A Baby's Cry (30 page)

We had a late supper that evening, seated around the table finishing off Christmas Day leftovers, and Adrian and Paula were still talking about the day out with their father. I wondered if Harrison would ever experience a day out with his father. I hoped so, for all children benefit from having a father figure in their lives even if their parents don’t live together.

The following day Jill phoned and once we’d asked each other if we’d had a nice Christmas I told her about Rihanna’s and her parents’ visit. Jill wasn’t pleased that Rihanna’s mother had come and then made no effort to interact with her grandchild, although that wasn’t how I’d phrased it. ‘It was difficult for them,’ I said again.

‘Well, the grandparents will need to get their act together before the assessments start or it will count against them,’ Jill said, in her usual straight-talking manner.

‘Yes. Rihanna asked me when I thought contact would begin and I said about a week.’

‘At least. There’s only a skeleton staff in until New Year.’

We wished each other a Happy New Year and Jill thanked me for facilitating contact in my home on Boxing Day.

The children and I made the most of the winter break from school and, wrapped up warmly, went to the park when the sun shone or stayed indoors and played with Christmas toys and games when it rained. We also had some friends to visit who had similar-aged children to Adrian and Paula. I didn’t hear anything further from Jill or Rihanna until after the New Year – Tuesday 3 January, which was the first day most offices were back at work with a full staff.

Jill phoned at two o’clock and, having quickly asked if we’d had a nice New Year, apologized for the short notice and then said: ‘Cheryl’s just phoned. It’s been decided that supervised contact between Rihanna and Harrison will take place on Tuesdays and Thursdays, four o’clock to five-thirty. They want it to begin straightaway. Sorry, Cathy, but can you take Harrison to the family centre at four o’clock this afternoon?’

I glanced at my watch. ‘Yes, I can.’

‘And you can collect him again at five-thirty.’

It was a statement not a question. Foster carers are expected to take children to and collect them from contact, often driving miles across the county and rearranging or cancelling their own family’s plans to do so. ‘Yes,’ I said again.

‘Will he need feeding?’ Jill asked.

‘Yes, he usually has his dinner during that time.’

‘Can you take it with you, all prepared, so that Rihanna can feed him?’

‘Yes, although it will have to be a jar of baby food tonight as I won’t have time to prepare and cook dinner before we leave.’ I briefly wondered when Adrian, Paula and I would find time to eat. ‘I’ll also take a change of nappy and baby wipes, in case he needs changing,’ I said.

‘Thanks, Cathy. I’ll confirm the contact with Cheryl now.’

‘Jill,’ I said concerned, ‘Harrison has only seen Rihanna three times, and very briefly. And it was at home with me. To go from that to one and a half hours in a strange setting could be very unsettling for him. Shall I stay to help Rihanna if necessary?’

‘I’ll mention it to Cheryl but part of the purpose of the contact will be to assess how Rihanna copes with looking after Harrison.’ Which did nothing to ease my concerns for Harrison and seemed unfair to Rihanna. Surely it would have been better for them both to have had a couple of short contacts at the family centre first while I was present or waiting out of sight to help if necessary. As it was they were both being ‘thrown in at the deep end’, but other than making the offer to help there was nothing I could do. It wasn’t my decision.

Once Jill and I had said goodbye I went straight into the kitchen, where I took two jars of baby food (which I kept for emergency use) from the cupboard: a chicken and vegetable casserole and a jar of rice pudding. I also took a clean bib from the drawer and a plastic spoon from the sterilizer and put these, together with the jars of food, into Harrison’s baby bag. The bag already contained clean nappies, wipes, a change of clothes and other essentials, and was taken with us whenever we were away from the house. I would leave the bag with Rihanna at contact.

Now came the difficult part, I thought: I had to tell Adrian and Paula where we were going and why. They were still unaware that Rihanna had seen Harrison or that she had applied to have him returned to her. With contact now starting I needed to bring them up to date, although I’d have to be careful what I said about Harrison’s future, as where he would live permanently was as yet undecided. Leaving Harrison on his playmat for a few minutes I went upstairs and into Adrian’s room, where he was trying to teach Paula Monopoly – a present he’d had from my brother for Christmas.

‘No, Paula,’ Adrian was saying, slightly exasperated. ‘I’ve told you before you can’t build a hotel unless you own four houses first.’

