Nektar is at 1511 Jarvis.Tasha opened her eyes and looked around. She had stopped having that ‘where am I’ thought that jolts you when you come too in a strange bed. The rose velvet curtains were slightly open allowing light to gently seep in, dust particles dancing in the glow. She could make out the chest of drawers, the desk piled high with her GCSE revision, the striped duvet fresh and clean and clearly bought to ‘match’ with the room – pink for a girl. She wondered if the foster carers had stipulated the sex to go with the room? Or maybe they had said gay or transgender fine too as we have pink curtains already? She snorted a laugh out loud. If she had been a boy they would have gone out and bought new. They were kind and thoughtful and trying very hard to do the right thing. Tasha pulled on her dressing gown from the back of the door (pink, of course, new for her when she arrived and very fluffy – probably Primark – she kept forgetting to check the label).
She went down stairs and could hear that Rob and Sue were already up and busying themselves in the kitchen. On the table were a pile of presents and cards, fresh fruit and orange juice and she could smell croissants warming in the oven. “Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday dear Tasha, happy birthday to you” they sang in awkward unison. “Thanks! That’s lovely!” Tasha said, and meant it. She really did appreciate how hard they were trying. It was in stark contrast to the birthdays that had come before – images flashed before Tasha’s eyes – she pushed them hurriedly away.
“Start with the cards” said Sue excitedly. The cards that weren’t there were like knives stabbing her heart. Nothing from her mother, obviously nothing from her father. Nothing from her gran, nothing from Jayne her previous foster carer – the list in her head went on. There it was though, Aunt Esme’s hand writing all the way from Inverness – always C/O Social Services but it didn’t matter. Tasha had never met her but she was the one constant thread in the family, and she always remembered birthdays. She imagined her living in a brightly painted cottage like on Ballamory, grey hair in a bun, a flowery apron on as she went about her chores, and freshly baked bread cooling on the table.