Where Women are Kings (6 page)

Some of the visits they would play, and sometimes they would draw or paint, and one visit all they did was drink
lemonade and see who could do the loudest burp, and Elijah had laughed and laughed and laughed and felt just like a small boy laughing, which was a really good feeling. But then he had to go back to Nargis’s house. Elijah couldn’t wait for that day when he would leave. He hated living with Nargis. Every room in her house screamed when he opened the door. Nobody else could hear it, but Elijah could. It was so hard to breathe at Nargis’ that he wondered if even the air wanted to get away. He looked through the window every night at the patch of sky Mama would be looking at, and found her star. Then he wished and wished for her to come and find him. But she never did. Elijah knew in the bottom of his tummy that he was not going to live with Mama soon. He knew it because she felt so far away and her star wasn’t shining as much as normal.

Elijah heard Mama’s voice inside him:
Little Nigeria, you are in danger. If we ever get parted, you must find a Nigerian who believes in God and wait there. You will be safe
.

He also heard Bishop’s voice inside him:
Ye make him twofold more the child of hell than yourselves. Ye serpents, ye generation of vipers, how can ye escape the damnation of hell?

He knew Mama wasn’t coming for him at Nargis’ house. Elijah didn’t feel safe at all. Not one little bit.

‘Can I see Mama?’ he asked Ricardo. They were outside Nargis’ house in the garden in the cold air. Elijah brushed his hand back and forwards over the wooden bench and watched his breath explode in front of him. He couldn’t feel the tip of his nose but it was still better than being inside with Nargis.

‘She’s not well enough to see you this week, Elijah. But she is feeling a little bit better and we are trying to set up regular contact so that you can spend some time with her every week. Also, when she’s well enough, we’ll have some
letterbox contact, which means she’ll be able to write you letters …’

Elijah looked up at Nargis’ house. He saw a face at the window watching them. ‘Can I come and live with you?’ he asked Ricardo again.

Ricardo shook his head too quickly and too certainly. Ricardo’s head definitely didn’t want Elijah to live with him. ‘It’s not going to be possible, I’m afraid,’ he said. ‘But we are going to keep doing the therapeutic work with Chioma and we’ll move towards finding something more permanent. OK?’

Ricardo looked up at Nargis’ house too, but Elijah couldn’t tell if he could see faces at windows or hear rooms scream or air trying to escape.

*

If he couldn’t live with Ricardo, Elijah wanted to live with Chioma. She was a Nigerian and she believed in God – she must know all about hell and damnation. But Chioma said he wasn’t allowed to live with her, either. Sometimes they played with the castle and sometimes they made shapes in the sand with tiny instruments: a small plastic knife, a bucket, a small scoop, a rake. Elijah liked the rake the best. No matter what they had been playing and what mess they had made, the rake smoothed the sand out completely until it was in neat flat rows. He liked touching the sand and holding it in his fist, then letting it fall slowly between his fingers until his hand was empty. Chioma let him play with water and make a big mess and she said it was good to make a mess sometimes. But Elijah didn’t like making a mess; he liked cleaning it up afterwards. When he held sand in his hand, he pictured the sea above it – deep, dark blue – and the smell of salt. Sometimes, at night, he’d fly over the oceans and swim right down to the
bottom, until it got darker than midnight and tiny fish flashed like miniature stars.

‘Do you want to do some drawing today?’ Chioma asked. She wore a long patterned dress and a scarf tied up high on her head. Elijah loved her clothes and the tiny slices of fried plantain she brought him to snack on, wrapped in kitchen roll.

‘We’re not supposed to eat in here,’ she’d whisper, ‘but who wants to play without a snack?’

Elijah looked out of the window. He felt closer to Mama when he was there. Chioma’s play room was on the same road as the contact centre. He always wanted to stay in Chioma’s play room in case Mama was searching for him, and he wouldn’t mind sleeping on the floor. Mama only went to the contact centre when there was contact and there hadn’t been contact for so long, since Mama was ill in the special hospital. Still, Mama had breathed the air in the contact room and her feet had walked on the path outside.

‘I wanted to talk to you today,’ said Chioma, ‘about something important.’

Elijah flicked his eyes towards her.

