A Baby's Cry (25 page)

‘Rihanna came here last night and told me all about Harrison’s background and the reason for the secrecy,’ I said.

‘She told you?’ Jill exclaimed in astonishment. ‘She told you everything?’

‘Yes – well, I assume it was everything. I’m certain it was all true.’ I was kneeling on the floor in the sitting room, keeping Harrison amused.

‘So who is Harrison’s father?’ Jill asked, unable to hide her intrigue.

‘No one famous,’ I said. ‘Not that it helps. It’s all so sad, Jill.’ And I began telling Jill what Rihanna had told me. I said that Harrison was a result of a loving but forbidden partnership which had lasted twelve years and which Rihanna had ended when she’d found out she was pregnant. I explained why the secrecy was necessary to protect Rihanna and Harrison’s father; and I ended with where Rihanna was now – alone in a rented flat, going to work each day while aching for her son. Jill listened in silence as I spoke, just occasionally sighing – with sadness, at the hopelessness of Rihanna’s situation and also, I suspected, with frustration that such an attitude as Rihanna’s family’s still existed today and wrecked lives. I got to the point where Rihanna was about to leave the house (without seeing Harrison) when Jill interrupted and exclaimed: ‘So Rihanna didn’t ask to see Harrison? She just came to talk to you?’

I paused. ‘She didn’t
ask
to see Harrison, no. But I suggested she did.’

Jill fell quiet again as I told her what had happened then: that I’d invited Rihanna in with the offer that she could go upstairs and see Harrison, which she had accepted. I told Jill, Harrison had been awake but Adrian and Paula had stayed asleep and therefore didn’t know Rihanna had been. I then described the scene in Harrison’s bedroom as Rihanna held her son and finally kissed him goodnight and said goodbye. I finished by saying that Rihanna had thanked me and then left, not in tears but obviously very upset.

‘I’m not surprised she was upset, poor woman,’ Jill said. ‘You’re right, it is so sad. And unnecessary!’ she tutted, but when she spoke again it was with professional detachment. ‘Harrison is in care under a Section 20, so from that point of view no court orders were broken when you allowed Rihanna into your home. I’ll obviously have to update Cheryl and she may feel it’s necessary to apply for a care order until Harrison is adopted. If she does, you know you won’t be allowed to let Rihanna into your house again? Any contact will need to be arranged in advance and supervised at the family centre.’

‘Yes, I know, Jill,’ I said.

‘And the other issue is – and I’m sure you thought about this before you invited Rihanna in – now you’ve done it once, Rihanna arriving on your doorstep might become a regular occurrence. In which case the social services would certainly apply for a care order – to protect Harrison. They’ll be starting introductions to the adoptive parents in February, so it isn’t in Harrison’s interests to begin building a relationship with his birth mother now, only to say goodbye in a couple of months. I’m afraid Rihanna has left it too late.’

‘I know,’ I said. ‘I’m sure she does too. She won’t come back again.’

‘Did she tell you she wouldn’t?’

‘No, but she said goodbye to Harrison. It was final. While she couldn’t bring herself to attend a goodbye contact at the family centre, this just happened naturally. But I’m sure it was goodbye for Rihanna.’

‘All right. Let’s hope so. And Rihanna seems to be coping? She wasn’t overtly distraught?’

I hesitated. ‘She goes to work each day, so I suppose she must be coping.’

‘Well, let’s hope she’ll accept the counselling that Cheryl has offered. I’ll ring Cheryl now and update her. Make sure you write everything you’ve told me in your log notes in case there are any repercussions. And Cathy?’

‘Yes?’

‘I’d have done the same in your position and let Rihanna in. So don’t beat yourself up about it.’

‘Thanks, Jill.’

