Time will tell

Brooke Knight eases her weight to her other hip, maintaining her blank, polite expression whilst cataloguing the paltry contents of her fridge in her mind and deciding whether to go grocery shopping or get takeout again that night. She tunes back into reality just in time to hear a question.

“Are you listening to me, girl?”

At thirty-two, she isn’t sure whether to take that as a compliment or an insult. “Of course, Mrs. Saavedra.”

“Then answer my question and tell me why I should let you come up in here and tell me how to raise my kid then, huh?”

“I absolutely don’t want to tell you that, Mrs. Saavedra.” Brooke wouldn’t have a clue how to raise a child, not having any of her own. But she’s pretty certain she wouldn’t send one out to steal from the local supermarket for her. Unlike the woman standing in front of her, whose twelve-year-old son Brooke has been trying desperately to follow up with since taking on his case after his arrest for doing exactly that. “I just really need to speak to Cameron, so I can check it off and be on my way. I can’t go back to the office and say I didn’t see him. Please, can I just pop in to see him for ten minutes?”

Pursing her lips, Mrs. Saavedra finally gives in, unfurling her crossed arms and pointing down the dark hallway to the back garden.Brooke can feel her glare like a physical presence as she scampers through the house before she can change her mind. She finds Cameron sitting on a dilapidated swing that looks on its last legs, staring forlornly at the small pile of leaves he’d scraped up from between the detritus littering the sorry little garden. He looks up and visibly sighs when he catches sight of her. Nothing like feeling wanted, she thinks to herself, and suppresses her own sigh.

“Hi Cameron, how are you?”

A shrug and another sigh is all she gets in response. Dragging up an old bucket and turning it upside down next to him, Brooke sits down gingerly.

“Want to talk about it?”

Scuffing his sneaker through the leaves, he just shrugs.

Brooke remembers the first time she met this young lad at the Youth Probation service. He had been full of bravado and anger on the surface, like many of the young people she dealt with through the criminal justice system. It had taken weeks to reach the spark she’d seen hiding beneath all that fear and anger. Longer still before he’d properly talked to her, about home, about what frightened him and, eventually, about what he wanted from life. It hurts her heart to see him retreat behind that façade of indifference. Picking up a stick, she draws aimless shapes in the dirt beneath their feet, then passes it to Cameron. He slowly reaches out to take it, frowning down at her squiggles. As he drags the stick around and turns them into recognisable images, his shoulders relax and his brow smooths. Brooke has noticed he engages best when his hands are busy, at the office she always leaves a pad and pen by his chair.

“What’s to talk about? I got nothing, I’m going nowhere, and there’s nothing I can do about it.”

Brooke winces at the harsh assessment of his still-so-young life. Admittedly, he wasn’t dealt a fair hand when he came into this world. But the universe gave him astute observational skills, intelligence and a quick wit. With his brain, he could either become a criminal mastermind or a tech genius. Brooke is determined to see to it that he gets a chance at the latter.

“What about that coding course I set you up with at school?”

“My ma sold the tablet you got for me from that charity.” Scowling, Cameron glares at the back door like his mother can see him through the wood. “How am I supposed to practice when I ain’t got nothing to practice on?”

Brooke heroically resists the urge to correct his double negative, and the considerably stronger urge to go and smack his mother. His older brother is just as likely as his mother to sell Cameron’s stuff to fund their drug habits. So far, Cameron isn’t on anything, as far as she can tell, and she’s desperate to keep it that way.

“That sucks, Cameron. I’m sorry.”

Grunting, he goes back to poking his stick into the ground, digging it in with jerky, forceful jabs. Brooke sits silently, trying to manage her frustration and ire. No matter how long she’s been doing this job, it still shocks her how little care some families give to the people they should love unconditionally. Ironic, considering her own upbringing in care. She was finally fostered at eleven by a wonderful couple who gave her a beautiful life before they both passed when she was twenty-one. She’s determined to give other kids the same chances she was given. Racking her brain, she scrambles for a way to fix this. To make it right before it’s too late.

