All Chapters of Foster: Chapter 41 - Chapter 50

January 4th, 2013 Morning   I haven’t spoken to James since he was last at mine. I feel badly about that. I suppose he was right in wishing I would fight with Tami more; I’m starting to see how much she dominates my social sphere. Obsessed with her, I would be. There’s probably no nicer way to put it. I mean, she represents all I wanted to be in high school. That thin, cool blonde with all those friends and an incredibly profane Myspace. Sometime between middle of the day vodka and consoling new widows collecting their partners effects, I graduated from that snotty child who scolded her father for not understanding out secret base was invisible. I do feel that a reconciliation would ground me, if only slightly. I’m afraid I’ve got no real family. A sexual partner masquerading in my father’s room. A dead mum in a waterlogged coffin. But I’ve got a brother, out there somewhere. Stomping around in his leather jacket. Brooding f

January 6th, 2013 Morning   I’ve been staring through the tiny window all morning. I saw a single magpie on the way here. It tailed us in the car. Swooped down like we’d stolen its babe. Flew off into the distance like some mysterious harbinger of death. I waited for another. Even two. I think I would rather death than sorrow. At least death would put me out of my misery. Not give me another reason to want it. “I thought you might need this.” I hadn’t noticed he was even close. I’m a shotty receptionist. Damon is leant over me. His elbows on the counter. A disposable cup in his hands. “What is it?” I lift the lid. Foam. Dark foam. Coffee? “Cappuccino.”  He’s smiling. He’s got to know I’m not impressed. “I know. No coffee with milk in it. Just try it, won’t you?” “Will it make you happy?” I’ve been struggling with the lid. I don’t know how the baristas get them on. “Very.” I take a

January 6th, 2013 Evening   “If you can’t even move that couch, I don’t think you’ve got much chance with your hands.” I dig in my heels a little harder. I’m determined. Besides, it can’t be that heavy. “I’m not getting a gun—I don’t ever want to fire one.” “Pepper spray?” Begrudgingly, he joins in—with a small huff and the roll of his eyes. His shoulder brushes mine. I’ve pretended not to see his eyes. Or to have heard the huff. I suck in a breath. Put my weight into it. “No weapons. I don’t want to have to count on anything.” “Okay. I get it.” I think he does all the work. The couch slides towards the dining table like it’s on wheels. Moves, nonetheless. That’s all I wanted. “This should be enough room.” I step into the centre. The rug is nice and plush. I don’t think it will hurt too much if incoordination victimises me. It will. I just know it. “What do I do?” I’m not too

January 25th, 1997 Midday Chloe I hadn’t even seen the house until now. Crazy, I know. It’s an old Victorian, I would assume. I’ve never cared much for architecture. A little boxy and castle-like, overgrown with ivy. Two-storeyed, he’s probably hoping to get some babies out of me. All paid for with my money, I presume. The sold sign is still up. The whole village has got this medieval look about it, completely surrounded by this lush, sweeping countryside. Far enough from London to lose the smell of the city. I’m sure every house has a vegetable patch in their yard. They’ve probably got a committee for everything. I’m sure a “homeowners committee” will come knocking down the door with a list of injunctions for the city folk set up shop across the road. Lawn too long. Car too loud. Moving truck too much of an eyesore. Ivy too modest—should cover the whole house! God, it ought to be the first thing to go. Just

March 1st, 1997 Morning Chloe God is testing me. Shamelessly, at that. Chris moved-in across the street. Replaced the same-sex couple I can’t say I liked all that much. They droned on about installing art pieces village-wide in the town meetings. The young children on the street don’t need to be perverted by their sins. The air already feels clearer without them. I can throw back my curtains without worrying my attractive husband will be gawked at on their morning speed-walks. All was right in the world. Until that moving truck showed up. It's almost like he followed me here. I couldn’t blame him if he did. I suppose he transferred, Damon mentioned working alongside his old boss now. I had to feign ignorance. Lest Chris know I’ve noticed. I would rather have had a little more time to build intrigue—I’m no longer that mousey-brown city seductress he knew back in London. I’ve changed. I’m the fun r