We did not see the Atkinson’s for three days.

I spent those three days completing my chores and trying to push any thought of a possible adoption out of my head. There did not seem to be any point in even thinking about it if Matron was wrong and they were just curious people who were intrigued about the odd-looking girl who opened the door to them. Until I had any confirmation from the Atkinson’s themselves, I tried not to let the thought pass my mind.

Charity kept wanting to mention it, but every time she went to Ethel would shush her and give her a pointed look. I know she wanted to mention it, but I did not. I would be content if the word adoption was never mentioned in front of me for the rest of my life, but even I knew how improbable that would be. The term would come up again, I just did not know how soon that would be.

On the day of the Atkinson’s second visit, we were all outside for our scheduled recreation period. The air was bitter, a cold wind darting around and not even the few strips of sunlight could protect us from its harshness. The ground had been covered in a thin layer of ice that our boots failed to grip, causing us to slip and stumble on the icy surface. Despite that, we spent our winter recreation trying to stay warm, playing a game of tag and also trying not to slip over in the process.

“I tagged you, Charity! I did!” Sally yelled, standing hear the fence

“No, you didn’t! You brushed me, it doesn’t count,” Charity said.

“It does too!”

“Just go after someone else, Sally, I’m losing feeling in my fingers.” Ethel rubbed her hands together to try and create some heat, staring at Sally.

“Not fair,” Sally murmured.

She turned to face me and furrowed her eyebrows, charging head-first across the icy ground towards me. I darted to the left just before she got within reach, her fingers missing me by the smallest of margins. I turned and moved to the other side of the concreate, standing near Ethel and watching Sally to see where she would go next. Ethel looked at me and grinned, bouncing on the balls of her feet to keep warm, Sally standing in front of us to decide her next move.

All of us stood, staring at Sally. Her eyes darted between us all. Sally’s mind tended to work rather fast, deciding which direction would be better and who she would be able to hit first. We were all spread out across the concreate, Charity looked like she was prepared to climb the fence if Sally decided to go after her and everyone else planning their escape. Our recreational space was small, but it meant we had learnt to dodge and weave rather well.

After a little while, Sally looked between Ethel and me, scrunching her fist at her side. I glanced at Ethel and we both agreed the path we would take without having to say a word to each other. The air seemed to get colder, the small strips of sunlight starting to cloud over as we waited for Sally to make her move. She appeared to be dragging it out a little longer just to see how she could put us on edge. She was strange that way.

Eventually, after staring at us for so long that I started to lose feeling in my fingertips, she narrowed her eyes towards Esther and me and ran across the ground. Her boots slipped across the ice, but she managed to remain standing. She reached out to try and catch Ethel or I, both of us moving to the side just as she reached us and running around to where she had been standing only moments ago. Unlike Sally, I had not been so lucky when it came to maintaining any form of grip on the concrete.

Just before I could join Esther at the other side of the grounds to where we had started, I hit a patch of ice. My boots slipped across it and I lost my balance, toppling onto the concreate and sliding a little before coming to a stop next to Ethel.

“Are you alright?” she asked.

“I don’t know.”

I looked down at my leg, my stockings torn and small rocks and blood spotting the material. A large graze sat on my calf, small rocks from the concrete appearing to be embedded in the skin and blood starting to trickle down my leg. I did not even feel it happen.

“Ouch,” Ethel said.

“I’m fine. Might need a bit of help getting up, though.”

“Come here.” Ethel held her hand out to me and pulled me to my feet, watching me dust off the back of my dress and pull on my stocking to dislodge the stones. “You should go wash that.”

“Hm. Not much I can do about my stockings, though. They’ve been mended so many times, they’re more thread than stocking.”

Ethel laughed. “Go on, before Matron catches you.”

Matron had once again decided to remain in her office with the blazing fire and had left us to entertain ourselves outside. We had considered slipping back into the orphanage and out of the cold, but Matron liked to keep an eye on us from her window so we would never get away with it. She would not, however, notice one of us slipping back inside to clean up, especially if having dirty stockings was not allowed.

I limped through the backdoor, walking the short distance down the hall and down a set of stairs to the kitchens. The cook ignored me as I crossed the room to the sink and took a small piece of cloth. I soaked the cloth and gently wiped it over the graze on my leg, through my stockings. A few of the small stones dropped off and it did not take long for the cloth to become pink with the blood from the graze. I would not be able to mend the holes until that evening, so I just had to hope Matron did not see them.

With the blood and stones removed, I dropped the cloth back into the sink and slipped from the kitchen with the cook ignoring me completely. I walked up the stairs and out into the hallway, the sound of footsteps from the main staircase catching my attention. The people on the stairs were closer to me than I happened to be to the door, I was about to get caught inside during our recreation period which meant more punishment.

“Miss Hayworth, what are you doing inside during your recreation period?” Matron asked, appearing in the middle of the hall with the Atkinson’s close behind.

“I grazed my leg. I came in to clean it,” I said.

Matron huffed, her eyes darting down to my leg and the state my stockings were in. “Perhaps it is a good thing you were inside. The Atkinson’s would like a word with you.”

