A Baby's Cry (26 page)

She tapped lightly on the door again and slowly, reluctantly and not knowing what to do, I turned the doorknob and opened the door, my heart pounding. Rihanna looked at me from her tear-stained face; she wasn’t wearing a headscarf and her hair was dishevelled. More of Jill’s words came back:
… coping? … overtly distraught?
Clearly she wasn’t coping now and was obviously distraught.

‘I’m sorry,’ she began, her face creasing with more tears. ‘I know it’s late. I hope I didn’t wake the children. I tapped rather than using the bell.’

I gave a small nod and tried to think of what to say – gentle words that would send her away and, I hoped, encourage her to accept Cheryl’s offer of counselling.

‘Cathy,’ she said, delving into her coat pocket for a tissue and barely able to speak, ‘you won’t believe what’s happened tonight. I had to come straight here.’

I was about to say that I was sorry, but that whatever had happened, I couldn’t let her in, and she needed to go home and phone Cheryl in the morning, but she suddenly reached out and grabbed my arm. I started and took a step back.

‘Cathy, I have to see you,’ she said. ‘I told my parents this evening. I told them all about Harrison and his father.’ I stared at her, aghast, as her hand tightened on my arm. ‘You won’t believe what’s happened,’ she said again.

I was sure she was going to say that she was now on the run and in fear of her life and needed a safe place to hide, or even that she was running away and wanted to take Harrison with her. I felt my legs tremble and a cold shiver run down my spine. But what Rihanna said was not as I’d imagined, although it was no less shocking: ‘Cathy,’ she said, wiping her eyes as more tears fell, ‘I’ve told my parents everything about Harrison. They are very, very upset, but they are going to help me.’

It took me a moment to realize what Rihanna was saying and that her tears were not of sadness but of joy.

‘Oh Cathy,’ she said, finally releasing my arm, ‘can I come in? I have to see you. So much has happened.’

Foster carers often have to make snap decisions – weigh up a person’s sincerity, motive and intentions, and decide if that person is telling the truth and can be trusted. I now had to decide if Rihanna
was
telling me the truth, in which case I would let her in; or if, unbalanced by grief, she’d concocted this story to get into my house and possibly snatch Harrison or do us harm. Her eyes hadn’t left mine as she’d been speaking and I decided what I saw was sincerity. I opened the door wider and stood aside to let her in.

‘Thank you,’ she said quietly, stepping past me and into the hall.

I closed the front door and then showed her through to the sitting room, where I also closed the sitting room door so that we wouldn’t disturb the children sleeping upstairs. Picking up the remote control I switched off the television, as Rihanna perched on the sofa. I sat in the armchair and looked at her. The Christmas decorations stirred silently overhead and the lights on the Christmas tree glowed.

‘I don’t know where to begin,’ she said after a moment, tears springing to her eyes again. ‘So much has happened tonight. It’s like a miracle. I went to my parents straight from work. I never thought this could be happening.’

I waited while she composed herself as conflicting thoughts dashed through my mind. I didn’t share Rihanna’s euphoria for if, as she said, the impossible had happened and her parents were going to help her, I could already see all sorts of problems, which I doubted Rihanna had considered.

‘Only my mother was at home when I arrived,’ Rihanna began. ‘My father and sister were still at work. I told my mother I had something to tell her: something that would make her upset and angry, but which I had to share. Cathy, I knew I couldn’t live a lie any longer and it would be better if my family never spoke to me again than I continued as I had been. It was unbearable. So I took my mother through to the lounge and made her sit down. She kept offering me something to eat, which is what she always does when I visit. I then told her about the relationship I’d been having with Harrison’s father; that it had begun at university and had developed and continued for twelve years, until I found out I was pregnant. I said that although I loved Harrison’s father I knew we couldn’t be together, so I ended the relationship before I had the baby. When I started to tell my mother about Harrison she didn’t believe me and laughed. She asked where I’d been hiding a baby, thinking I was joking. I explained about foster care and I told her about you; then I showed her the photographs of Harrison, which I carry in my handbag.’ Rihanna maintained eye contact as she spoke.

