Lessons in Laughing Out Loud (31 page)

Tina nodded, making a note. “That must have been hard for you both.”

“I don’t remember,” Chloe said.

“It was.” Sam stared at the toes of his boots. “It was very hard.”

Tina wrote something else in her notebook and then looked up at Chloe, smiling brightly.

“Anything else? Asthma, eczema, heart disease, high blood pressure?” Chloe looked up at Sam, who shook his head.

“And the father?” Tina asked.

Chloe looked blank. “He’s nothing to do with this.”

Tina pulled down the corners of her mouth, a considered expression. “Although at this point the father does not have any rights over your decision, the council’s policy is to always try to contact the father, and it involves him as much as possible in the process. Even if they don’t want to be involved, it is important that we have a name for the baby, if at all possible. It’s incredibly meaningful to adopted children to have that route back to their birth parents. It helps them understand where they came from and why they were adopted, gives them a sense of identity. We try to collect as much information now so that when they’re old enough the circumstances of their birth won’t be a . . . black hole hanging over them.”

Chloe shifted uncomfortably in her seat, her palms passing fleetingly over her bump.

“But it was just this boy, this boy at a party, who I didn’t even see again.” She chewed the top of her thumb. “It was just a one-night thing. I don’t even know his name.”

Willow frowned. Why didn’t she just tell Tina the truth?

“Oh, Chloe,” Sam exclaimed softly, bowing his head. It must have been so hard for him to hear this, but he didn’t take his hand from hers. If anything he held on to it more tightly.

Tina tried again. “You can’t remember anything about it, not his first name? You’re completely sure?”

“I’m sure, all right? Fuck!” Chloe stood up suddenly, walking to the window. “This is nothing to do with him.”

“Chloe?” Willow stood up too, as Chloe leaned her forehead against the damp glass. “What’s wrong?”

“I want to get my baby adopted, that’s it. I’m not under arrest, am I?”

“It’s okay.” Tina smiled, her tone was reasonable, but her eyes followed Chloe closely.

“Are you trying to protect whoever it was, is that what it is?” Sam pleaded. “Do you think I’m going to go around there and deck him?” Chloe turned around, wrapping her arms around him.

“That is what you’d said you’d do,” she reminded him.

“No, I mean, yes but—I was in shock, Chloe. You’d hidden this from me for six months and then suddenly there you were, my little girl, the size of a house—”

“Oh, thanks,” Chloe snapped.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean . . . you’re not fat—there’s nothing to you.” Sam turned to Tina. “We’ve grown apart, since she hit puberty, I suppose. We were always so close, in it together, a team. Then she started changing and I stopped knowing how to talk to her or what to say.”

“I see.” Tina continued to scribble.

“I probably just thought it was best to let her get on with it. I was wrong.” Sam shook his head. “She’s a good kid. This mess is down to me.”

“These things happen, they’re no one’s fault,” Tina reassured him with practiced certainty. “The key now is to manage the situation as best as we possibly can and to plan for the future of the baby. Even if you do decide to give it—”

“Him, he’s a him,” Chloe said emphatically. “Even if I decide to give
him
up.”

“Of course, even if you decide to give him up, then one day any scrap of information you might be able to pass on to him will mean so much. And not just about the father, but . . . what special talents you have in your or the father’s family, traits or skills that might be passed down to him. Anything you’d like him to know when he grows up—a letter from you, a photo of you with him. Anything you can do to show him that when you decided to have him adopted it was out of love and not because you didn’t care. Because you wanted the best for him and not because you didn’t want him. If you are certain that you want to have him adopted, then that really is the greatest gift you can ever give your baby.”

Huddled against the rattling windows, Chloe stared at Tina, and Willow found herself worrying that she would be getting a chill on her back from the drafty, rotting window frame.

“Chloe, love.” Sam got up, tentatively approaching his daughter. “I’m not angry anymore, not with you or even whoever it was who . . .” He coughed. “I want the best for you and for that little one. He is my grandson, after all. So if you want to contact the father, get him involved in this, I promise I won’t kick off.”

“I don’t want to,” Chloe said, quietly rigid, suddenly brittle. Willow looked from Tina to Chloe, the anxiety in Tina’s face feeding Willow’s growing sense of unease.

“He might be a snot-nosed kid, but he should know. He should know what he’s done and at least take some responsibility,” Sam went on with his usual bludgeoning bluster.

“No!” Chloe raised her voice. “No, I’m not going to see him or tell him or, or anything, okay? Because I hate him! I hate him, I hate him, I hate him and he isn’t getting anywhere near me ever again! Do you get it?”

“Yes, yes, it’s fine,” Tina reassured her. “Don’t worry.”

“Good. Is that it? Because I’m tired. I want to . . .” Chloe gestured vaguely at the room, her skin crawling with naked desperation to be out of that situation.

“That will do for today,” Tina said pleasantly. “There’s no rush.”

“’Bye then.” Chloe all but ran into her bedroom, closing the door firmly behind her.

“What just happened?” Sam asked Willow, who looked at Tina. “She looked scared.”

“She is scared. This is an incredibly scary situation for a young woman to be in, and I am concerned,” Tina said, reading over her notes. “I don’t think Chloe is at all sure about this decision yet, and I suspect she’s not being altogether forthcoming about the circumstances of the baby’s conception.”

“What does that mean?” Sam pressed her.

