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‘My uncle tracked us down when I was eight and told my mother it was no place for a kid.’ The admission was grudging; she clearly felt her past was her own business. ‘He gave her an ultimatum. Either she came home to my grandparents with me, or my uncle would take me away.’
‘So you and your mother ended up living with your grandparents.’
‘No. She told him to take me. The next time I saw her was when I was eleven and she needed money. Anyway, this isn’t about me. This is about you. Or is this what you do? Turn a conversation around any time it gets too close for comfort?’
Ash opened his mouth then closed it again, fighting back the overwhelming need to know more about Fliss. To understand her better. She was nothing like the picture he’d built in his head, and he was suddenly desperate to uncover the real woman behind the Major.
But she was right. Normally, turning the conversation onto the other person was exactly how he dealt with this kind of scenario. Instead, he fought the impulse. This conversation had started with her asking about him. If he wasn’t willing to open up to her then how could he expect her to trust him?
‘What do you want to know?’ he heard himself asking.
She hesitated for a moment. ‘I asked how many foster families you lived with.’
Ash sucked in a silent breath. ‘Quite a few. I was seven when I first went into care and stayed there for about nine years, on and off.’
‘Why? What about your family?’
He thought he’d hardened himself to all these memories a long time ago. Now, he was beginning to realise he’d buried them only just below the surface and a couple of questions from Fliss threatened everything.
‘Until I was six, home life was good. Great. My parents were good, kind. They worked hard, were proud of our home and every bit of family time we had was spent doing something together, from playing football in the park to teaching me how to build a homemade telescope.’
‘My uncle did that once.’ He could hear the soft smile in her tone.
‘When I was six, my mum was diagnosed with advanced ovarian cancer and that year she died. My dad couldn’t handle it. He didn’t deal with her deat
h; he didn’t even talk about her after that day. He was too proud to ask for help. He lost his job, couldn’t pay the bills, forgot to buy food or clothing, or even soap. He did, however, discover alcohol. By the time I was seven, we had lost our home and social services took me away. I got my first taste of foster care after that.’
‘I thought there were many good foster families out there. I used to dream of being taken in...before my uncle finally rescued me.’
‘Oh, don’t get me wrong.’ Ash hunched his shoulders. ‘I had several placements which were okay. And there are lots of kind families. Some are even exceptional. But there simply aren’t enough foster carers and the better they are, the more valuable they are in dealing with troubled kids. I wasn’t considered in that category at first.’
‘At first?’
‘Every so often my dad would get his act together and I’d go back to him. But I don’t know whether it was because I was too sharp a reminder of my mother or what, but at some point or other he’d slide back down and the cycle would start over. By the time I was thirteen I’d had a couple of bad homes and I’d fallen in with the wrong crowd in school—not that we were ever in school. At fourteen I was completely off the rails. That was when I got busted by the cops for boosting a car.’
Fliss was actually facing him now, her body turned to his, intent on what he had to say. Her compassion was palpable. Somewhere, deep inside his being, something in Ash twisted and broke away.
‘That was when I got sent to my last foster family. They were in their sixties and they were...different.’
‘Different?’
He could hear the suspicion in her voice. Almost as though she cared. His chest pulled tight.
‘Rosie and Wilfred saved my life,’ Ash clarified simply. ‘Figuratively and literally. They pushed me, challenged me, refused to give up on me. Both of them, but especially Rosie. She made me take a long look at where my life was heading and whether I really wanted to be going in that direction. And then she helped me find a way to turn things around. I owe her—I owe them both—everything.’
Even in the darkness he could sense the questions which jostled on her lips. It felt unexpectedly good to have someone pushing him to talk.
‘But that was over two decades ago. Ten years ago Rosie started suffering from Alzheimer’s and ten months ago she was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. A week ago they sent her home to...be with family.’
‘Oh, Ash, I’m so sorry.’
‘It is what it is.’ He shrugged, grimly holding back the emotions which threatened to rush him. Especially at the empathy in her tone. ‘I was never meant to be out here; I was to take up the post of CO once the battalion returned from Razorwire. But then Colonel Waterson’s accident left them without a colonel and I came out for the men, for their last ten days.’
‘They couldn’t let you be home with her?’ Fliss asked, aghast. ‘Surely, if they’d known? The Army have contingencies for circumstances like these.’
‘It makes no difference,’ Ash cut in. ‘I’m no use there anyway. Because of the Alzheimer’s she doesn’t know who I am. And I’m better out here. It’s the right choice all round.’
‘I really am sorry.’
