Finding Home Read online

  “What about the boy?”

  Charlie waited for Kate to repeat the proposition he’d overheard her put to Reg. For all this was a family discussion, it seemed they had the finer details worked out already.

  “We were thinking he could go in the study.”

  “The study?” Andy raised a doubtful eyebrow. “Bit small, isn’t it?”

  “Well, yes, but Charlie is just across the hall. We were thinking the boy could store most of his things in there.”

  Charlie sat up sharply. That wasn’t the plan he’d overheard, and his cupboards were jam-packed with his own stuff. “You want him to share my space?”

  “To start with,” Kate said. “We’ll get it sorted as soon as we can, but the interaction with you might do him some good.”

  “Interaction?”

  “Contact. Conversation. These kids have been through a lot, and their files say neither of them sleep well. Having Andy around helped you settle when you first came to us.”

  Kate looked beseechingly at Andy, who took his cue. “It’s true. You screamed the place down the first night we had you, then I came to stay for the summer holidays and voila: sleeping like a baby.”

  “I don’t remember that.”

  Andy shrugged. “Why would you? It was just a few weeks, but it worked. Might help this kid too.”

  Reg nodded his agreement. “It would be temporary, Charlie. We’d get some new furniture in due course.”

  “Okay . . .” Charlie was coming around to the idea. He’d shared his wardrobe before. He could do it again, right? And perhaps a good clear out would do him good. “I’m in. I vote yes.”

  Fliss huffed. “So it’s settled, then, is it? Charlie gets to decide for everyone?”

  “Nothing’s decided.” Kate put her hand on the files Reg had brought to the table. “This is a big decision, and it affects us all. We’d like to help these children, but not at the expense of the family we already have. So please, keep asking your questions, and we’ll do our best to answer them.”

  Charlie considered the offer. “Where are they now? With another family?”

  “Yes, but no one there can sign for the little girl except the brother.” Again, Kate looked to Reg. “They’re in Swindon at the moment. Social services think they’d be better off starting out somewhere new.”

  “‘Starting out’?” Fliss frowned again. “How long are they going to be here?”

  “If . . .” Reg held up a hand to quiet Fliss. “If they come to us, how long they stay would depend on what we could do for them, and that hangs a little on the rest of you. Kate and I can’t do this alone, and we wouldn’t want to. We want to do this together, as a family.”

  Reg had a way with Fliss no one else did. After a protracted stare down, she relaxed—the aggression seeping out of her—and shrugged. “Whatever. Just keep them out of my room, yeah?”

  “What are their names?” Andy asked.

  “Leo and Lila. It says here that Lila likes arts and crafts and animals, and Leo . . .” Kate flipped through the thick file. “He likes football.”

  Leo: three tiny letters that changed the mysterious boy from an abstraction to a tangible person, in Charlie’s mind at least.

  “Football?” Fliss snorted. “He’ll have fun with all Charlie’s anime shit, then.”

  Charlie bristled, but a frown from Kate kept him quiet. He was no mug, but bitching with Fliss was a battle he’d surely lose. Who cared if she didn’t know the difference between anime and manga?

  Kate closed the file again. “Any more questions?”

  Charlie couldn’t think of any. He tuned out Andy’s practical suggestions about building an extra cupboard. They’d put the decision about taking these kids to a vote, of course, but with Fliss on board, there was little need. It was happening, and Charlie refocussed on the discussion just in time to find out he’d have new housemates by the end of the week.

  Later that night, Kate tapped on Charlie’s open bedroom door. Charlie nodded, knowing she’d come in anyway, like she did most nights on her way to bed.

  “How are you doing, sweetheart?”

  Charlie tucked his drawing pad and pen under his pillow. “Okay.”

  “Okay?” Kate smiled. “Come on. You can do better than that, sunshine. We dropped a bomb on you today. Anything you want to talk about?”

  “Nope.”

  “Nothing at all?”

  “Nope.”

  “I brought you something.” Kate took up her customary perch on the edge of Charlie’s bed and held out an envelope. “Take a look.”

