“Lucien and I will probably be breaking for lunch around one”—Oliver’s undeterred valour continued valiantly undeterred—“but if you want anything before then, do let us know. Or if you’re comfortable, we’re more than happy for you to look after yourself, if that’s what you prefer. The kitchen’s downstairs and, well, I’m sure you can find it.”
“Sure,” replied Jaz in a tone that saidI know you want me to say something, and this is something.
“We’ll leave you to get settled in,” Oliver concluded, with studied cheerfulness. Then, as we slipped out the door, he stopped with his hand on the handle and added, “Open or shut?”
Jaz gave another of those not-even-a-shrugs.
Oliver left the door hanging ajar and we retreated downstairs. Behind us, we heard the decisiveclickof Jaz pulling it all the way closed.
And then we went and hid in the kitchen like grown-ups.
“Fuck,” I said as quietly as I could manage, because while I wasn’t too concerned about Jaz hearing me swear, I didn’t especially want her to realise quite how incredibly uncool and unconfident Iwas. “Are we going to be shit at this?”
Oliver reached across the kitchen table and took my hand. Then he said, very clearly, very calmly, and with far greater conviction than I could possibly imagine having, given how things had gone so far, “No.”
“Um, are you sure?”
“Yes.”
I cowered in my seat. “Why?”
“Well firstly,” he said, in a level tone that I hoped was aimed at reassuring me, not himself, “because ‘not shit at this’ is a fairly low standard to set for ourselves. And secondly, because we’re intelligent, well-intentioned, caring people who will do everything we can to make this work.”
“Is that enough, though?” I asked. “Because it kind of seems like she hates us.”
“I’m sure she doesn’t hate us.” He sounded like he meant it. Okay, he sounded about ninety percent like he meant it. Maybe eighty.
“She’s said six words since she stepped through the door. And two of those were to Spud.”
A slightly distant smile played across Oliver’s lips. “I don’t want to lean too hard into stereotypes, but I think that might just be because she’s a teenager.”
“You think?” I was kind of having a weird moment where I couldn’t tell if I wanted Oliver to be the rock beneath my wings or my partner in panic. He was clearly steering hard intorock, which was comforting on one level. But on another, sneakier level, it made me worried in a way I couldn’t quite put my finger on. “I mean, I wasn’t expecting her to skip over the threshold in a gingham dress and do a musical number about how she has a home at last. I was just… I suppose I don’t know what I was expecting.”
“Remember, they brought her to us in handcuffs with herbelongings in a bin liner,” said Oliver with a voice I recognised from when he talked about his more difficult clients. “It’s understandable that she has issues trusting authority.”
“Okay.” I tried not to squeak. “Iunderstandthat. I’m understanding it. I’m accepting its understandability. What the fuck do we do about it?”
Oliver’s face was getting barristerer by the second. “Well.” He put his hands over mine like he was telling me it was sepsis after all. “I think we do have to accept that we might not be able to do anything.”
“Oh wow.” This time I did squeak. “What fantastic foster parents we’re going to be.”
He’d gone full rock. Given how I was reacting, that, too, was probably understandable. “That’s not what I’m saying. But, in my job, something you have to get used to is that there are some people who can’t be helped. It’s still important to do your best for them, but sometimes it fails, and you can’t blame yourself.”
“Jaz isn’t a job, Oliver. She’s a person.”
“All of my clients are people,” he replied, a little sharply. “And I assure you I never lose sight of that. What’s important here is to recognise that we have a very clear role in Jasmine’s life.”
“God, you make it sound so fulfilling.”
“This isn’t about us, Lucien. This is about Jasmine and what she needs.”
I stood up in a flail, even though it meant shaking off Oliver’s hand. “That’s the whole problem. I don’t know what she needs. She’s just sitting in a bare room looking hostile with bits of sad.”
“You do know what she needs,” Oliver said firmly. “We’ve received guidance on this. She needs stability and a warm, welcoming environment, and I honestly think we can provide that. Give her time to settle in, and everything will be fine.”
I didn’t feel very fine. Or like fineness was on the horizon. Butif anything was going to wreck our chances of long-time fineitude with Jaz, it was me freaking the fuck out in the kitchen when she could walk in at any second.
So I swallowed my furball of fear and uncertainty and raw selfish insecurity and said, “Yeah. I guess you’re right.”
