Free A Sea of Stars by Kate Maryon Page B

her pillow; it’s smooth and cool on my cheek, her fluffy rug warm and soft under my toes. I sit on Cat’s window seat and think about her ‘Life Story Book’. I really, really want to see inside it. She knows everything about us from the ‘Our Family’ book we made, so it’s not fair that I don’t know as much about her. Mum and Dad have this huge folder all full of stuff about Cat, but I’m not allowed to look at that either because they say it wouldn’t be helpful for my relationship with Cat. I wish they wouldn’t treat me like a baby. I can know stuff, even bad stuff. I can cope. I am twelve! I look down at the bay and hope that soon Cat’ll send me the golden twinkle again, that she’ll show me her book, that she’ll learn to like living with us. I hope one day I’ll be able to touch her without asking, touch her hair without making her run.
    Dinner is quiet. My cutlery feels heavy in my hands; it keeps clinking on my plate. The barbecue fish is tasty, but it’s really dry and hard to swallow. I wish I wasn’t so tame. I wish I were wilder, like Cat, more daring and dangerous. I take a sip of juice and start imagining what my life would be like if I could do exactly what I wanted with no one telling me.
    Number one is I’d stop going to school straight away, except I might go and chat to Mr Firmstone sometimes. He’s my favourite teacher because he tells us interesting stuff about life. When I told him we were going to adopt Cat, he told me that he was adopted too. He was found on some church steps when he was one day old, tucked up in a cardboard box. Number two is I’d move into a beach hut of my own, right down on the bay, so I could surf when I wanted without anyone saying ‘no’. Number three is I’d eat coffee-and-walnut cake for breakfast with hot chocolate, marshmallows and cream.
    â€œWhat happened to Cat?” I ask, when I stop thinking about my list. “Why did she get takenaway from her mum?”
    Mum sighs.
    â€œSometimes, Maya,” she says, “life just doesn’t work out how we’d planned. When Cat’s mum had her, she had wonderful intentions to be a good mum and do her best. But, sadly, her mum has the kind of problems that mean she can’t care for her children properly. It’s not safe for them to be with her.”
    â€œWhat kind of problems?” I ask. “Why wouldn’t they be safe?”
    â€œAll sorts,” says Mum, getting up and clearing the plates. “When we met her mum it was clear how sad and confused she is about losing her children. As much as she wants to look after them, she just can’t. She’s tried her best, but can’t seem to get herself around committing to them and caring for them in the ways they need caring for.”
    â€œDeep down, Cat’s mum loves her children very much,” says Dad, “and we must always remind Cat of that. But sometimes it’s hard for her to show them that love. It comes out all wrong and mixedup and that can be scary for children. Children need stability, Maya. They need to feel safe and loved.”
    â€œHow does it come out?” I say. “In what kind of way is it all mixed up? Did she get left on her own in the middle of nowhere or not fed? You know, like, did social services rush in with the police in the middle of the night and drag her away from her mum, screaming and scared, like they did on that ‘Street Kid’ programme I saw? Or was she at school, all quiet in the corner, with a teacher noticing that something terrible was wrong?”
    â€œCat will tell us in her own time,” says Mum. “And there may be bits she’ll never share with us or anyone else because it’s just too painful. We need to give her time to feel safe.”
    â€œWe need to help her feel safe and loved,” says Dad. “That’s the main thing.”
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    It’s late