  Curious, Charlie opened it. Inside were two photographs: one of an angelic little girl and the other of a striking boy. The boy, tall and lean, with wild curly hair and sharp green eyes, was beautiful. Charlie compared the image with that of his sister. Though they had different hair, their fair complexions gave them away as siblings.

  That, and they both looked utterly miserable. “Is this them? Leo and Lila?”

  “Yes, these were taken at Christmas in their last foster home.”

  Charlie thought back to the rowdy Poulton family Christmas just passed: Food, presents, laughter. “They don’t seem very happy.”

  “I don’t think they are, darling.”

  “Is that why you want them to come here so much?”

  Kate smiled. “Reg knew you were sitting on the stairs.”

  That didn’t surprise Charlie. Reg knew everything, even when he said nothing at all. “Is Leo going to come to school with me?”

  “I hope so.”

  Kate’s tone made Charlie look up from the photos. “You hope so? Why wouldn’t he? I thought you said he was my age. Is he going to go to college or something instead?”

  Kate held up her hand. “Slow down. Even after a decade of practice, I still can’t lip-read in the dark.”

  “Sorry.”

  “That’s okay. Repeat yourself, and I’ll do my best to answer.”

  Charlie voiced his questions again with more consideration. Kate absorbed them with a nod. “Leo had a bit of trouble at his last school. We think it would be better if he settled in for a few days before we threw him into Heyton High.”

  “Trouble? What kind of trouble?”

  Kate paused, clearly weighing up how much she could say without betraying the boy’s confidence. “There have been a few incidents . . . fighting, and such. Nothing too out of the ordinary for boys your age, but that’s part of the reason I—we—would like him to spend some time with you. You’re a good balm for a quick temper, chicken. I should know.”

  Charlie frowned. Kate often said cryptic things like that, and he never quite understood them.

  She touched his cheek. “Don’t think so hard, sweetheart. You’ve always been my little brooder.”

  “‘Brooder’? Why are you so obsessed with poultry references?”

  “Because I’m a mother hen.” Kate grinned, but her gaze sobered as she rose to leave. “You’ve always been a calming influence on me, Charlie, in the same way Fliss’s sharp tongue is good for your father’s reticence. You remind us how human we are, and how much value there is in being different. Life would be boring if we were all the same.”

  It was a nice sentiment, but Charlie didn’t see how it would help Leo stay out of fights at school. Heyton High was a pit of hormones, angst, egos, and despite Kate’s faith in him, not a day went by that Charlie didn’t want to deck someone.

  Not that there’s anyone there worth decking.

  Kate paused at the door, her hand on the handle. “Fliss thought you could stick some of those posters you did for the Olympics in Leo’s room.”

  “She did?”

  “Yes, she did. You know she’s not as heartless as she makes herself out to be.”

  “If you say so.” Charlie would have to take Kate’s word for it, though a lifetime of living with Fliss told him that she was indeed a class-A bitch. “I’m not sure about the posters. The Olympics were years ago now. Do you really think he’ll l
ike them?”

  “Can’t hurt,” Kate said. “I know they’re not football, but he might like other sports too.”

  She said good night and left Charlie to it. Alone again, he considered what artwork he could bear to part with, even if it was only going across the hall. The study was tiny, but if they put Leo’s bed under the window, the posters could go on the ceiling.

  Charlie closed his eyes, picturing the finished result, and fell asleep still holding the haunting photograph of the most beautiful boy he’d ever laid eyes on.

  Heyton High School was the bane of Charlie’s life, and never more so than at lunchtime. He didn’t smoke, play football, or fight, and that left hanging around the tennis courts with the girls, listening to them talk about periods and shagging.

  Most days he sat quietly between Jess and Lucy, his BFFs, doodling cartoons of them with the bigger boobs they craved, but not today. Nah. Today, he couldn’t sit still, and it didn’t go unnoticed.

  “Bloody hell, Charlie,” Jess said as Charlie paced around. “You got ants in your pants, babe?”

  Charlie shot her a baleful glare. “Piss off.”

  “Oooh. Someone’s touchy.”

  “I’m not touchy.” But Charlie gave in and drifted back to his usual place all the same. “My parents are taking some new kids. They’re coming today.”

