Page 20 of Darling Girls

‘Why hasn’t the laundry been put away?’ Miss Fairchild demanded.

Jessica and Norah had been having a nice afternoon until that point. As they did their chores, they’d actuallychatteda little. Norah wasn’t a huge one for chatting, but she had managed to turn the conversation to dogs, and before she knew it she was enjoying herself. Until Miss Fairchild had arrived home from running errands and found them taking the washing off the clothes line together.

‘How sweet,’ she’d said, in a voice that made it clear she meant the opposite. ‘You two are friends now.’

Ever since then she’d been in a mood. Norah could have sworn it was brought on by the sight of Jessica and Norah getting along. Norah had finished folding the laundry a minute ago and had ducked to the bathroom when she heard Miss Fairchild hollering. By the time she got to the kitchen Miss Fairchild was glaring at Jessica. ‘Well? Why hasn’t it been put away?’

Their foster mother was wearing a lolly-pink dress with puffed sleeves and her lipstick was a similar shade; she resembled a children’s party entertainer, which made her thunderous expression even more terrifying.

‘Laundry is Norah’s job,’ Jessica protested. She shot Norah an apologetic look, but Norah didn’t mind. It was accurate, after all. Besides, she could handle Miss Fairchild far better than Jessica could.

‘I was just using the bathroom,’ Norah said. ‘I’ll finish now.’

She headed towards the piles of laundry, but Miss Fairchild’s arm shot out, stopping her. Her gaze remained on Jessica. ‘Whatdid you say?’

An alarm bell went off inside Norah. Danger – but not for her. Miss Fairchild looked incensed.

The other girl was rigid with fear. ‘I said laundry is . . .’ But she couldn’t finish the sentence. Tears welled in her eyes.

‘You selfish, selfish girl. Only ever doing things if they are your job.’

This was spectacularly inaccurate, given that Jessica spent the majority of her waking hours seeking out jobs she could do to win Miss Fairchild’s favour, but Norah had already learned there was no point in arguing with her. Her wrath, when it came, was like a runaway train – once it got going there was no way to stop it.

Jessica’s chin trembled. It wasn’t the first time Norah had watched as other kids were shouted at and punished. But in those instances, the kid typically hated their foster parent. Jessica loved Miss Fairchild. She was stupidly, hopelessly loyal. It was like watching a dog being kicked. ‘I’m sorry,’ she whimpered.

‘Youwillbe.’

Miss Fairchild marched to the sink. A moment later she returned, clutching a fresh bar of soap. Norah watched in horror as she plunged it into Jessica’s mouth.

‘Thisis what we do to people who talk back!’

The soap was so large Jessica’s eyes bulged as her lips strained around it. There seemed no possible way it would fit, but Miss Fairchild kept pushing until the entire bar was in Jessica’s mouth. Then she covered Jessica’s mouth with her hand.

Jessica’s eyes became wide and panicked. Bubbles formed around the edge of her lips, leaking between Miss Fairchild’s fingers.

‘I think . . . I think she’s choking,’ Norah said. But her uncertainty about the situation kept her rooted to the spot. Did Jessica want her to intervene? Or would that make things worse?

Miss Fairchild ignored her.

Jessica gagged. Tears leaked from her eyes. Bubbles came out her nose. Miss Fairchild kept her hand over the girl’s mouth, staring into Jessica’s rolling, terrified eyes.

Finally Norah couldn’t bear it any longer. ‘Stop it!’ she cried, stepping forward and slapping Miss Fairchild’s hand away from Jessica’s mouth. Instantly, the soap shot from Jessica’s mouth and skidded across the floor. Jessica ran to the sink and vomited. Her body heaved violently as she gripped the edge of the counter.

Norah looked at Miss Fairchild, who just stood there breathing heavily, as if recovering from a terrible shock.

‘Put the laundry away,’ she said finally, and turned and walked out of the room.

There was no retribution for Norah for intervening – at least, not that day. When it came to vengeance, Miss Fairchild preferred to play the long game.

Scott returned for his first visit when Norah had been at Wild Meadows for four months. As usual, he smelled like the communal microwave at the police station, and the sweat patches under his arms dipped nearly to his waist. Norah found herself unable to look at him, focusing instead on the blue plastic clipboard on his lap. He’d scribbled Norah’s name at the top, spelling it without an ‘h’.When she pointed this out, he didn’t bother to correct it.

‘How are things, Norah?’ he asked.

Miss Fairchild wasn’t in the room when they had their catch-up – that was one of the rules. Scott, like the social workers before him, always told Norah she should speak freely, and tell him if anything about her new home made her uncomfortable. Her previous two social workers had said the same thing, word for word, leading Norah to deduce they were all reciting from the same brochure.

‘Which things?’ she asked.

‘Any things?’ He looked up from his clipboard, already frustrated. ‘All of the things?’