A Baby's Cry (19 page)

‘No,’ Cheryl said. ‘There is no contact at all.’

‘Has contact been offered to the father?’ Tom asked.

‘No.’

‘Why not?’

Although I was very intrigued by Tom’s questions and the answers they were producing I was starting to feel sorry for Cheryl. She was looking increasingly uncomfortable, but part of the reviewing officer’s role is to have a clear understanding of the case and be satisfied that everything that can be done is being done for the child, and in the case of a young baby, the mother too.

‘It wasn’t felt appropriate to offer contact to the father,’ Cheryl said a little guardedly.

‘Why not?’ Tom asked.

‘He will never play a part in the child’s life.’

‘So where is the father?’ Tom persisted.

‘We don’t know exactly,’ Cheryl said.

‘Does he know he is the father of the child?’ Tom now asked, writing as he spoke.

Cheryl hesitated as Jill and I exchanged another glance; then Cheryl replied carefully: ‘There has been no indication from the mother to make us think the father knows he has a child, although Harrison has his father’s surname.’

‘So does a large proportion of the population,’ Tom remarked dryly. ‘Smith is a very common name.’ Cheryl nodded but didn’t say anything. ‘Is the father’s name on the child’s birth certificate?’ Tom now asked. ‘If so he will need to give his permission to free the child for adoption.’

‘The department is aware of that,’ Cheryl said. ‘And we are in the process of obtaining a copy of Harrison’s birth certificate.’

Tom wrote while Jill gave Harrison a little rock in his bouncing cradle and Cheryl shifted uncomfortably on the sofa.

‘So why is the mother giving her child up for adoption?’ Tom now asked, pausing from writing to look at Cheryl. ‘Most single mothers can keep their children in this country. We have a benefit system.’ It was a direct question and Tom was clearly looking for an equally direct answer.

Jill and I looked at each other as Cheryl concentrated on the notepad on her lap as she spoke. ‘Rihanna approached the social services when she was five months pregnant, and asked us to find an adoptive home for her child when it was born. Since then she has been working with the department to—’

‘Yes, I understand that,’ Tom cut in. ‘But my question is, why? Why is the mother giving up her child? What is the reason?’ I was holding my breath now, waiting for the reply, and I think Jill was too, for this was the question I’d asked myself time and time again: why was Rihanna having to give up her child when she clearly cared so much about him? Even little Harrison was quiet, seeming to sense the enormity of the moment.

Cheryl turned slightly on the sofa to meet Tom’s gaze, and when she spoke her voice was even and controlled. ‘There are highly sensitive and confidential issues surrounding this case,’ she said. ‘They cannot form part of this review. I think you will need to meet my manager to discuss the background details further.’

‘And that meeting can take place straight after this meeting? Tom said, clearly irritated by the lack of information.

‘I will need to phone my manager to find out if she is free,’ Cheryl said, reaching into her briefcase for her phone.

‘Not now,’ Tom said sharply. ‘We’ll finish this meeting first and then you can phone your manager. I’m sure Jill and Cathy have other things to do. And in future if there are confidentiality issues surrounding a case that stop information that should have been included in the review from being included, then I need to be told beforehand. Is that clear?’ Cheryl nodded. ‘I can’t come to a review not properly prepared and then be expected to write my report.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Cheryl said, flustered. ‘I didn’t realize. I don’t think my manager thought of this either – otherwise she would have raised it with me.’

‘No, well,’ Tom said, more conciliatorily. ‘This degree of confidentiality is unusual but not unheard of.’

There was silence as Tom wrote.

Then Cheryl asked quietly, ‘Shall I give Viera’s report now on the progress of the adoption?’

‘Yes please,’ Tom said.

Slightly relieved that she was no longer under scrutiny Cheryl took a typed sheet of paper from her briefcase and began to read Viera’s report, which essentially covered all the information Viera had given at the adoption meeting the week before. Tom made notes as Cheryl spoke and because Viera’s report was straightforward – there were no ambiguities – Tom didn’t need to interrupt to clarify any points, so Cheryl continued uninterrupted to the end, when Tom thanked her and finished writing.

‘There is good progress in finding a suitable adoptive family, then,’ Tom confirmed, and Cheryl nodded. ‘Does anyone want to add anything to Harrison’s review?’ Tom now asked, glancing at Jill, Cheryl and me.