Paula sighed, returned the hotel to the box and took out a house, which she placed on Old Kent Road.

‘Sorry to interrupt,’ I began, ‘but just to let you know we will have to go out later – at three-thirty. Harrison has contact with his birth mother at the family centre.’ I used the term birth mother to distinguish Rihanna from the adoptive mother Adrian and Paula were expecting to meet at some point during the introductory period if the adoption went ahead.

‘That’s nice,’ Paula said, more interested in how she could build a hotel on Old Kent Road.

‘I’ll miss
Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles
,’ Adrian said, which was his favourite television progamme.

‘I’ll record it,’ I said.

Adrian threw the dice and they both continued playing. I returned downstairs, aware that the children had been too absorbed in their game to appreciate the implications of what I’d said. I’d explain it to them later. I took Harrison into the kitchen and sat him in his high chair so that I could keep an eye on him while I prepared dinner for us, which I would cook on our return from contact.

Later, when we were in the car and on our way to the family centre, Adrian asked: ‘Mum, who did you say Harrison was seeing tonight?’

‘His birth mother,’ I said, glancing at him in the interior mirror.

‘I didn’t think Harry had a mother,’ Paula said.

‘All children have mothers, silly,’ Adrian said. ‘It’s just that some kids don’t see their mothers.’ Which is what I’d said to Adrian and Paula a number of times before, only without the ‘silly’.

‘So why’s Harry suddenly seeing his mother?’ Adrian now asked. ‘I thought he was going to be adopted.’

‘He might still be adopted,’ I said, with another glance in the interior mirror. ‘But his birth mother has asked to see him and the social worker has agreed.’

‘So Harry will have two mummies and daddies?’ Paula asked, understandably confused.

‘No. One,’ I said. ‘The judge will have to decide if Harrison will live with his birth mother or the couple who want to adopt him.’

Paula thought about this for a moment and then said: ‘So one mummy and daddy won’t have a baby. That’s very sad.’

‘Yes,’ I agreed. And not for the first time my heart went out to the adoptive couple who’d spent Christmas and New Year believing that very soon they’d have their longed-for baby and would now have learnt that they might not.

Then Paula’s little voice came again from the back seat, plaintive and upset. ‘Mum, I don’t want Harry to see his mother, and I don’t want him to be adopted. He can’t leave us, he’s our little brother.’

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Contact

B
y the time I’d found a place to pull over and stop Paula was crying openly. Adrian, sitting on one side of her, had his arm around her and was trying to comfort her, while Harrison in his car seat on the other side of Paula was looking at her, very concerned. I cut the engine and released my seatbelt, aware that I had to comfort Paula, but also aware that we were going to be late for contact. I turned and, kneeling, reached over to the back seat and took Paula’s hand.

‘Harrison is only going to see his mother for an hour and a half,’ I said. ‘Then we’ll collect him and he’ll come home with us.’ For I wondered if Paula had misunderstood and thought that Harrison was staying with his mother for good.

Paula shook her head and more tears fell. ‘I don’t want Harry to go ever. Not to his birth mother or the other mummy. He’s my baby brother and I love him.’

‘Oh, darling, I know you love Harry,’ I said, stroking her hand. ‘We all do. But like the other children we’ve looked after, at some point the judge will decide that Harrison will have to go to a forever family. The judge made the right decision for the other children, didn’t he? They’re happy. So I know he’ll make the right decision for Harrison.’ It was the best I could offer, for I couldn’t lie to Paula.

‘I’ll tell the judge Harry will be happy if he stays with us.’ Paula said, giving a small sniff.

I glanced at Adrian, who was sitting very still and quiet, internalizing his feelings as he so often did. ‘You know, Harrison is lucky because he has two mummies the judge can choose from,’ I said to them both.

‘Will we still see Harry when he leaves?’ Paula asked, her tears stemming a little.

‘I hope so. I’ll ask the social worker if we can keep in touch.’ Although whether we stayed in contact with Harrison would ultimately be the decision of his forever family.

I gave Paula’s hand a little reassuring squeeze and then let go so that I could find a tissue in my bag. As I did, Harrison did something he hadn’t done before: pursing his lips he pressed them to Paula’s cheek, giving her a kiss. It was the first kiss he’d ever given, a developmental milestone, and how wonderful that he’d chosen this moment to do it!

