In Halls

Froth

Our coffee cups clicked down onto the wooden table, arranged next to neat paper napkins bearing the logo Café Carnela in an artistic font. We relaxed into our chairs, tucking our shoping bags down by our feet. Elizabeth picked up a sachet of sugar, but hesitated before pouring it into her cup.

"Oh, it's so pretty," she said, looking at the patterning in the froth. "I've always wondered how they even do that."

I looked at our drinks.

"It's not that hard," I said, "I can't do the super fancy ones, but I've got the hang of this one now."

"Seriously? You're a barista?" Elizabeth made it sound as impressive as being an actual barrister.

I laughed.

"That's putting it strongly. I used to run the coffee machine sometimes at work. I worked in a café, in a garden centre."

It had suited me. Our tiny tables had been scattered out between plant displays. The hubbub of the café, the smell of jacket potatoes and coffee, blended with the peaceful, green aroma of the foliage. Being there, being surrounded by growing things but not responsible for looking after them, suited me well. That thought nagged at me slightly, but I couldn't place why.

"That's so cool. That's what you did for your gap year?" Elizabeth asked.

"Yeah. I mean, I did other stuff as well." Now that it was just me and Elizabeth, it was easier to bring it up. "Some voluntary stuff and all that."

"I thought you said you didn't go abroad?"

"You can do voluntary stuff in the UK, Elizabeth," I said, chuckling. Actually, travelling to volunteer sounded amazing to me in principle, but I couldn't get over how conceited it felt. Travelling halfway round the world to help out, with nothing to offer but my youthful enthusiasm? It felt like a hollow gesture. But at home, I had things I knew I could do, places where I knew I could make a difference, however small.

"I know, it just seems like a wasted opportunity not to travel," she said. I shrugged.

"It didn't feel wasted to me. I did a lot of stuff with this organisation I know that supports Looked After Children."

My Mum had found the organisation for me years ago, when I was barely thirteen. My parents were open with us both. Throughout our childhood, they'd never kept any secrets about how we became a family. But somehow, it took me that long to realise just how lucky I was. When I'd just tipped over into my teenage years, when I was bursting with new hormones and a ferocious desire to figure out who I was and how to make sense of my life, my Mum had taken that energy and pushed it in the best possible direction, into the lives of people like me, but less lucky.

"Looked After Children?" asked Elizabeth. Of course she asked. Everyone always asked. "Is that like, in a nursery?"

I took a sip of my coffee.

"No, not really. It means like, children who are 'looked after' by the state. If they're fostered, or in a home for whatever reason. I did a lot of peer support stuff, after school activities, that kind of thing."

"So like, adopted and all that?"

I picked up my teaspoon and began twirling it through the foam of my coffee, breaking up the residue of the pattern.

"No," I said. I was used to having to clarify these things. I was used to people asking questions, every single step of the way. So I kept things general. Explain the concepts first, introduce the personal aspects another time. That was my strategy these days. "Adopted kids have a family, their adoptive parents are their parents, so the state doesn't have to look after them anymore. Looked After Children might only be in care temporarily, or maybe they didn't get adopted."