‘It’s nothing bad,’ she said. ‘In fact, it’s quite a good thing.’ She smiled and shone and sparkled. It was impossible to not smile back. ‘I think you are doing so well with our sessions that I wonder if you’re ready to start thinking about a forever family. Have you heard of adoption?’

Elijah shook his head. He looked out of the window, past the bars, at the patches of sun changing the colour of the grass outside. Then suddenly he remembered. A boy from Sue and Gary’s had been adopted and sent them letters every year and a photo of himself on a bike or on a skateboard or climbing a tree.

‘I’d like you to have a think about it, and a talk with Ricardo. And we can talk lots and lots. But I think you might be ready to live with a family forever. A family who you would belong to, and who would belong to you.’

Elijah tried to shrug but his shoulders were frozen.

‘Let’s play now instead of all this chatting,’ said Chioma, her eyes sparkling brightly. ‘What would you like to play with?’

Elijah thought for a minute or two then knelt down near the giant dolls’ house in the corner. He had never wanted to play with the dolls’ house before. It was painted pink and white on the outside and had five different levels. Inside were different furnished rooms and miniature wooden people. A family. ‘Shall we play mums and dads?’ he asked.

‘That’s a good idea, Elijah.’ Chioma put the pens and paper away, and walked towards the dolls’ house and sat down next to him. ‘I love this dolls’ house,’ she said.

Elijah looked at the rooms. There was a living room with tiny chairs and patterned wallpaper, and a bathroom with a real-looking bath and taps the size of ants. At the top of the house was the nursery, where a baby doll was lying in a cot. Elijah picked up the baby. ‘The baby is crying,’ he said.

‘Poor baby,’ said Chioma. ‘Why is he crying?’

‘He wants his mama.’

Chioma peered into the dolls’ house and frowned. ‘Where is his mummy?’

‘I don’t know.’

Elijah made crying sounds and lifted the baby into his fingers and gently out of the room to show Chioma. The crying sounds got louder and louder.

‘Poor baby,’ said Chioma. She stroked the doll’s face with her thumb.

Elijah made the crying sounds really well until it sounded exactly like a baby was crying. He looked at the wooden baby and felt so sorry for it. He imagined how the baby must feel and how his cry would sound.

‘Poor baby,’ said Chioma. ‘It must be so hard for him to miss his mummy so much.’ She touched the doll’s head, and her fingertips touched Elijah’s hand. ‘Look at the lovely baby,’ she said. ‘He deserves to have a mummy, and a daddy, and to be loved and to be safe forever.’

Elijah cried and cried like the baby. He let his hand fall into Chioma’s and she held it tight before pulling him towards her. Chioma wrapped her arms around Elijah while he cried and cried. She held him so close that he didn’t notice the doll fall to the floor. She wasn’t supposed to hold him; Elijah knew that. On their very first week, Chioma had told him that she couldn’t hold him or touch him, that it was the rules and her job was very different from Ricardo’s. But she must have forgotten because she held him close enough that he could hear her heart beating slow and steady, and he felt his own heart beating over it, so quick, like it wanted to get away from his body.

‘Poor baby,’ Chioma whispered, over and over and over, straight into Elijah’s ear.

Obi and Nikki sat together on the sofa, but there was space between them where a pile of magazines waited, children’s faces smiling from the covers:
Be My Parent!
one side, and
Children Who Wait
the other. Daddy sat in the chair opposite, grinning. It always surprised Nikki how much he looked like Obi, only slightly smaller with greying hair and smiling eyes.

‘Can I get you anything, Daddy?’ Obi asked.

‘Stop fussing,’ said Daddy, laughing. Then he looked up at Obi and half stood, reached across the table and patted Obi’s leg before sitting back down. ‘Such a good boy,’ he said.

Obi rolled his eyes but Nikki could see the smile in them.

She looked around the living room and thought back to their first visits from Ricardo. Usually she hated cleaning, but now, as things became more real and the adoption was more than simply a possibility, she found herself nesting. Obi laughed whenever he saw her pottering around and, the day before, he’d grabbed her and lifted her up to him. ‘I can’t believe I’m saying this, but stop cleaning!’ he’d said, and then they’d both laughed.

‘I feel nervous,’ said Nikki. She thought of Ricardo’s questions about what she and Obi would feel able to accept when they got to matching:

Parental schizophrenia?