Chapter Twenty-Three

Late−Night Caller

I
n the days that followed Rihanna’s visit it occurred to me that while Rihanna had mentioned Harrison’s father a number of times when she’d been telling me her story, she hadn’t ever referred to him by name – just as ‘Harrison’s father’. I assumed she had purposely avoided saying his name to maintain confidentiality and protect him. I wondered if his surname was really Smith. When I’d collected Harrison from the hospital the nurse had told me that Harrison had his father’s surname, Smith, and Cheryl had told Jill that Rihanna had checked in and out of the hospital using the name Smith. But Smith is the most common surname in the UK and is sometimes used as an alias, if someone wants to hide their true identity. However, whether Smith was the family name or not was of little consequence really, for once Harrison was adopted he would be given his adoptive parents’ surname. I also wondered why Rihanna had chosen the first name Harrison, a name that is uncommon in the UK (and which Harrison would keep after the adoption), but it hadn’t seemed appropriate to ask her when she’d visited.

With Christmas fast approaching the week beginning 12 December was a busy one socially. On Tuesday it was the Homefinders Christmas lunch for its foster carers and, as in previous years, they’d booked (and paid for) a nice meal for all the carers at a local pub restaurant. We had a room to ourselves over the main pub, and the carers with pre-school children could bring them rather than finding babysitters. The agency provided two nannies to keep the babies and children amused while the carers ate. It was a lovely meal in a relaxed and festive atmosphere and gave the carers a chance to chat to each other and catch up on news. On Wednesday morning I went into school to watch Adrian’s and Paula’s Christmas play, which was performed in the main assembly hall. As I’d done when watching the school’s summer play, I purposely chose a seat at the end of a row and near a door so that if Harrison became restless I could easily slip out. But he was as enthralled as I was by the children’s nativity play and sat on my lap watching and listening attentively to the children on stage. Adrian was one of a large group of shepherds and Paula was an angel. I wasn’t the only parent who was misty-eyed at the closing scene when the children, grouped around baby Jesus and with the angel’s costumes sparkling in the light, sang ‘Away In A Manger’ in their sweet little voices. I looked at Adrian and Paula and felt incredibly proud. I knew how lucky I was, not only to be blessed with two wonderful children of my own but also to be allowed to foster more.

On Thursday, Adrian and Paula had their Christmas parties at school and took in lemonade and party food to share. As I was in the PTA (Parent Teacher Association) I helped at the party, which was in the main hall. I took Harrison with me, and the parents organized games for the children and then set out the party food on long tables. The children made such a fuss of Harrison that when the party had finished he didn’t want to leave; Adrian and Paula looked proud that Harrison was their foster sibling.

Friday was the last day of term and school was due to finish early – at 1.15 p.m. That morning Jill visited me for her four-weekly supervisory meeting. The meeting followed the format of the previous supervisory meetings and after we’d discussed Harrison’s development, she checked and signed my log notes and then brought me up to date.

‘Cheryl phoned yesterday,’ she said. ‘She’s spoken to her manager about Rihanna coming here, and she’s also spoken to Rihanna on the phone. Cheryl and her manager are satisfied that Rihanna won’t try to see Harrison again, so they won’t be applying for a Full Care Order now.’

‘Good,’ I said.

‘However,’ Jill added, ‘Cheryl said that having spoken to Rihanna she doesn’t think that seeing Harrison has helped her. Rihanna is still grieving badly for her son.’ Although this sounded like a criticism of me – for suggesting Rihanna saw Harrison – I didn’t think Jill intended one. Jill is always plainly spoken and had admitted on the phone she’d have done the same in my position.

Jill continued with an update on the progress of the adoption: ‘The choice of couple has been finalized,’ she said. ‘The couple have been notified they’ve been successful. The other four couples who were shortlisted will have also been notified that they have been unsuccessful,’ she added.

I nodded but I felt sorry for those other couples who for six months had been preparing themselves for the possibility of adopting, and had now been rejected and would have to start the process all over again – searching the registers for another child to adopt. Often couples (who have already been approved as suitable adopters) spend years applying to adopt specific children, having their hopes continually raised and then dashed. I think the whole system needs a radical overhaul, so that children who are in care are matched with suitable adoptive parents much sooner.

