15:08. 20th July 1991.
Dark grey clouds block out the sky. Their presence is suffocating. The air is heavy with cloying humidity. She looks up with a scowl and wishes it would hurry up and rain. She's had enough of being in limbo.
The social worker to her right is still talking, seemingly unaware that her charge has long since stopped listening. Her voice drones monotonously. The continuous background buzz reminds Jac of a wasp, and she's struck by an urge to swat it away. She has seen, and been seen by, countless social workers. She's beginning to suspect that they're produced from the same shaped mould. Factory made. The uniform stern expressions, the insincere thin-lipped smiles, the deep furrows marking their brow beyond their years, the greying hair. Large bosomed. Handsy. Overbearing. All part of the same machine.
"Jackie!" Her name is called sharply.
She blinks.
"Did you listen to anything I just said?" The woman is staring at her, too close for comfort in the already oppressive weather.
"No." Jac scowls back. She doesn't need to listen. She's heard scores of variations of this speech before.
They were very sorry, but she just didn't fit into their established family life. She was the wrong shaped jigsaw piece. They were sorry, they never imagined they could have their own baby. The pregnancy was a complete surprise. They didn't have the time and resources for them both. They were sorry, but after all, blood is thicker than water. They were sorry, but she was too disruptive. Too much for them to handle. Maybe if she hadn't been so volatile… If she hadn't tested so many boundaries…
They were sorry. It was for the best.
And they were sorry.
The reproachful look she receives invokes a tidal surge of gutsy teenage defiance. She folds her arms and narrows her eyes. "The stupid cow deserved it."
This earns her a disapproving tut. "I know you were jealous of Emma, but it was a family heirloom. Breaking it was unforgivable."
"I'm not jealous!" She glares- riled. "It's babyish. I didn't want it!"
The porcelain doll had been ghastly. Really, she'd done them a favour. It wasn't as if Emma was short of playthings; plump teddy bears with beady, glass eyes, and satin bows tied proudly around their necks covered half of her bed. Fairy dolls with sparkling, delicate wings lined her shelves, alongside book upon book of bedtime stories, full of the false promise of Happily Ever After. Her lip curls in disdain.
And then Jac's eyes fall upon the black bin bag on the floor by the social worker's feet. It contains clothes. A book or three. Her toothbrush. A raggedy teddy bear hidden at the very bottom, amongst the odd socks. All of her worldly possessions. It's degrading and the sight of it brings an angry blush to her cheeks.
She's not sorry at all.