“How about you tell your mother Social Services is insisting on you attending a course after school? We can leave a tablet at school for you to practise on, so it won’t get, erm, taken again.”

Cameron turns to face her, his eyes wide. “You’d do that for me?”

“Cameron, I believe in you. You know that. You can always tell me anything and I will do my best to help. So, let me help you, please.”

Cameron raises his fist and she bumps it twice, then over the top and up from underneath, their own secret ‘seal the deal’ handshake, invented weeks ago.

Brooke knows it will be a battle to get his mother to agree. She uses Cameron like an errand boy as soon as school is out, but Brooke thinks she can get her to go along with it, at least until the coding course ends. With that under his belt, Cameron will have more options.

She spotted his potential a month ago when he was filling in an online form at the office, he couldn’t resist announcing that their HTML and webform formatting sucked and he could have done better as a baby. He’s a whiz with anything tech. His school had initially been reluctant to give him a place on the extracurricular coding course because of his history of absenteeism, until Brooke explained that his absences were caused by the demands his mother put on him, not because he didn’t want to be there. Social Services had stepped in to help keep him in school, and once the school finally gave him a chance, Cameron took to coding like a duck to water.

Leaving half an hour later with Mrs. Saavedra’s reluctant agreement, Brooke makes a note in her calendar to contact the student support worker at Cameron’s school and arrange the after-school sessions. She has no idea how she’s going to find him another tablet, short of buying one herself, but she’ll figure it out.

Checking her appointment list, she groans when she sees another five visits and it’s already past lunchtime. Definitely getting takeout tonight. Much as Brooke loves helping kids, being a social worker is exhausting. She can’t imagine walking away now, though. Couldn’t abandon the cases she already has. Who knows whether the next person would give as much of a crap?

As she gets back into her crappy Toyota, she spots a familiar face and waves. The old lady waves right back, smiling fit to burst. Brooke wonders what her secret is. She’s never seen Aggie anything other than content and happy. If she could bottle that, she’d make a fortune.

Seven hours later, Brooke is back at the office, hammering away at her keyboard like it has personally offended her. Her eyes are gritty and her back aches, but she refuses to go home until every case note is up to date. She’s seen other social workers fall so far behind that they start writing any old thing just to catch up. Twice, that has bitten colleagues in the ass, once so badly that the social worker was not only fired but struck off the register.

Her phone vibrates across the desk and she reaches out absentmindedly to answer it.

“Hey girrrrrrrl!”

“Hey you. That’s the second time today I’ve been called girl.”

“Must be your non-existent health and beauty regime working its magic,” Justin snorts down the phone. “What are you up to tonight?”

Still tapping at the keyboard as she tries to multitask, Brooke forgets who she’s talking to and says, “Nothing.”

“Fabulous! Get your glad rags on and let’s go check out that new gay bar they just opened in the village.”

“I’m still at work, Justin. And I’m knackered. And I don’t own any glad rags.”

“What the hell are you still doing at work?” His genuine outrage makes her chuckle. He hates her job as much as she loves it. Well, she doesn’t love the long hours, but in her eyes it’s more fulfilling than Justin’s career as an event planner. “It’s practically nighttime, woman.”

“I’m always at work.” Sadly, Brooke realises this is true. “Besides, it’s Thursday. Partying is for the weekend.”

“Thursday IS the new Friday, honey. Are you seriously blowing me out?”

“I can offer you takeout and a movie, that’s my final offer.”

“Ugh, I’ll accept that lame-ass offer if you up it with a visit to the bar tomorrow. I miss jokey, happy, fun Brooke. And she comes out at gay bars, with cocktails!”

“Deal. What do you want to eat?”

“A tasty treat with a goatee and abs you could bounce a…”

“Ewwwwww! TMI dude! I’m hanging up now. See you at mine in an hour.”

