The Fosterling

Anybody home? called out Helen as she kicked off her sandals and let out a groan of relief.

They were gorgeous, no doubt, but painfully impractical. Shed gone for style over sense, not considering the agony of thin straps digging into her feet during a blistering summers day.

Helen bent down to pick up her sandals, ready to tuck them onto their place in the hallway stand, when she froze. From the corner by the door, two alert green eyes watched her.

And who might you be? Helen whispered, out of instinct more than fear.

The owner of those hypnotic green eyes wasn’t about to answer. He pressed himself further into the corner, lowering onto his haunches and hissing in warning.

Well, message received

Helen carefully set her sandals on the floor and backed away, not wanting to frighten her unexpected visitor.

Im not going to touch you. Take it easy, all right? Ill find out how you ended up hereunless you object. Some surprise

The cat growled a low, rumbling warning, and Helen couldnt help smiling at the attempted bravado.

Hush now, my fierce one. This is my house, you know. Youll come to no harm here. No one in this home hurts anyone.

As though understanding her words, the animal hushed. He set his front paws on the parquet, still wary, but the hissing ceased.

Helen wandered down the hallway, glancing into the lounge and then the kitchen, surprised by their neatness and quiet. Usually, she returned to chaosshe had to watch her step, never knowing when shed crush a piece of LEGO or splatter her shoes with the remarkably stubborn paints her husband bought for the children.

The door to the playroom was slightly ajar, but so silent that Helen almost assumed she was alone.

She was wrong. All three of her treasures were present, sitting on the floor with a giant sheet of cartridge paper, crowding around an unfinished drawing.

How interesting! And why has nobody greeted me? Helen grinned at two ginger heads and one brunette.

A collective Oh! burst out, markers scattering everywhere, as Barbara flopped backwards, sprawling out to cover their masterpiece.

Mum! Dont look!

Helen laughed and covered her eyes.

Alright, I wont. Perhaps one of you can explain the creature sitting in the hallway, hissing at your poor mother?

Oliverthe owner of the dark headlooked guilty, stood up, and approached Helen.

Mum, Im sorry! We wanted to warn you first, but we didnt have time. I brought him in.

I see. And why so wild?

His paws hurt. I took him off the Roberts dogs outside.

Helens worry flared.

Did they hurt you? Where does it hurt?

Mum, its fine! Im alright, honestly. The dogs were chasing him all around the garden. Auntie Sarahs dogsnot strays.

Helen knew the gang well. Four small, unruly mutts of questionable breed, deeply loved by their main owner and local firebrand, Mrs Roberts. She was forever the subject of arguments in the neighbourhood; her dogs ran riot because Sarahs arthritis prevented regular walks, yet she stubbornly refused to give them up. So, every mother in Lyndale Court knew not to let the children out before ten in the morning. More than once, a childs frightened sobs would spark an uproarquickly soothed when Mrs Roberts appeared to call off her pack. The Roberts dogs never bit, but their ferocious barking could terrify even the adults. Sarah paid any fine with a smirk, unrepentant:

Well, that’s what you get for leaving your child unsupervised! Fancy a rest, do you? Some mother you are, if that’s what you call a break from your kids! As for mine, dont think anyone will dare harm them. Youd do well to learn how to defend your own!

Helen had long known Sarah Roberts, and for all her bluster, pitied her for the hardships life had dealt her.

Sarahs late husband had been a terrifying man. Outwardly respectable, never anything but polite and dapper in his pressed shirts, always ready with a pleasant smile or a helping hand for the neighbours. But what happened behind their closed doors was a mystery to nearly everyone, even those living closest by. He never left much in the way of bruises, but his threats were clear: Make a sound and neither you nor your son will live long. The smile he offered his wife while offering such words was just the same he showed the world.

Sarah endured it for years in silence, for the sake of her boy from a previous marriage. Widowed young, shed remarried hoping to give her son a father. Her new husband played that role flawlessly, winning the boys affection, all the while keeping his violence hidden behind the bedroom door.