‘My mother started to believe me then and was very angry and upset. She called me lots of bad names and said I had brought shame on the whole family. I left the house in tears, knowing I would never see my family again. I went back to my flat and sat and cried for ages; I felt so alone. Then at about eight o’clock my father telephoned. I was surprised to hear him as I knew my mother would have told him what I’d said to her when he got home from work. His voice sounded flat and disapproving, but not angry; he said he wanted to come to my flat to talk.’

Rihanna paused and took a deep breath before continuing. ‘I was scared, Cathy. I didn’t think my father would hurt me but I knew my cousins could. I guessed my mother would have phoned her sister and told her. When I heard the doorbell ring I was nearly sick with worry. My father was alone and he looked dreadful – tired and ill – and I knew I was responsible. I said I was sorry for bringing shame on our family. He didn’t say anything; he just walked past me and went into the living room and sat down. It was only the second time he’d been to my flat and I saw him look around at all the photographs of Harrison I have propped along my bookshelves. I offered him a drink but he refused. I sat down and there was this awful silence when he couldn’t look at me; then he said: “I am very disappointed with you, Rihanna. You went behind our backs and saw a man who you knew we would not have approved of. You deceived us for a long, long time. That was wrong of you. Now there is a child whose existence you have kept hidden with more lies. I understand from your mother that the child is being looked after by the state. I am embarrassed. He is our responsibility and I will not have him living on charity and brought up by strangers. The child is innocent. He is also our grandchild.”’

As Rihanna said the word ‘grandchild’ she stopped, overcome by emotion and delved into her pocket for a tissue. Wiping her eyes she took a moment before continuing. ‘My father said that although he was disappointed in the way I’d behaved he recognized we lived in England in the twenty-first century and that times were different. He said he didn’t condone what I’d done, but that the baby should not be an orphan and abandoned on the state. He said our family had a duty to the child and that he would stand by me so that I could fulfil my duty.’ Rihanna paused again and looked at me intently. As I met her gaze anxiety gripped me. ‘Cathy, I know this seems incredible but my father is waiting outside in the car. He wants me to take Harrison home with me now.’

Chapter Twenty-Four

Harrison

H
earing that Rihanna now wanted the baby she’d abandoned into foster care should been have been good news. It should have sent me hugging and kissing Rihanna, crying with joy. The perfect end to her story and so wonderful that it was happening just before Christmas. But as I sat in the armchair and gazed at Rihanna, as astonished and overcome as she was by her father’s unexpected change of attitude, I desperately sought the right words to deal with what could be a very ugly scene.

‘Rihanna, I’m very pleased your father is taking a supportive role,’ I began carefully. ‘And I appreciate he is a proud man who is having to come to terms with an awful lot. But have you thought through the implications if you were to take Harrison now? I mean—’

‘Oh yes!’ Rihanna cried, interrupting and child-like in her enthusiasm. ‘I want Harrison more than anything in the world. I always have done.’

‘I know,’ I said slowly. ‘And I’ve always thought you’d make an excellent mother. But on a practical level have you thought about how you’d look after Harrison if you took him tonight? Do you have a cot, bedding, food, nappies? There’s been no transition period for Harrison to get used to you; he’s going to be very upset and cry a lot. And who will look after him tomorrow when you go to work?’ These were not my only concerns but, aware that Rihanna could take Harrison if she wished, I was being very diplomatic and careful in what I said.

‘We’ll manage,’ Rihanna said. ‘My mother’s still very upset but Father says she’ll recover; then she’ll help me, as this has Father’s backing.’

‘And what about your cousins?’ I asked. ‘I thought you feared their reaction if they found out?’

‘Father says he’ll speak to his brother-in-law. He says they need only know I have a baby; they don’t need to see Harrison or know about Harrison’s father.’

‘And what about your sister?’ I persisted. ‘You said if her fiancé found out about Harrison it could jeopardize her marriage or marriage prospects?’