Brooke loves Justin like a brother. They were both fostered by the same couple, although Justin had already been with them for years by the time Brooke arrived at eleven. They were the same age and, as soon as they met, their gaydars twanged the bestie bell. They’ve been inseparable ever since. His merry-go-round of man friends is part and parcel of who he is. That doesn’t mean she wants details, though. Nope.

Finishing her notes, she shuts down her computer and looks around. She’s the last one in the office again. Figures. She turns off the lights, grabs her leather jacket and sets off at a brisk walk for the curry house down the road. Halfway there, she spots Aggie again, walking towards her on the opposite pavement with her tiny dachshund, Freddy. Before she quite realises what she’s doing, her feet carry her across the road.

“Hey, Aggie. Where are you going at this time of night?” For some reason, Brooke feels uneasy, even though she’s seen Aggie walking Freddy loads of times before. She must live near the office.

“Hello, dear. Brooke, isn’t it?”

Nodding, Brooke reaches down to pet Freddy. His little legs always look comical to her, like he’s been squashed flat and then stretched long.

“We’re just off for a wander around the park.”

Frowning, Brooke’s unease grows stronger. “Crowcroft Park? There aren’t any lights in there, are there?” Dusk isn’t far off now, with the autumn nights drawing in. Aggie pats her hand, smiling.

“Don’t you worry about me and ’ole Fred, dearie. We’ll be fine. Best you get that poor stomach of yours fed before it thinks you’ve forgotten it again.” She ambles on up the street, Freddy stopping to sniff at every lamppost along the way.

Staring after her, Brooke hesitates. Maybe she could walk with her for a while, just while she’s in the park. At that moment, Aggie turns and waves her off, smiling knowingly, as though she knows Brooke is about to invite herself along and isn’t having any of it. Reluctantly, Brooke continues on her mission to find food and get home before Justin arrives and complains she isn’t there yet, and she has to explain she was waylaid by a little old lady and her flat, stretched dog.

The drive home is particularly torturous with the scent of tandoori chicken wafting up from the passenger seat. She hasn’t eaten all day again, she realises, her mouth watering and her stomach clenching in anticipation. This job really isn’t good for her health. Or her work-life balance.

When she reaches the front door of her apartment, she holds a hand up in Justin’s face before he can start. “Food first, berate later. I’m so hungry I will eat your bangs if you get in the way of this curry!”

“Far be it from me to stand in the way of a hangry woman and her food.” Justin waits only until the door is unlocked before pushing through first.

Huffing at him, Brooke makes a beeline for the kitchen and wastes no time trying to serve the food politely or prettily, dumping it onto two plates. “Why didn’t you just use your key?”

“Because last time I did you whined that I was treating your place like a hotel.”

Coming back into the lounge with two heaped plates and spoons, she shoves one onto his lap and tucks into her own immediately. “You let yourself in at one in the morning and crashed out on my sofa because you couldn’t be bothered to go home. I nearly had a heart attack when I woke up and saw someone on my couch!”

Putting his plate down on the coffee table, Justin sashays into the kitchen. She can hear him rooting around in her fridge. “It’s not my fault you sleep like the dead. Where’s the fruit juice?”

“Haven’t got any. Need to go shopping still.”

Cupboard doors open and shut before she hears the tap turn on. He returns with two glasses of water, puts them on coasters, then picks up his food again. “Girl, if I’d known all the sustenance you had to offer was a glass of tap water, I’d have called a rain check. You need to get a different job.”

Rolling her eyes, Brooke mumbles through her mouthful, “You say that every week.”

“And yet every week, you ignore me.” Justin primly pops a moderate spoonful into his mouth and chews delicately.

“Because I like my job. I like helping people.”

“You like being spat on? And verbally abused? And working twelve-hour days? And not having time to shop, so your cupboards are barer than Mother Hubbard’s?”

“Can we not talk about spit while I’m eating?” Brooke screws up her face in distaste.

