Me and You. Claudia Carroll

seriously been scraping the barrel when they vetted the aul one, who was to be her new foster parent. This one was fifty if she was a day, with helmet-y hair like a wig, who answered the door to her in an actual suit. Feck’s sake, a suit? Who wore a suit going round their own house, unless you were a complete weirdo?

       The care liaison officer had tactfully left, ‘just so you two can get to know each other a little better’, and with a stern ‘you’d better be on your best behaviour’ glare over in her direction, he was gone. Thank f**k. She’d accidentally seen a copy of her own file once and it had been impressed on her that she was lucky to have been homed at all, with her track record. But to hell with that shower of gobshites anyway, she thought furiously. They could feck off, the lot of them.

       ‘Out of control,’ her file had said. ‘Complaints of a serious nature … shoplifting … swearing … smoking … underage drinking … wild …’ Made her feel proud, though. She didn’t want to fit in; she was sick to the teeth of all their rules and regulations, and being told how lucky she was to be homed at all, like she was supposed to be grateful. All she wanted was to hit eighteen, get out into the world and tell the whole shagging lot of them to go and f**k themselves.

       And yet here she was, arms folded defensively, sat sullenly at yet another kitchen table with this Old Dear opposite her. Mrs Kennedy; a widow, this time. Husband probably died of boredom, she thought viciously to herself, taking in the pin-neat house with cushions on the cushions and net fecking curtains. It felt like she’d been through the drill a thousand times. This was the bit where both parties were supposed to be on their best behaviour, tiptoeing round each other, while the house rules were impressed in on her. Don’t this, don’t that, please can you remember to x and y and z.

       Mind you, the worst were the foster parents who cheerily told you, ‘This is your home now, so please just try to relax and enjoy!’ Then within hours, she’d find herself hauled over the coals for smoking in her room, or cursing in front of other kids, or any other rule-infraction shite they could think of to throw at her. In other words, we’re saying that this is your home now, except it’s not really and never will be, and we can turf you out on a whim. So don’t you forget it, missy.

       Fine, she wouldn’t. In fact, she made a bet with herself, as Mrs Ancient here fussed around her and poured tea and handed her slices of gooey-looking cake. She’d see if she could equal her personal best of getting turfed out of a new home in under a week. Shouldn’t be hard either. By the look of her, if she refused to go to Mass on Sundays, then this one would probably take a heart attack, start calling her the spawn of the devil and she’d be outta here in no time. Problem solved.

       ‘Now please feel free to call me Kathleen,’ Aul One was saying to her, pouring out tea into dainty china cups that barely held two dribbles and that were covered in a pattern that looked like dead scorpions. Later on, she’d come to recognise this as the good, special occasion china, that only ever got wheeled out at Christmas and Easter, but for now she didn’t give a shite. Would gladly have smashed it, if she could.

       ‘Whatever,’ she shrugged back, putting her feet up on the chair opposite her. Aul One seemed to notice, but said nothing.

       ‘And remember,’ Aul One went on, ‘I really do want you to treat this as your own home.’

       ‘Fantastic. In that case, can I have an ashtray and a lighter please?’

       Again no reaction.

       ‘Smoke all you like,’ Aul One shrugged back at her, ‘but I think you’d better do it outside.’

       ‘House rule?’ she sneered.

       ‘Not really,’ said Aul One. ‘I just don’t think it would be fair on the kittens. They’re barely two weeks old and still nursing. I only wanted to keep the air nice and fresh for them, that’s all.’

       ‘Kittens?’ In spite of herself, she was curious. ‘Where?’

       ‘In the kitchen, just behind you. Would you like to have a look? They’re the most adorable little bundles you’ve ever seen.’

       In spite of herself, she was intrigued. She followed Aul One into the tiny, galley kitchen and there they were, in a warm basket by the door. Eight little balls of the cutest, fluffiest things you ever saw. She picked one up and instinctively cuddled it. It made a tiny, weak little mewling sound, no mistaking it.

       ‘She’s meowing,’ Aul One smiled down at her. ‘I think she must like you.’

       ‘Are you going to keep them all?’

       ‘I wish I could, love, but I can’t. They’re too young to leave their mother, but as soon as they are, I’m afraid they’ll all have to be rehomed.’

       ‘That’s horrible! They should be with their mother!’

       ‘I know,’ Mrs Kennedy said sagely, taking her in from head to foot. ‘And I agree. Farming them out is necessary, but awful.’ Then after a half-beat, she added, ‘unless … unless you’d like to keep one? As your own special little pet? You could name it and everything, if you liked.’

       She looked up at her with shining eyes. Her very own pet; such a simple thing and yet she’d never had one before … or anything of her own, come to think of it.

       ‘You’d have to take care of him or her, though. Kittens are a lot of work. You’d have to take on all that responsibility.’

       She just nodded back and surprised herself by actually smiling.

       And the two of them stayed there for the whole afternoon, lost in the kittens, playing with them, cuddling them, laughing at their antics. One of them, a little tabby tom cat, kept trying to climb up the curtains and they roared laughing at that. Another one climbed inside a paper bag and played with it for hours, while they looked on fondly, both of them loving it.

       A long time afterwards Mrs K., as she’d taking to calling her, said that when she first saw this scrap of a teenage girl landed on her doorstep, all bovver boots and attitude, she was instantly reminded of the kittens. That’s just what you were like, she’d told her. I thought you were like a young kitten who needed to be nurtured by a mom before being farmed out again. Or maybe not; maybe you’d found your forever home this time? She’d seen past the teenage sullenness that mistook rudeness for rebellion, and thought, I want to give this lost soul a chance. A proper home. And a proper mum.