Chrissy Foster was in her room, curled up on her bed reading a magazine. When her dad knocked at the door and she saw Nula coming in, her expression froze. She scrunched up on the bed, looking much younger than her nineteen years, pulling the sleeves of her frayed orange pullover down over her hands and crossing her arms defensively over her body.
‘I haven’t come to make trouble,’ said Nula quickly, seeing the alarm in the girl’s eyes.
Chrissy’s father stood there, unmoving. Nula glanced at him. ‘If we could have a few minutes alone? Just to talk?’
Ben Foster looked at his daughter. ‘Chrissy?’ he asked.
The girl stared at Nula’s face. Then she nodded, very slowly.
‘I’ll be right outside,’ said Ben. ‘If you need me.’
He went out and shut the door behind him. Nula took a step into the room and Chrissy shrank back further on the bed.
‘Look,’ said Nula. ‘Both Charlie and me, we were very upset about Jake. If we took it out on you, I apologize. I mean it. I’m sorry. But we were out of our minds. Don’t you understand?’
Chrissy cleared her throat and nodded. ‘Yes. Of course.’
‘We really don’t blame you, Chrissy. Not any more. I promise you. Only . . . somebody has said something to me, and I wondered if you could shed some light on it. That’s all.’ Nula edged toward a hardback chair loaded with discarded clothing. ‘Can I . . . ?’
Chrissy nodded. Nula shoved the garments off the chair and sat down.
Chrissy tucked strands of pale blonde hair behind her ears and eyed Nula intensely. She had big stick-out ears, Nula realized for the first time, and it gave her a vulnerable look.
‘What’s this thing they’ve told you?’ Chrissy asked.
‘Maybe they got it wrong,’ said Nula. Now that it was coming to the crunch, she found that she really didn’t want to hear about it. She had to force herself to stay here, sitting with her hands on her lap, instead of running from the room. Aware of her chewed, ragged fingernails digging into the palms of her sweating hands, she fought for calm.
‘It’s just a silly thing someone said,’ said Nula, feeling her throat closing, her mouth drying to dust and ashes.
‘Oh? What?’
‘It’s wrong, probably. Only someone said they saw Harlan coming out of Jake’s room at four on the morning he . . .’ Nula swallowed hard.
But Chrissy was shaking her head, frowning. ‘That can’t be right. Harlan was asleep in the top nursery. Milly too. I got up at seven to go down and see to Jake and they were both still sleeping.’
‘Yes, but . . .’ Nula was finding it hard to breathe now. ‘Harlan could have got up without you knowing, couldn’t he? And gone down to Jake’s room?’
‘Well . . . yes. He could have.’ Now Chrissy looked uncomfortable.
‘You didn’t find Harlan difficult to look after, did you?’ asked Nula.
Chrissy shook her head.
‘Or Milly?’
‘Milly’s fine,’ said Chrissy.
‘Harlan was fine too? Easy to look after?’
Chrissy shrugged. Alarm bells started ringing in Nula’s head.
‘What does that mean?’ she asked.
‘Well, he’s not exactly an easy child, is he?’
‘Meaning?’
Chrissy looked uncomfortable. ‘Did you know he hides food under his bed?’
‘What?’
Chrissy nodded. ‘He does. I’ve found a few things under there. Boiled eggs. Stuff like that. An old sandwich, it was going mouldy. I picked it up to put in the bin and he threw a fit. I mean, he really hit the roof. He said it was his and I wasn’t to touch it.’
‘Why would he do that?’ wondered Nula aloud. She hadn’t had a clue about this. Chrissy hadn’t told her.
‘Have you heard of RAD?’ asked Chrissy.
‘What the hell’s that?’
‘I researched it after a few months of looking after Harlan. It’s reactive attachment disorder. It means they have no conscience and they don’t appreciate the consequences of their behaviour. I think Harlan’s got that.’
It was warm in the sunny little room, but despite that Nula felt a chill.
‘You looked it up? Why? Did he do something you thought was strange?’
Chrissy hesitated. Then she said: ‘He seems very detached, don’t you think?’
‘Well, I . . .’ Nula did think that. She’d thought it for a long time.
‘If I were you, I would go to where you got him from, and I would ask some questions. Because honestly, Mrs Stone, he doesn’t seem entirely “there”. And that would worry me. A lot.’
Nula looked straight at Chrissy. ‘Has he ever done anything around you that makes you think he could be . . . not “there”?’
‘This is difficult . . .’ said Chrissy, shifting awkwardly on the bed.
‘Tell me.’
‘He’s a good boy, mostly. I think he tries. He really does.’
But he shouldn’t have to try. Should he? thought Nula. But she said nothing. She wanted Chrissy to keep talking.
‘It was about a month ago,’ said Chrissy. ‘It was . . . I dunno. Spooky, I think is the word. Frightening.’
‘What did he do, Chrissy?’ Nula was staring at the girl’s face.
‘Milly and Harlan went to bed as normal. Then I settled little Jake down for the night and went back up to go to bed next door to the top nursery. I have the monitor, as you know, so if Jake cried I’d hear it straight away and go down.’
‘Yeah. I know that.’ It saved Nula herself the bother of night-time feeds, changes, anything. Now Nula wished to Christ that she’d been more hands-on, more involved. More . . . ah but Jesus, what was the use? She felt the awful depression stealing over her again, blackening her mood. Jake was dead.
‘So I went back up to the top nursery and got into bed and went to sleep. And then . . .’ Chrissy’s voice faltered.
‘Go on.’
‘Then something woke me. I don’t know what. It was bright moonlight. The room seemed full of shadows. So I reached out, switched on the bedside light and . . .’
‘What? Go on for God’s sake.’
‘He was there. Harlan. He was standing right there, leaning over me.’
Good Christ.
‘Did he want something? A drink of water . . . ?’
‘No.’ Now Chrissy’s face hardened even though her voice shook. ‘He didn’t want anything, Mrs Stone. He was leaning over me, and he had a knife in his hand.’