“I’m just saying, there are other jobs out there where you can help people. It doesn’t have to be this one.”

Putting aside her plate, Brooke pats her belly happily. “If not me, then who? Someone has to do it. Better it’s someone who actually cares than someone who doesn’t.”

“Honey, no one becomes a social worker for the money.” Justin rolls his eyes.

“If you don’t stop harping on about my job, I will make you watch Better Than Chocolate again.”

Gasping, Justin covers his eyes in horror. “Never again! I’m still traumatised. I miss eating chocolate.”

Taking pity on him, Brooke lets him choose the Netflix movie of the night and is pleasantly surprised when he picks A Quiet Place. She’s already seen it, but it’s so rare for Justin to choose horror that she’ll happily watch it again, anything to avoid another dodgy romcom.

By the time it finishes, they’re stretched out side by side under a blanket, munching on some old pretzels Justin managed to dig out of the back of a cupboard. Brooke yawns, wide and long. When she finally manages to hinge her jaw back together, Justin is watching her with such understanding and compassion that her eyes prickle.

“You know I’m just worried about you, honey. I don’t like seeing you exhausted all the time because of work. There’s more to life than helping people, you know?”

“I know, Tin-Tin. And I love you for it.” He smiles at the childhood nickname. Yawning again, Brooke glances at the clock. “Damn, when did it get past midnight? Want to crash here tonight?”

“Sure. I need to borrow something to sleep in, though, so I don’t offend your delicate sensibilities.”

Brooke throws a cushion at him, tells him to help himself, then clears the plates and tidies the kitchen while he trots off to peruse her nightwear. When she walks into her bedroom, she can’t help laughing. He’s wearing her only pair of silk pyjamas, a bright red set from Ann Summers gifted by a long-gone ex, because God forbid he ever wear plain cotton.

“You’re such a snob.” Brooke tosses over her shoulder as she goes to brush her teeth.

“Am not, I just have sensitive skin. Unlike some people, who could sleep in a burlap sack.”

Clambering into bed, they turn off the bedside lights and immediately roll to face each other. They always share something before they sleep, a little ritual that began with their first sleepover, when Brooke had suffered from nightmares and Justin let her sleep in his room to keep the bad things away.

“I think I want to date Gary. Like, for real.”

“Monogamously?”

“Maybe.”

“This is huge. Wow. How does he feel?”

“How should I know? I only see him at the gym and stare at his buns while he runs on the treadmill in front of me.”

“You’re incorrigible.” Brooke laughs, smacking his arm playfully.

“Mhm. An incorrigible snob, apparently.” Justin settles deeper into his pillow and reaches out to hold her hand. “Your turn.”

“I think… I don’t know. I’ve had this uneasy feeling for a while now. Like something bad is going to happen. I don’t know… it’s just a feeling.”

“Maybe it’s your subconscious trying to tell you I’m right and you need to get a new job before this one wrecks you.”

Poking him in the ribs, Brooke settles again and sighs. “I don’t know, Justin. It’s like when I saw Aggie earlier. I just got this sense of foreboding, like I needed to do something, but I have no idea what.”

“Pfft, Aggie is tough as nails. She’s been around since the Stone Age. I remember when I was about three, she told me off for poking ants with a stick.”

“So she should have! Evil child!”

“I am serious, though. If you keep feeling anxious about things you don’t need to be anxious about, maybe it’s your body’s way of telling you that you need a change. Just think about it, okay?”

Yawning, Brooke mumbles an agreement as she drifts towards sleep. It’s nice, always having Justin in her corner. She’d have loved to see him when he was three, she bets he was cute as a button.

Funny, though, what he said about Aggie. Brooke remembers her being around when she first came to live with Justin and their foster parents. That was what, more than twenty years ago now?

She doesn’t seem to have aged a bit.

Must have good genes.

Her thoughts blur as sleep pulls her under, her last coherent thought drifting away with them, must ask Justin about that tomorrow.