‘I don’t know,’ Rihanna said, sighing. ‘So much has happened tonight. Father says he needs time to think about what to tell my sister.’ Which didn’t lessen my concerns that Rihanna and her father had acted impulsively – without thinking through the many and far-reaching implications.

‘Rihanna,’ I said seriously, ‘can I tell you what I think you should do – from my experience of being a foster carer?’ She gave a small, unconvincing nod and I knew she was only half-listening to me. ‘I think you should see Harrison tonight but leave him here. This will give you and your father a chance to think—’

‘No,’ she said, interrupting and shaking her head. ‘I’ve been apart from my son for too long. I don’t want to spend another night lying awake in bed and thinking of him. I want him with me tonight.’

‘Please listen,’ I said more forcefully, overriding her excitement. ‘Apart from the practical aspects of looking after Harrison – where he will sleep and what he will eat, etc. – and the confusion it would cause him if you took him tonight, what do you think the social services will do when they find out?’ I finally had her attention.

‘I don’t know,’ she said, looking at me, concerned.

‘I do. If you take Harrison now I will have to phone the emergency duty social worker and tell him you’ve taken Harrison. I can’t do anything else. Because you put Harrison in care voluntarily – under a Section 20 – you won’t have broken the law, but suddenly removing Harrison from care will raise concerns with the social services. They will almost certainly apply for an Interim Care Order, or even an Emergency Protection Order if the police are involved. This means Harrison will be brought straight back here by a social worker with the police. Then, in the weeks that follow, your solicitor will have to hire a barrister and you will spend months going to court trying to build a case to show why you should have Harrison returned to your care. During that period you will probably have supervised contact for a few hours a week. If the social services are concerned about your mental health, which they are likely to be if you just snatch Harrison, then they will ask for a psychiatrist’s report, which will take even more time. Your family’s history will be examined and only when all the reports have been written will the judge make his or her decision. And make no mistake, it will be the judge’s decision if Harrison lives with you or goes for adoption, not yours or your father’s. Do you understand?’

I had spoken plainly, bluntly, but Rihanna needed to be aware of the likely consequences if she took Harrison now. The euphoria had gone from her face and she stared at me anxiously. I felt sorry that I was responsible, but I’d been a foster carer for long enough to know that what I’d said was true.

‘But he’s my baby and I love him,’ she said plaintively. ‘I put him in foster care because I couldn’t see any other way. Now there is another way and I want to look after him. I love Harrison and I want him back.’

‘Yes, I understand that,’ I said more gently. ‘But taking Harrison tonight is not the way forward. What you should do is this: see Harrison now and then leave him here and go home. Tomorrow, phone your solicitor first thing in the morning and tell her everything you’ve told me. Your solicitor will then advise you on how best to proceed. She will inform the social services and apply for contact for you so that you can see Harrison. Contact can usually be set up straightaway under a Section 20 if the social services feel it is appropriate, but as the offices are closed over Christmas it might take a few days.’

Rihanna sighed.

‘There will be a lot going on behind the scenes,’ I continued. ‘Meetings, reports – and there’s the adoption plans to put on hold. But all that will take less time than if you take Harrison now and the social services apply for a care order. Also, if you are seen to be doing the right thing and acting rationally then the social services are more likely to support your application to have Harrison returned to you.’

‘And the social services will definitely let me have Harrison if I do as you say?’ Rihanna asked anxiously.

‘I can’t promise,’ I said. ‘But there is a much better chance if you do this in a planned and controlled manner than if you take him tonight, believe me.’

She fell silent.

‘Do you want to talk about this with your father, as he’s in the car?’ I suggested a moment later.

‘Yes, I should.’ She nodded. ‘I hadn’t really thought about all the things you’ve said. I don’t think my father had either.’

‘No,’ I agreed.

Rihanna stood; I stood too, and then I went with her to the front door. I watched her go down the path; then I heard a car door open and close behind the hedge followed by silence, so I guessed Rihanna had got into the car to talk to her father. The night air was freezing; a frost had already settled on the rooftops and pavement, glistening in the light from the street lamp. It was a beautiful night befitting Christmas in England, which I would have appreciated had it not been for the events now unfolding.