Jill and Cheryl shook their heads. ‘Only that Harrison is a lovely child and doing very well,’ I said.

‘Thank you,’ Tom said. He then closed the meeting by thanking us all for attending. ‘And thank you for the coffee,’ he said to me. ‘It was most welcome.’

He and Cheryl stood and made their way down the hall and towards the door, calling goodbye to Jill as they left. I went with them to see them out. They went down the front path, talking quietly, with Cheryl taking her phone from her bag, presumably to speak to her manager and arrange the meeting with Tom. I closed the front door and returned to the sitting room, where Jill was trying to pacify Harrison, who’d finally had enough of sitting in the bouncing cradle. I lifted him out and kissed his nose. ‘You were such a good boy this morning,’ I said, and Jill agreed.

‘Wouldn’t we like to be flies on the wall at their meeting?’ Jill said to me, meaning wouldn’t we like to know what Cheryl’s manager would be telling Tom.

‘I’m not so sure,’ I said. ‘It’s all a bit scary, and sad, for whatever the background information is has resulted in Rihanna loosing her child. I’d probably rather not know.’

‘You may be right,’ Jill said, standing ready to leave. ‘And very likely we’ll never know. Anyway, I need to be going. I’ve got another meeting this afternoon.’

Having tickled Harrison under his chin Jill went into the kitchen and said goodbye to Adrian and Paula; then with Harrison in my arms I went with her to the front door, where I saw her out. I returned to Adrian and Paula, who were still at the kitchen table.

‘Can we stop painting now?’ Paula asked, making it sound like a penance.

‘Yes, of course,’ I smiled. ‘Thanks for keeping yourselves amused. You were both very good.’

‘What’s for lunch?’ Adrian asked.

I didn’t know; my thoughts had been preoccupied with the meeting. ‘Shall we take a picnic to the park?’ I suggested. The children immediately began packing away the paints. ‘I’ll change and feed Harrison while you clear up the table,’ I said. ‘Then we’ll make some sandwiches for our picnic.’

I went upstairs, changed Harrison’s nappy and then came down and gave him his bottle. By the time he’d finished it he was asleep – exhausted, I suspected, from being subjected to all the adult chatter at the meeting. I knew how he felt! I settled him in his pram and then went through to the kitchen, where Adrian and Paula had finished clearing up. Taking the picnic hamper from the cupboard under the stairs, Adrian and Paula then helped me to make sandwiches and put together a picnic from whatever was in the cupboard.

Half an hour later we were in our local park, sitting on a blanket under the shade of the tree and enjoying our picnic. I wondered what Cheryl’s manager was now telling Tom, which thankfully wasn’t my concern and need never be. As a foster carer my role was to care and nurture Harrison until a suitable adoptive family was found, when my involvement would come to an end. Later I realized just how naïve these thoughts had been.

Chapter Eighteen

Staying Safe

A
ugust and the long vacation from school flew by, with days out, time at home and in the garden, a weekly visit to the clinic to have Harrison weighed; and then suddenly we were buying Adrian’s and Paula’s new school uniforms, ready for the start of the autumn term. Rihanna kept her promise and we didn’t see her in the street again. I heard nothing further from Cheryl or Jill, who were both away on holiday until the beginning of September, although I knew I could phone Homefinders or the social services and speak to one of their colleagues if I needed help or advice while they were away.

Harrison continued to grow and flourish and was much loved, not only by Adrian, Paula and me but also by my parents, and my brother and his wife, who were trying to start a family. All too soon it was 4 September and the first day of the new school term. That day stands out in my memory for three reasons: it was the first day of the new term and we were struggling to get back into the school routine; Harrison was due to have his first vaccination that afternoon; and when I returned home from taking the children to school Cheryl phoned and asked me if I would meet Harrison’s mother.

It was mid-morning and I was already feeling apprehensive, because I had to take Harrison to be vaccinated. Jill was still on holiday and wasn’t due to return to the office until the following day, so Cheryl phoned me directly instead of discussing the matter with Jill first. Cheryl began by asking how we all were and then said: ‘I’ve just had a request from Rihanna’s solicitor, asking if you would be willing to meet Rihanna before the adoption is finalized. Rihanna feels meeting you in person would help her.’

‘What, just her and me?’ I asked, very surprised.

‘No. Jill and I would be present. It would be here at the council offices.’

