Rebecca Morgan came into Abigail's life.

'Paul, you made it! My directions were good, were they not?' she said as her smile stretched out over her teeth.

Paul caught himself staring at her cleavage and adjusted his gaze.

'Yeah, found it all right. They weren't too bad. Followed the A-road straight on to the motorway like you said. That's what? Two hours I reckon. Of course, that's also a half hour stop at the Watford gap.' He stopped before he continued. 'Rebecca, may I introduce Karen Swinson. Karen's new to our team.  My successor, you could say.'

Rebecca's bubbly personality had disappeared when she turned towards Karen. Karen was everything Rebecca wasn't. She was young, compassionate and not fake. Rebecca's smile stretched even further as she shook Karen's hand and then dropped both the hand and the smile.

'Oh, and you must be the delightful little Abigail!' Rebecca's faux-bubbly personality shifted back into high gear. 'I'm sure you'll enjoy your stay here. We have a few girls about your age. Matter of fact, our communal room is that way. You can rest yourself and meet the others. I'll just finish up here with Paul and ummm...Karen...and I'll come and find you. Maybe see if I can find you something to eat. I'm sure you're starving.'

Abigail looked at Rebecca and then over to Karen and Paul. Paul gave what was supposed to be a reassuring nod before Abigail started slowly towards the communal room. When she was out of earshot, the adults resumed their conversation.

'Isn't that breaking protocol? Shouldn't we process her requirements in the office?' Karen asked.

Rebecca looked at Karen, her fake smile stretched to the point of almost breaking.

'We do things a bit more differently here at Glencoe. I like to think of it as a personal touch. After all, the children are our future...'

'…and should be protected.' Karen cut in. ‘Part of that protection is the rules and regulations we have to follow...'

Paul placed his hand on Karen's shoulder and asked her not to worry.

'We'll process her shortly. Her link worker will be here tomorrow. I'll personally look after her till then.' Rebecca said.

'But, the rules state...'

'Enough, Karen. Who is the trainee here? You may be my replacement, but you haven't replaced me yet. If you keep that mouth quiet, you might just learn a thing or two.' Paul said.

'But...'

'I said enough! Either you toe the line or go back to the car. You're embarrassing me before Rebecca.'

Karen thought to protest again, but kept quiet instead.

'Oh, Paul. She can do nothing to make me think any differently of you. You're doing your best just as she thinks she is. Why don't we just forget that silly thing ever happened? She's still so young. She'll learn one day, won't you dear?'

Karen felt slightly insulted and started to fume. Her face turned red and she could feel her fingernails dig into her own hands. She looked over at Rebecca, but before she could utter a word, Paul had spoken on her behalf.

'That's what I'm here for! So she can learn the ropes. Hey, it seems pretty quiet around here, doesn't it?'

'Oh, you know how it is, Paul. Cuts, cuts and more cuts. Though they're taking place faster than we thought, so we had to let some of the staff go. I think the council aims to close this place. You know, the usual lack of funding nonsense.'

'Same everywhere, Rebecca. Glad I'm out of it soon.'

'Oh?' Rebecca asked as she moved closer to Paul.

'Yeah. I've opted for early retirement. There are things I've been wanting to do with my life and playing chauffeur to SDIKs isn't one of them.'

Rebecca gave a curt laugh. 'I couldn't agree more. I might have to follow you on that one. Hopefully, we'll ride out a couple more years. Make that nest egg a bit bigger for us. I'm with you on the SDIKs thing too. We used to get everyone, but with all of the resource cuts, SDIKs is all we can get. God knows we have enough of them already.'

'What's an SDIK?' Karen asked, apparently lost in the discussion.

Rebecca laughed again. 'Oh, Paul! This one is so precious with all of her little questions. An SDIK, hun, is what we call the terminally dysfunctional ones like your little Abigail. The ones who have been bounced around so much because they don't fit anywhere. It's 'KIDS' spelt backwards to mean; 'Social Downcast Incompetent Kids'. You know, the real Oliver types. This place is full of them.'

The blood drained from Karen's face.