It was pure accident that revealed the truth. One day, her son came home from school at the wrong time, heard a muffled cry from the kitchen, and ran in. Things happened so quickly, not even the police could reconstruct it perfectly. Whatever the exact details, Sarah did everything to shield her child.

No one really knew why her husband had become so cruel. He kept everything in order: the knives always razor-sharp, the house immaculate, even teaching the boy how to cook and fix the odd socket or bulb. But Sarah insisted the blame lay only with herself, and authorities, unable to contradict her, let her son go to live with his gran while Sarah served out her sentence. On release, she took her son back, swapped her flat for another in a nearby block, and began anew, just her boy and a little scruffy stray she named Maisie. Maisie had been hit by a car but, after her recovery, became Sarahs shadow. When Maisie had a puppy, Sarah named her after her mum, and soon there was Maisie the Third. Dogs came and went, but Sarah couldnt picture her life without those keen-eyed, noisy companions.

Sarahs son did well at school and university, eventually moving to the North, where he climbed the ladder, married, and had two lovely children and a spacious flat. To his wifes and childrens continued urging, Sarah refused to move in. She was a doting gran, a thoughtful mother-in-law, yet believed it best to live apart. Better not to inconvenience those you love, she always said.

That decision hardly softened her character. Bereft of close family nearby, she acquired more strays, and by now, four yapping, restless dogs raced around her flat and yard, scaring anyone unfamiliar with their origin. All had come from the streets, for Sarah believed animals deserved a home just as much as people did.

Helens children had never been nippedeven onceby the Roberts pack.

Every week, Helen, after preparing the Sunday roast, would gather bones for the dogs, dropping them off with Sarah over a ceremonial cup of tea, feigning delight at the endless pictures of grandchildren that Sarah so proudly displayed.

Of all the neighbours, only Sarah knew Oliver wasnt Helens natural son. When the subject came up, Sarah silenced the gossip.

What does it matter if the childs the spitting image of Helen or not, you bunch of busybodies? Nature works in mysterious ways. Helens granddad was as dark as coal, with blue eyeshandsome devil, he was. I was quite smitten for a bit, you know! Dont laughI was young once! Youve got a fine lad there, Helen. Touch wood for luck!

After that, the whispers died down, and one day, Helen told Sarah about Olivers arrival in their family.

She and her husband had dreamed of a child for five years after marrying. But nothing worked, and the doctors shrugged: Medically, youre both fine. Sometimes, thats just life. Keep tryingmiracles do happen.

The miracle arrived, though not as theyd expected. Helens cousin, Susan, became pregnant by her partner, who promptly disappeared. Susan, fifteen years Helens senior, never had much senseshe spiralled into depression, refusing all family help, moaning that it was too late for an abortion. Helens heart broke for Susan, who had cared for her as a child, but Susan wanted nothing to do with the baby: Ill hand the child over to Social Services! Leave offhes not wanted!

When Susan died in childbirth, little Oliver was left an orphan. No sooner had Helen heard the news, shed made her decision. She cared for meloved me. I cant let her son end up with strangers. Aunt Veras too old and too ill. What do we do now?

Helen looked at her husband and saw his answer before he spoke. That was why shed married gentle, steady Sama man who quietly made her feel like the only woman in the world. Hed do anything for her happiness.

Helen was never one for a waifish figure, so hiding the fact that she hadn’t been pregnant was simple. She stayed with Aunt Vera for a while, handled the paperwork, then brought Oliver home; from then on, anyones question of When did this happen? was met with a hearty laugh and a cryptic reply.

But for reasons she couldn’t quite explain, Helen told Sarah the truth. The older woman understood.