  “Ah. Are you pissed off about it?”

  “No, my folks have taken plenty of kids before.”

  “Then what?”

  Charlie shrugged. “Dunno. It’s just been a while. Forgotten what it’s like to have new people in the house. Mum’s been cleaning all week and moving the furniture around. Feels weird.”

  Jess gave him a cuddle. Across the tennis court, a year-eleven douche shot him the stink eye. Dickhead had been trying to get in Jess’s knickers since year nine, and he had it in for Charlie, if the graffiti scrawled on Charlie’s locker was anything to go by: Gaylord Zone. Ha. If only they knew.

  “So,” Jess pressed. “How old are these new foster kids? Are they little ones?”

  “Not really.” Why did people always assume the only kids who needed help were bloody toddlers? “Six and fifteen.”

  “Boys or girls?”

  “One of each. The boy is fifteen.”

  “Oooh, a boy?”

  “Yep.” Charlie tried not to notice the flare of curiosity in Jess’s gaze. Then he tried to ignore the irritation he felt when he failed. “His name’s Leo.”

  “What does he look like?”

  Charlie thought of the photo in his desk drawer and shrugged. “No idea.”

  “He sounds hot.”

  “You got that from his name?”

  “You can tell a lot about someone by their name.”

  Charlie snorted. “You’ve been reading too much Heat.”

  “Better than those crap comics you read.”

  Charlie grinned. Jess’s scowl always made him laugh. Her nose screwed up and made her resemble an angry racoon. And he tried not to think about the odd urge he felt to shield Leo from her attention. Or, as he glanced around the tennis court and took in the gangs of posturing boys and tarted-up girls, anyone else’s.

  Get a grip, de Sousa. It’s not like he’ll notice you anyway.

  Apart from Charlie’s loyal band of girls, and the goons who liked to pull his hair and call him a poof, no one ever did.

  Charlie cycled his BMX home at half three. As usual, along the dirt track that cut behind Heyton’s town centre, he encountered the gang of year elevens who often heckled as he pedalled past. They didn’t let him down today.

  “Backs to the wall. Faggy Charlie might jump ya.”

  Wankers. Though Charlie couldn’t deny that they were kind of astute when it came to his sexuality, aside from the jumping, of course. Darren Stroud was the chief idiot, and Charlie wouldn’t touch him if he was the last boy on earth.

  After running the gauntlet, Charlie usually loitered in the park in a fruitless attempt to convince himself that the whole world didn’t think like year eleven’s finest, but not today. Today, everyone in the Poulton household had strict instructions to come straight home, except Andy. He was never around on Thursdays, and Kate wanted everything as normal as possible.

  But nothing felt normal when Charlie pushed his bike up the garden path and stowed it in the shed. For starters, Fliss was home and downstairs, rather than holed up in her room, living her life on the internet.

  Charlie chucked his bag on the kitchen table. “What are you doing here?”

  “What do you think?” Fliss opened the fridge and retrieved sausages and a bag of potatoes. “Mum asked me to cook dinner for the new arrivals.”

  “Only them? Or are you making some for everyone?”

  Fliss tossed a glare over her shoulder. “Very funny. Maybe I won’t bother with your plate.”

  It was a hollow threat. Dinnertime was sacred in the Poulton house, and for all her faults, Fliss was well versed in Kate’s compulsion to feed people. “What time are Mum and Dad coming back?”

  “Mum called five minutes ago,” Fliss said. “They’re leaving Swindon now, so a couple of hours. Have you got homework? Mum says you have to do it before dinner.”

  “What do you care?”

  Fliss shot Charlie another sour look. “I don’t, but Dad will do his nut if he has to bitch you out in front of the new kids. Just get it done.”

  A dozen insults crossed Charlie’s mind. He uttered none and swiped a Mars bar from the forbidden cupboard, dodging the spoon Fliss chucked his way. On the table, his phone flashed with a new message from Jess.

  Are they there yet? Lucy wants a pic!

  Charlie rolled his eyes and turned his phone off. “I’m going upstairs.”

  Fliss grunted, and Charlie left her to it.

