I stayed quiet, but something about the way he said it made me want to change the subject. ‘What should we call you both?’ I asked, after a pause.
‘For now, Mr and Mrs Webb will do fine,’ he said. ‘Just give her a bit of time, eh?’
It felt weird, living with two ‘strangers’ in a new family of sorts yet having to call them something so formal. It made my skin itch. I couldn’t relax, couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off.
But at least Mr Webb was polite. Considerate, even. That was more than I could say for my mum’s final boyfriend, who had barely acknowledged my existence unless he needed something – another beer from the fridge, an excuse, someone to blame. Life back then had been a constant battle to stay unseen, to keep Beth safe, to avoid the sharp edges of my mother’s changeable moods.
This situation was different. Safer … in theory. But sometimes, the silence in this house felt just as unsettling as the shouting in my old one.
I began to worry we’d end up back at Clay Bank before we’d even had the chance to settle in. I could deal with that. But Beth? She was too young to keep being moved around.
‘We have to call you Mr and Mrs, like you’re our teachers?’ Beth remarked, surprising me. I’d almost forgotten she was listening to our conversation.
‘Now, now, it won’t be for long,’ Mr Webb said, in that calm, unflappable manner of his. ‘Just until Mrs Webb comes round a bit. Realizes everything’s going to work out here.’
I didn’t like it. The feeling there was a lot we didn’t know about our new family. But at least Mr Webb talked to us, tried to explain things. Maybe, for my little sister, this was thebest we could hope for. A proper home – wasn’t that what mattered most?
Still, something about it made me uneasy, a quiet warning I chose to ignore.
If only I’d listened. Trusted that creeping unease, the way the air in the house often felt thick with something unspoken. Maybe then things would have turned out differently.
Maybe then we wouldn’t have ended up trapped.
Later, Mr Webb appeared at our bedroom door. ‘I need to pop out. Mrs Webb is home but she’s got one of her headaches and is having a lie-down, so best not to bother her if you can help it.’
I wished it was a school day and we weren’t stuck in here all the time.
For now, Beth and I were still going to the same schools as before, catching the bus each morning as if nothing had changed. She was still at primary school and I was just down the road at the big comp. I liked getting out of the house, stepping into a world that felt normal. At school, I could breathe. I could pretend, just for a while, that everything was OK.
Beth sidled over and gave me an impromptu hug. ‘I love our bedroom,’ she said, looking around the pretty pink walls. ‘I like being here much better than the children’s home.’
Ten minutes later, a shrill voice called up from the bottom of the stairs, startling me as I unpacked the last of my things in our new room. ‘Girls! Why don’t you come down here?’
‘It’s Mrs Webb!’ I hissed at Beth, who was sprawled on the bed, flipping through a comic book.
‘I thought we could play Monopoly.’
Beth looked alarmed. ‘Mr Webb said she had a headache and that we shouldn’t disturb her.’
‘Well, maybe the headache has gone,’ I said.
‘Do I have to come up and get the two of you?’ the voice called again.
Beth froze and I hesitated, my fingers twisting the hem of my sleeve. There was something sharp in Mrs Webb’s voice, an edge that hadn’t been there before. Not just impatience – something harder. Colder.
Something about it all didn’t sit right. Mr Webb had been clear that his wife shouldn’t be disturbed while he was out. He’d also as good as said that she didn’t really want us there.
But when she called yet again, more insistent this time, Beth – who loved Monopoly – tossed the comic aside. ‘Can we go down and play, Janey?’
In the living room, Mrs Webb was already setting up the game. Her face stretched into some semblance of a smile that made my skin prickle.
‘There you both are! We’ll have some fun, shall we? Nothing like a good game to pass the time.’ She motioned for us to sit.
Beth immediately plopped down on the carpet, choosing her favourite playing token: the iron. I lingered a little longer by the doorway, eyeing Mrs Webb carefully.
‘What’re you standing there for, big girl?’ she said. ‘Are you waiting for Christmas?’
Beth laughed, and Mrs Webb joined in. Too quick. Too bright. The sound rang false, like a note played out of tune.