Goodthats off your chest. Dont worry. I wont say a word. Its not my business anyway. But listendont you ever doubt your rights as his mother. Ive seen what happens if a woman feels she has no authority over a child not her own. If you waver, Helen, youll lose him, and both of you will suffer. Kids need strong parentswhose word is law. Remember that.

Helen never forgot her advice. Shed nod at Sarah in the courtyard, grateful beyond words.

Oliver grew, and Helen had two more children: little Jack and mischievous Barbara. Sarah would observe their ginger heads darting about the yard, tossing biscuits to Maisie and her furry gang, and occasionally, she’d allow a rare, fond smile.

It was when Oliver began to act unusually toward other childrenshouting, lashing out, though never at his siblingsthat Helen grew worried. Hes old enough to know better, she fretted. But her talks went nowhere, and the school psychologist only shrugged: Hell outgrow it. Still, Ill do a bit of work with him if you insist.

Helen was unsatisfied, so one evening, she visited Sarah.

Ah, I thought youd come. In you go, Sarah said, stepping aside. Maisie barely lifted her headshe knew Helen well enough by now.

Come into the kitchen. Ive baked a pie for my fur-babies; they love the odd treat. Sit, have some tea, and lets talk. Youre worried about Oliver, arent you?

Helen clung to her mug, suddenly lighter. Sam was always her rock, but sometimes she needed someone outside the circle, someone whod let her spill without worrying about family feelings.

Sarah listenedpouring tea, occasionally handing over tissues, never interrupting, just waiting for Helen to empty her heart.

What can I say, Helen? Boys will fighttheyre supposed to. Still, try to understand him. If he sees youre on his side, hell open up eventually. Have you asked him why he fights?

I triedhe wont say.

Then you didnt ask the right way! We tend to scold before we listen. Ask him for his sidesay you need his reason, wont punish if he explains, just want to understand. Whatever he says, dont interrupt. Just listen. Youll learn a lot. I learned that lesson too late with my own boy, and I regret it now.

They talked until late, so by the time Helen returned home, everyone but Sam was asleep. She crept into the childrens room, kissed her youngest, then sat on Olivers floor.

His hair was as dark as Susans; his skin, tanned. Maybe he didnt look like his fair siblings, but Helen’s heart swelled gazing at him, curled up under his duvet.

Oliver stirred, half-awake, wrapped an arm around her, and mumbled, Mum? Why are you crying? Please dontI wont do it again.

His eyes brimmed with hurt, and Helen pulled him close.

Shhh. Tell me everything. Right now, please. Whos hurt you?

The truth, when it came, was heartbreakingly simple.

The other kids say Im adopted. That Jack and Barbara are yours but Im not, because I dont look like you. They say youre not really my mum.

Nonsense! Helen wiped her tears, took his chin to make him look at her. Youre mine. Every inch of youmine. And Dads, too! Never listen to their rubbish or fight over it. Let people prattletheres no sense in matching ignorance with fists. Here, wait a minute.

She hurried out, returning with the old photo album. Oliver had seen it before, but this time its yellowed pages resonated with new meaning.

See here? My mumyour gran. And there, my cousin Susanmy friend, my confidante. Thats your great-granddad, tall and dark like you. Still doubt you belong?

No Mum, why are you ginger? And Jack and Barbara?

Because we take after Gran, while Susans side inherited Grandads looks, just as you did. Youll learn about genes in school. For nowremember, you are family, and thats all that matters.

As he exhaled in relief, Helen almost explained everything, but caught herself. Not yet. One day, perhaps, but not tonight. For now, her son was reassured. The rest could wait.

When Sarah Roberts saw Oliver the next day, she nodded in approval at his polite, Good morning, Mrs Roberts!

Well done, lad. Youre a credit to your parents.

Sometimes it takes only simple words to settle a soulespecially when you know Mrs Roberts would never give insincere praise.

Helen continued to seek Sarahs advice over the years. But one day, her familiar knock went unanswered. The dogs howled behind the locked door, but no one came. Helen found out Sarah had been taken to hospital, worrying no one, not even her son.