Paula smiled and wiped her eyes dry. ‘Harry kissed me.’

‘I know. Are you all right now, love?’ I asked.

She nodded.

‘Good girl.’

I’d known from when I’d first seen Harrison that we’d all love him and would find saying goodbye very difficult. But I had to believe – as I’d just told Paula and Adrian – that the judge would make the right decision and Harrison would be happy with his forever family, whether it was his mother or the adoptive parents.

I glanced again at Adrian, who was still sitting very quiet, and I smiled reassuringly. I would talk to them both again later but for now I needed to get Harrison to contact. ‘All right?’ I said to them both and they nodded.

I turned in my seat to face the front, started the car and pulled away. In the interior mirror I saw that Adrian was holding one of Paula’s hands again and Harrison was now holding the other. It was the image of perfect sibling love and I felt very sad, for whatever the outcome – whoever Harrison eventually went to live with – the end result would be the same for us. Harrison would no longer be part of our family and I knew we would feel his loss for a long time to come.

It was 4.10 by the time I arrived at the family centre, and I parked on the forecourt. As my car was immediately in front of the main entrance and visible from reception, to save time I decided to leave Adrian and Paula in the car rather than take them in. ‘I’ll be as quick as I can,’ I said. ‘Stay put.’

Grabbing the baby bag from the front seat, I got out, went round to the rear of the car and lifted Harrison from his seat. With the baby bag over my shoulder and Harrison in my arms I hurried up the short path and to the door, where I pressed the security buzzer. The door released and I went into reception; a contact supervisor, whom I hadn’t met before, was already waiting for me.

‘Are you here for the Smith contact?’ she asked, using Harrison’s surname.

‘Yes. Sorry I’m late.’

‘The mother is in the contact room waiting. Do you want me to take the baby or will you?’

‘I’ll take Harrison to Rihanna,’ I said, not appreciating the use of ‘mother’ and ‘baby’, instead of their names, which sounded disrespectful.

The contact supervisor turned and I followed her down a corridor towards the rear of the building, where the contact rooms were grouped. Contact supervisors vary in their professionalism: some are excellent, while others, in my view, shouldn’t be in post. No formal training is necessary to be a contact supervisor and the only qualification required is some experience of working with children and a driving licence. Yet the contact supervisor’s role is important and their reports contribute to the decisions made by social workers and ultimately the judge. Contact used to be supervised by the social worker involved with the family, which was a lot better, as they already knew the family well.

At the end of the corridor we turned right into the Blue Room. There were six contact rooms in the centre, named after colours; each was furnished like a sitting room with carpet, curtains, sofa, table and chairs, highchair, cot and plenty of games and puzzles for the children. Rihanna was sitting on the sofa but stood as soon as she saw Harrison. Her face lit up.

‘Hello, Cathy. Hello, Harrison. How are you?’ she said, coming over.

‘He’s been fine,’ I said, placing Harrison in her outstretched arms. ‘How are you?’

‘Good now today has finally arrived. It’s been a long time coming.’ She hugged Harrison hard and smothered him in kisses. Harrison looked around, bemused.

‘I’ve brought a bag with everything you’ll need,’ I said, taking the baby bag from my shoulder and unzipping it. ‘I’ll quickly run through it with you.’

‘Thanks,’ Rihanna said, not looking at the bag and more interested in petting Harrison.

‘These two jars are for his dinner,’ I began, taking out the jars of baby food. ‘He usually has his dinner at five o’clock. I’ve put a bib in the bag. You can give him his dinner in the high chair, but you’ll have to feed him. He can feed himself with finger food, but he is too young to use a spoon yet.’

‘Will you remember all this?’ the contact supervisor said to Rihanna, noticing she wasn’t looking. Rihanna stopped kissing Harrison and, turning her attention to me, looked at the baby bag I was holding open.

‘These two jars,’ I continued, ‘are his main course and pudding. If he doesn’t want all his pudding don’t worry. I still give him a bottle of milk at bedtime. I’ve packed a spoon. It’s sterilized, so you don’t need to wash it first. He’ll want a drink with his dinner and I still boil his water, so in this beaker is his water. It’s sealed: you just turn the lid like this,’ I said, showing her.