“I don’t know,” Tina said. “And I don’t think at this point I’m the right person to try to ask her. Look, you see a lot of kids in all sorts of terrible danger in my job. You learn to spot when someone is hiding something, and I’m pretty sure Chloe is. But you also know when there is genuine love and trust between parents and their children.” She smiled at Sam. “I can see you’ve had a rocky time. A single dad and a teenage girl is never easy, but that girl trusts you and she loves you. And you.” Tina smiled at Willow as she stood up, collecting her jacket and bag. “She is so lucky that you two have stayed friends; the
number of divorced parents who make it their duty to mess up their children to score points off each other never ceases to amaze me. And for a stepmother to stay so present in her life . . . well, I can tell it means a lot to her.”

Sam and Willow exchanged glances, neither one speaking.

“Anyway, I think we should take the pressure off Chloe for now. She doesn’t have to make any final decisions yet, and even after the birth she has time to change her mind. I do think she would benefit from counseling as soon as possible, though. There’s a waiting list but I’ll put her on it now because otherwise the baby will be eighteen before she gets seen, and I suggest you contact her school, since they are legally obliged to put together some work for her. Even if she’s been excluded, that will keep her up to date so that she’s not so far behind when she does go back. I’ll open a file for her, so that if you need me, you can contact me as her personal caseworker, but . . .” Tina paused. “Look, I shouldn’t say this, I’m not really allowed to have an opinion, but I didn’t get the chance to tell Chloe about all the help and support we have here in the borough for underage mums. If she keeps the baby we can help get her through her final exams, put her on parenting courses, help her through college, even university. There’s child care, support groups, and with a strong family support network like yours, there is no reason why she couldn’t be a wonderful mother and have everything in life that you want her to.” Tina shrugged. “That baby is your blood, your precious cargo, and in this case I’m not sure an adoptive parent would be able to give him a better life than you.” Tina smiled briefly. “I’d get put up against a wall and shot if the powers that be knew I’d said that. Call me anytime, I can’t promise I’ll always be there, but I will always get back to you as soon as possible.”

Willow shut the door and turned around to find Sam with his back to her, his shoulders hunched, tense.

Tentatively she crossed the room, putting her hand on his back.

“Do you think we did this to her?” he asked, without looking up.

“I think we let her down,” Willow said. “And I know I let you both down.”

Sam turned around and gathered Willow into his arms, squeezing the breath out of her as he tightened his embrace.

“Oh, Willow,” he said into her hair. “I love her so much, and I don’t know how to help her. Why won’t she talk about the father? Do you think she doesn’t want to keep the baby because whoever it was hurt her . . . maybe even . . .”

Sam couldn’t bring himself to say out loud what he was thinking, but Willow knew exactly what he was afraid of.

“I think we just need to be there for her. I think she’s probably been worrying about everybody except herself—you, the baby . . . even me. Maybe it was too soon to arrange a social worker. God, here I am steaming in, trying to be someone I’m not.”

“Someone you’re not?” Sam released her a little so he could look at her.

“Her mum?” Willow admitted. “I’ve missed her, Sam, there’s been this ache in my chest and I thought it was part of me, that I’d always had it and I always would, but when she came back . . . it went. Maybe I’m trying too hard to prove to her how much she means to me.”

“How much Chloe means to you,” Sam repeated the phrase, testing it.

“What we should do is something fun,” Willow said. “Put a smile on her face. I’m meeting Holly later and we’re going to this comedy night in Battersea to see a sort of a friend do his first ever stand-up. It’s going to be awful—he’s not at all funny—but there might be some other good people on. I was
going to ask you if you minded my taking Chloe, but I’ve got a better idea. Why don’t you come too?”

Sam pursed his lips a little. “Me? Go to a comedy club?”

“That’s such an insane idea, is it?” Willow attempted a winning smile that somehow seemed to hit home.

“Okay,” Sam said, half smiling. “Fine then, why not. I’ll drive—you’ll kill us.”

Willow’s face fell.

“I’m joking, Will, your driving isn’t that bad. Nearly, but not quite.”

“Daniel will be there,” Willow said quickly, thinking of the back of Daniel’s hand on her breast, the heat of his breath in her hair. She was really, really keen that Sam not find out about that, sensing that even though their relationship was long over, even the hint of something more between her and Daniel would put paid to any chance of friendship between them.

“Oh.” Sam’s face clouded over. “Of course, you’re still friends.”

“He’ll be there with Kayla, his girlfriend. She’s a model. Does that mean you won’t come?”

Sam shook his head. “Look, I’m a grown-up. And if you and Daniel are close and you want to stay in Chloe’s life, then I’ve got to be grown up about this too.”

“You’re sure?” Willow asked him.

“Are you sure you want me to come?” Sam asked her. Willow looked up at him, his familiar face, the lines and creases she hadn’t been able to stop looking at every chance she got. She missed him too, not just Chloe. She missed the love she’d once felt for him with every beat of her heart. But she knew that to have him in her life now, she would have to be prepared to expect a lot less than he had once been willing to give, and perhaps that would be worse than not having him at all.

“I am sure.” She smiled.

Sam hesitated and then, reaching out, picked up her fingers lightly in his.

“I never thought I’d say this, but it’s good to see you, Willow.”

Chapter
           Thirteen

T
he Dog and Bone was one of those pubs that had once been called something traditional and prosaic like The Red Lion or The White Swan but that some large corporation had given a trendy face-lift, pushing out the regulars in favor of bringing in the young, and part of that makeover included Funny Thursdays. It was in the upstairs room of this polished and corporate pub that Serious James was to make his debut as a professional stand-up comedian. Willow feared for him.

“Up-and-coming comedy talent, it says here,” she said as she scanned the names that had been chalked on the board outside the pub. “Oh, look, here’s James!”

James’s name had been tagged on right at the bottom, squeezed in so tightly that whoever had added it had been forced to write it around the corner and up the margin.

“You really shouldn’t be in a pub,” Sam grumbled pleasantly, his hand on Chloe’s shoulder.