Helen tracked her down, visited, and gathered Sarahs keys.

Thank you, Helen love! My little ones need walking, or theyll bring the house down.

And they need feeding too! Poor things havent eaten in days. Why didnt you call me, or your son?

I didn’t want to trouble anyone. Thought Id get better soon enough

Thats what familys for, isnt it? To worry when things go wrong? Wouldnt you want your son to let you know if he was ill?

Well, if you put it that way I just feel awkward, you spending your time on me.

Its less awkward than, as my kids say, sleeping on the ceiling. You spent your time on us! If I can repay it even a little, let me.

Helen and Oliver walked the pack, fed them, and took over their care. Thankfully, Sarah soon recovered and was reunited with her beloved pets.

Oliver became so attached to the dogs, he offered to walk them permanently. Sarah now had a helper, but couldnt resist letting them out alone sometimes, earning a grumble from Oliver, which she met with gentle mock-arguments.

Because the dogs knew Oliver so well, they obeyed him when he rescued a battered, frightened British Shorthair cat from their midst in the courtyard.

The cats ribs showed, his fur was ragged, his green eyes full of terror. Oliver cradled him, earning a scratch to the cheek, but didnt retaliate.

Youre a thoroughbred, arent you? Howd you wind up lost then?

The cat answered only with a wary growl, but didnt struggle.

The younger children cheered at their new companion, but plotted to prepare their mother for his arrivalsquatting beside the cowering feline, coaxing and reassuring him, while deciding how best to break the news to Helen.

Helen, observing their whispered plotting, laughed heartily at their portrait of her holding an enormous cat.

So, you thought this would persuade me to keep this crotchety fellow? she grinned. Ive never kept catsI wouldnt know where to start!

But Mum, we dont know either. Lets ask Mrs Roberts! Whats the differencecat or dog? She knows what to do.

Just then, the doorbell rang.

No need! Go on, Oliver, open the door and keep your grumpy friend calm. Mrs Roberts is right on timejust the person to help sort out his paw.

The younger two exchanged gleeful looks, whispering as Helen had earlier,

Mum, can we keep him?

Have I said otherwise? If no owner comes forward, he can stay. Someone has to love him, right?

And so the cat stayed. Helen would sigh, counting out pounds at the vet, but decided it was a small price for her childrens shining eyes and the comfort of a purring cat curled beside them at night. Though Oliver sometimes felt slighted by the felines devotion to Helen, she would only laugh:

He knows whos in charge! Clever lad.

She knew that after the house quieted, the children settling under their duvets, a grey shadow would brush her leg, slip along the hall, then gently nudge the childrens door. Oliver would mumble sleepily, clutch the cat, and together they would drift off, emerald eyes glinting in the dark as Helen peeked in one last time.

Goodnight, shed whisper, stroking tousled hair and a furry spine.

And the only answer would be peaceful silence, making Helen smile as she softly closed the door. Happiness likes quiet, she thought. Let it stay silent for now. Come morning, there would be new bustle, new challenges.

Eventually, when Sarah moved to live with her son, Helen promised to look after her pack until she returned. She hugged her neighbour, patting her trembling hands.

Theyre waiting for you. Were all waiting. Safe journey!

Sarah would smile through tears as the children waved her off. No one could call her the areas moaner-in-chief nowthere was a kindness and hope shining from her eyes that told the true story.

Sarahs life still had many chapters ahead. There would be another grandchild (unexpected but cherished), a house move daunting yet joyful, and in her sons new big house, even the dog-pack would have their own garden to patrol dutifully.

A couple times a week, Sarah would perch at her granddaughters computer while the girl set up a video call.

And from the other end would come,

Hello, Auntie Sarah!

And the large grey cat, grown lazier by the year, would nuzzle Olivers hand as the boy, becoming a young man, stroked his trusting head.