‘I see,’ I said slowly, not fully understanding what was being asked of me. ‘She wants to see Harrison?’

‘Oh no,’ Cheryl said, as though I should have realized. ‘Rihanna would find that far too upsetting. She just wants to meet you and hear first hand how Harrison is doing and maybe ask you some questions. She knows that once the adoption goes through there won’t be this opportunity.’

‘I see,’ I said.

‘The meeting would reassure Rihanna,’ Cheryl said. ‘It would be no longer than an hour, and I’m sure Jill will be able to arrange for someone to babysit Harrison.’

‘Yes, I am sure she will,’ I said apprehensively. But that wasn’t the reason I was reluctant. I could already picture how upsetting it would be to sit in a room with Rihanna and tell her about Harrison, both of us aware that very soon he would be with his adoptive parents and someone else’s son forever. But I also knew I couldn’t refuse Rihanna’s request – not professionally or personally. I couldn’t deny her this opportunity to hear about Harrison first hand if it would help her adjust to losing him and allow her to move on with her life.

‘All right,’ I said.

‘Thank you, Cathy. I’ll speak to Jill as soon as she returns to the office and arrange the meeting.’ Cheryl thanked me again; we said goodbye and she hung up.

I stood for moment, deep in thought, with the phone still in my hand, as the line went dead and then buzzed with the disconnected tone. I hoped Rihanna was being honest when she’d told her solicitor she wanted to meet me simply to hear how Harrison was doing; I hoped there wasn’t an ulterior motive – possibly to criticize me, threaten me or even (if she was unstable through grief) attack me. With so little background information all this seemed possible, apart from the upset from such an emotionally charged meeting.

I slowly replaced the handset and then went to tend to Harrison, my worries about meeting his mother temporarily overtaken by my worries about the injection he would shortly be receiving. Having a needle stuck in your arm as an adult is uncomfortable (if not painful), but an adult is able to appreciate the benefits gained from a vaccination and a baby can’t. As far as Harrison was concerned he would be hurt and I was responsible for allowing it to happen. I could still remember the look of accusation on the faces of Adrian and Paula as they’d sat on my lap and I’d held their arms for the injection, and their smiles had crumpled into pain. Now I was about to do the same to Harrison.

‘Sorry, Harry,’ I said as I gave him his bottle before we left. ‘The vaccination is for your own good.’ But he didn’t look convinced.

I dressed him in the zip-up suit his mother had sent to go to the doctor. Now he was bigger I was using the stroller rather than the pram, so he didn’t have the all-round protection from the wind the pram offered, and although it was a clear day the air was starting to freshen, suggesting autumn wasn’t far away. Harrison preferred the stroller to the pram, as he was able to see where he was going, and be seen. Alert and engaging, he attracted the attention of those we passed in the street and I lost count of the number of passers-by who paused to make a fuss of him whenever we were out. But while Harrison was busy watching everything and everyone around him as I pushed him up the road and towards the doctor’s surgery, my thoughts returned to his mother. While part of me said Rihanna’s request to meet me was simply as it appeared – to reassure her and help her come to terms with losing Harrison – another part of me said that given the secrecy surrounding this case, I had every right to be concerned. I was pleased Jill was returning to the office the following day, for when it came to fostering matters Jill was always the voice of reason and good sense. I knew she wouldn’t allow me to go into a situation she thought might be dangerous.

As predicted Harrison cried when the nurse gave him the injection and glared at me accusingly. I felt awful for allowing him to be hurt, but as with Adrian and Paula, his upset was short-lived and a hug and kiss soon put him right. Later, when I collected Adrian and Paula from school and told them Harrison had had his first injection, they sympathized and made a fuss of him, for they’d both recently had booster injections and could empathize with him.

Harrison was restless that night, possibly as a result of the injection, and I didn’t sleep well either. In between settling him, making him a bottle and myself a cup of tea, then trying to go back to sleep, my thoughts kept returning to Rihanna and the meeting Cheryl was going to arrange. With little sleep I didn’t hear the alarm go off the following morning and I then had to rush to get the children to school on time. Having begun the day disorganized the rest of the day seemed to follow suit and nothing went as it should. However, it seemed I wasn’t the only one who wasn’t having the best of days, for when Jill phoned it was after 5.50 p.m. and she didn’t sound at all relaxed after her holiday.