“With me?”

“Yes. You may go into the dinning hall; I need to get the rest of the girls from outside.”

She gestured to the door on our left and glared at me when she walked past, disappearing through the door and outside with the other girls. I followed Mr and Mrs Atkinson through the door and into the dining hall. It felt almost as cold in the dinning hall than it had outside and even Mr and Mrs Atkinson seemed to notice that the fire had not been lit despite the cold. I tried to ignore it.

We stood in silence in the dining hall with neither of the Atkinson’s saying anything despite Matron saying they were the ones who wanted to talk to me. Instead, they seemed to spend those few minutes of silence looking around the room and taking everything in. From the peeling wallpaper and cracked paint, to the cold wooden floor and the dirt that covered the windows. No amount of cleaning would ever make the dining hall presentable.

After a few minutes, Mrs Atkinson cleared her throat. She pulled her shawl a little tighter around her shoulders and looked to her husband, nudging her head towards me and expecting him to be the first one to speak. He too cleared his throat and turned to look at me.

“My wife and I have been talking with Matron Webster. She said that she had mentioned our possible plans for you yesterday, but also mentioned some issues you had in a previous foster home when you were a child. Despite that, Lydia and I would like to start to get to know you for a potential adoption placement. The decision would be entirely sure, and you are free to say no if you do not feel you would like to be adopted after spending some time with us. We will not force you on the matter,” he said.

“We have discussed it, and Matron has agreed, to start the process early to give you more of a chance to get to know us. If you would like to, we would very much like to take you out tomorrow. Just into London for the day and we could have a nice luncheon and just start getting to know each other. It would all be informal,” Mrs Atkinson said.

“I’d like that,” I said, knotting my hands together.

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“Excellent. We will talk to Matron and discuss plans for tomorrow,” Mr Atkinson said.

Not long afterwards, Matron appear to whisk me off for afternoon chores which included helping the cook in the kitchen. I stood at the counter with a knife in hand, peeling potatoes and wondering whether I had made the correct decision in wanting to spend the day with them. They seemed like nice people, and I certainly appreciated that I would have a say on whether the adoption took place. Some of those who had been adopted in the past had never had any say on the matter, they were just told to gather their few things and we never saw them again.

Still, deciding to spend an entire day with them would always be a big step and I did not know if I would ever be ready for such a thing. Perhaps Charity had wormed her way into my head a little more than I would have it liked. It had been, after all, her comment about me finally spreading my wings that had made me consider the idea of adoption at all. Had she not said anything, I never would have agreed. She had always been a terrible influence.

Part of me agreed with Charity that it could be a good thing, that finally getting out of the orphanage would not be as bad as I thought it may have been. But the other part knew it would always be a bad idea. My previous experience with those outside of the orphanage staff had told me all I needed to know, and I had no desire to repeat any of that. The Atkinson’s seemed nice, nothing at all like my previous foster family, but I would always have my doubts.

After supper, I returned to the dormitory with the other girls and told Charity everything that had happened with the Atkinsons’. She looked at me with the biggest grin on her face.

“You should take my advice more often,” she said.

“I could hardly say no. They looked really thrilled with the idea and I didn’t want to be the person to ruin that happiness, not yet anyway.”

“It’s a start. You could be out of here by Christmas if it all goes well, and it will.”

“Don’t say that. Something always goes wrong when you say that.”

“Not this time, I can feel it.”

“What you can feel is the wind, I think the crack in the window got bigger.” Charity laughed.

I turned my head towards the window where a low whistle had appeared every time the wind blew through a crack in the windowpane or the frame. At least that would be something I would not have to deal with if I agreed to the adoption. The Atkinson’s appeared to wear finer clothing and could no doubt afford to keep their windows secured from the winter weather. There certainly were some positives to a potential adoption, but I did not know if they outweighed the negatives.

Perhaps Charity was right and nothing would go wrong, but I could not help that small voice of doubt that crept in whenever I dare think about that. I suppose I would have to wait and see what the Atkinson’s had in store and whether it would be a good thing or not. At least this time the power would rest solely with me.

Matron appeared not long after we had finished talking and I left Charity and slummed across my own bed. The graze on my leg ached a little, but I hardly noticed it as I pulled on my flimsy nightdress and climbed beneath the blanket that also offered no protection from the winter air. Matron stalked the length of the room, candle in hand, making sure we were all in bed. She reached my bed and paused, holding the candle a little high and glaring at me in the flickering light.

“Mr and Mrs Atkinson will be here for you at nine tomorrow morning. I expect you to look presentable and wear your Sunday best for their visit. You will have to wear your damaged stockings since there is nothing to replace them with. I have asked for you to return to us before supper and you will have extra chores to complete since you will miss out. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, Matron.”

“Good. I want to hear a glowing report on your behaviour, young lady. Nothing less will do.”

“Yes, Matron.”

With that, she stalked to the other side of the room, lingered in the doorway for a moment and then shut the door, plunging us into darkness. I rolled over onto my side, wondering if going out for luncheon with the Atkinson’s would be worth the extra chores.