Jill then said a planning meeting had been arranged in the New Year – for Wednesday 18 January, when Harrison’s adoptive parents would meet me and learn about Harrison first hand. The couple already had basic details about Harrison and the photographs I’d given Viera, but on the 18th they would learn more from me about Harrison’s routine, likes and dislikes, etc. and could ask me questions. At this point the couple still had the option of pulling out and not proceeding with the adoption, but of course very few do. Couples who reach this point know how lucky they are to have the chance to adopt a child and are fully committed. Jill, Viera, Cheryl, possibly Cheryl’s manager and the couple’s social worker would also be present at this meeting. I made a note of the date of the meeting in my diary and then Jill asked me, almost suspiciously: ‘You haven’t heard any more from Rihanna?’

‘No,’ I said. ‘I’d tell you if I did.’ Which she accepted.

That afternoon, the last day of school, I met Adrian and Paula at 1.15 and they came out very excited and carrying Christmas decorations they’d made in class, Christmas cards from their friends and a gift each from their teachers which was very generous. The playground was alive with the sound of excited children – all happily breaking up from school and looking forward to Christmas, as well as parents calling ‘Happy Christmas’ to each other. Once home and out of the school routine we could relax and enjoy the final build-up to Christmas. I love Christmas – the magic never wears off for me – but I had to admit there was a cloud hanging over this year’s festive season, and that was my thoughts and worries about Rihanna and how she would be coping. I didn’t know Rihanna’s religion and quite possibly she didn’t celebrate Christmas, but in England you can’t avoid the festive atmosphere of Christmas whatever your religion. And being surrounded with images of happy families with their children would be a cruel reminder to Rihanna of what she had lost. But I knew I had to let go of her pain and be positive, for in two months Harrison would be settling in with his adoptive parents, who would love and care for him as Rihanna would have done.

By 23 December I was more or less prepared for Christmas. I just needed to collect the turkey, fresh fruit and vegetables the following day – Christmas Eve – and then there would be no more shopping until well after Christmas. I’d wrapped the presents to go in the children’s pillowcases on Christmas night, and they were hidden in my wardrobe. The pile of presents – from friends, and relatives we wouldn’t see over Christmas – had grown under the tree, and the children were also looking forward to seeing their father on Boxing Day, when they would exchange presents with him.

It had taken some time to get the children into bed and asleep that night as they were very excited; even Harrison had taken longer than usual to settle, wanting to play peek-a-boo through the side of the cot rather than lie down and sleep. It was after 9.30 by the time all three children were asleep and I was downstairs tidying up. Then at ten o’clock I went through to the sitting room and switched on the television to watch the news.

Just as I sat down I heard a tapping sound, so I was on my feet again, going into the kitchen. Sometimes the cat flap on the back door sticks and Toscha taps on it with her paw, asking to be let in. However, when I went into the kitchen I saw that she was already asleep in her basket. I went to the cat flap and checked there wasn’t another cat trying to get in, as had happened once before. But there wasn’t another cat and the cat flap appeared to be working normally. I glanced around the kitchen; then I switched off the light and returned to the sitting room. But before I’d sat down I heard the tapping again. Silencing the television I crossed to the French windows, where I gingerly lifted back one curtain and peered into the darkness, wondering if there was something on the patio making the noise. The tapping sounded again and it was then I realized it wasn’t coming from the patio or the kitchen, but from behind me: from down the hall. Someone was tapping quietly on the front door. Carol singers? Kids messing around? I wondered. But it was too quiet for that. The hall light was on and I went down the hall and to the front door, where I slid the cover on the security spy hole.

‘Oh no!’ I gasped out loud, as I saw who was on the doorstep.

Illuminated by the porch light, facing the door and with tears streaming down her face, stood Rihanna. My heart sank as anxiety gripped me. Jill had been right when she’d said that allowing Rihanna to come in once could encourage her to return, and Cheryl, her manager and I had been wrong. Badly wrong. What was I supposed to do now? The social services hadn’t applied for a Full Care Order; Harrison was still in care on a Section 20, so technically I could let Rihanna in to see Harrison, although as before I could refuse her entry as it was my house. But unlike before she was now obviously very upset and I doubted it was in either her or Harrison’s best interests to allow her to come in and see him. I considered opening the door on the safety chain and telling her through the crack that she should go home and phone Cheryl first thing in the morning, but I felt that as Harrison’s mother she deserved more than that – being dispatched through a crack in the door.