  Upstairs, he closed his bedroom door and leaned back against it. He had physics homework, but that could wait . . . it could all wait until he’d put the finishing touches to Leo’s room. He rummaged under the bed and found the box storing the illustrations he liked enough to keep, but not enough to put on the walls. The Olympic sketches were at the very bottom. He’d drawn them for a school project and never thought of them again until Kate had relayed Fliss’s suggestion.

  He spread them out on the carpet. Diving, long jump, and boxing: nothing that resembled football in the slightest, save the fact they all featured men in shorts . . . except the diving, of course, which was pretty much—

  Stop it.

  Charlie caught himself before he got carried away with his pen-and-ink effigy of Tom Daley, and gathered the sports sketches into a pile with a few other random pieces. He considered the small room Kate had kitted out for Leo. There wasn’t much to it, but the bed and a tiny chest of drawers. Leo didn’t even have a lamp yet. Fliss has two. I wonder if . . . Nah. That wouldn’t happen. Fliss was toeing the line because Kate and Reg had told her to, but giving away her stuff was never going to happen. Shame, because after Charlie had ventured into the study, clambered on Leo’s bed, and tacked the sports posters to the ceiling, Leo’s new life still seemed pretty bare.

  The rest of the afternoon dragged out in a dull haze of homework. Charlie was falling asleep over the origins of the universe, when Fliss stalked into his room just before six.

  “They’re nearly here. Remember we’re not allowed down till Dad calls us.”

  “I know.” Charlie sat up and shoved his homework in his bag. It was standard practice to introduce the family one by one when new kids came, though it had been a while. “I forgot to ask Mum if Lila can speak. Does she?”

  “No idea. There’s something really bad in their file, though. I caught Mum crying over it last night.”

  “Crying?”

  “Yeah. Not all of us sleep like babies.”

  That’s because some of us get up in the morning. But Charlie kept that to himself. Fliss had a bar job at the pub down the road and seemed to think a few late nights a week gave her license to sleep till noon every day. Not tha
t Charlie cared. Did he want to dodge Fliss in the bathroom every morning? Hell no. “Why was Mum crying?”

  Fliss shrugged. “Dunno. I reckon it’s to do with their father, though. I asked Dad where he was. He wouldn’t tell me, and I heard him telling Mum he was going to keep his distance from Leo for a while.”

  “From Leo?” That caught Charlie off guard. Kate and Reg specialised in caring for girls who’d suffered abuse wherever they’d been before, and he’d half expected Reg to leave Lila mostly to Kate, to start with, at least. But Leo—angry, disillusioned, struggling at school—was the kind of kid that bohemian woodwork teacher Reg lived for. It didn’t make any sense. “Why Leo?”

  “I don’t bloody know. Piss off with the questions, will you? Ask Dad yourself.”

  Fat chance. Reg had a thing for respecting privacy. If Fliss hadn’t been able get it out of him, no one could.

  The front door opened. Charlie scrambled from the floor and took a step toward the door before he remembered he had to stay put.

  Fliss peered through the window, solving the mystery of why she’d come to Charlie’s room in the first place, rather than her converted-attic lair. “Can’t see anything. Mum must’ve brought them in before Dad unloaded the car.”

  “Let’s go down—”

  “No. Not until they call us. Besides, it doesn’t look like there’s much stuff in the boot, so it won’t be long anyway.”

  Charlie scowled, and there wasn’t much to do but sit on his bed, doodling in his sketchbook and straining his ears, until Reg knocked on the door and summoned Fliss downstairs.

  It seemed like a lifetime before he came back for Charlie.

  Charlie’s frown deepened. “How come Fliss always gets to go first?”

  Reg offered a tired smile. “Because that’s how we do this, and routine is good for all of us in times of great change.”

  Charlie grumbled and slid off his bed. “You sound a hundred years old when you talk like that.”

  “As of today, I have five kids. It’s hardly surprising that I sound old. Now, come on. Leo needs rescuing from your mother and Fliss.”

  Charlie refrained from pointing out that, at twenty-five and nineteen, Andy and Fliss didn’t count as kids, and followed Reg downstairs.