Child born of incest or rape?

Child with overtly sexualised behaviour?

What about a child who had had one parent killed by the other parent, or a child who had a life-limiting illness?

Obi had said yes to everything. But she’d said, ‘A child with a life-limiting illness? I couldn’t ever lose a child. Not another child.’ Obi had held her, and nodded his head gently against hers. Then Nikki had looked at the list again. A child with overtly sexualised behaviour? How would she cope? How would she know what to do? The thought made her feel sick.

‘These are real children, Nik. We can’t be picky.’

‘I’m not being picky, Obi. I’m being serious.’

He had shaken his head. ‘This is what we’ve signed up for – any child we adopt will be damaged. How they behave is just a symptom of that.’

Nikki’s heart hurt. She felt cruel. But what was the point in not being honest? ‘It doesn’t matter if it’s just a symptom. It’s their behaviour. It’s them. And I don’t think I could handle a child who … who …’

Obi had just stared, waiting, but the words wouldn’t come. This was why Nikki wanted a baby: a life too new to be too damaged; a child who’d be easy to care for. She closed her eyes and scolded herself. Why was she trying to limit their options? They wanted a child; she wanted to be a mother.

When Ricardo next visited, Obi told him that they weren’t able to accept a child with a life-limiting disease. ‘It’s out of the question,’ he said, looking at Nikki.

‘That’s fine,’ said Ricardo. ‘I think we’re done with the home study. I think you’re going to be wonderful parents,’ he said, and Nikki’s arms threw themselves around Ricardo before she could stop them.

Nikki shook Ricardo and the home study and difficult
questions with difficult answers from her head. She took a big breath. They were finally going to be parents.

‘This is exciting! We could be looking at our son or daughter.’ Nikki touched the magazines, ran her finger over the faces. They had collected three months’ worth and Ricardo had brought them a few that were much older.

‘They’re out of date,’ he’d said, ‘but they give you some idea of the ages and needs of children who are waiting to be adopted. I think all families should look at these to understand that most children who need adoption have special needs, or are sibling groups of three or more children, needing adopting together. It helps them if they have a fantasy of a single, healthy little baby.’

He looked at Nikki then, she was sure of it, but Obi didn’t notice. He had thanked Ricardo and put the magazines away. It was only now that they had felt able to look at them. Only now they were approved adopters. Only now it was real. A child.

‘One of these children in here could be ours,’ said Obi. ‘Imagine that! What a thing we’re doing. What an adventure.’

‘A grandfather at last!’ Daddy laughed out loud. ‘I don’t like these magazines,’ he said. ‘Feels like a sales conference. But I am very, very pleased that you are finding my grandson.’

‘It might be a girl!’ said Nikki, but when she looked at Daddy’s face, she could see that look in his eye. He was teasing her.

Obi looked at Nikki for the longest time and touched her cheek with his thumb. ‘You are going to be the best mum. This is what we’ve been waiting so long for. All those months and intrusive questions, and before, all that pain …’

Nikki closed her eyes and felt the softness of Obi’s thumb, the certainty of his voice. He was right.

‘All those miscarriages,’ whispered Obi. ‘All those children we lost. And here are children waiting to be found. It all makes so much sense.’

‘I can’t wait to see my grandchild. Honestly, having grandchildren is better than having children. You are older and wiser and can give them back at the end of the day when they’re tired!’

Nikki smiled. Daddy had been such a support for them. He was the first person they called to tell they were pregnant and the first person to call to say they’d miscarried. Yet he’d never once told them to give up, or been any less excited each and every time, or less sad each and every time. When Obi had collected the magazines, Nikki had suggested they look at them with Daddy. ‘He’s been with us every step,’ she’d said. ‘Let’s get his opinion.’

*

First there was giggling, loud enough to float into the house, then high heels clicking on the pavement outside. Then a guffaw. It sounded like two drunk teenagers were messing around in the street outside, but Nikki knew it wasn’t.

‘I’m not holding them,’ said Jasmin’s voice. ‘I look like a baby.’

She heard her sister whoop in response and imagined her pulling a silly face at her daughter.

‘Chanel,’ said Obi. ‘I told her not to come over until later.’

‘You can’t blame her. She’s excited too.’ Nikki looked at the outlines against the frosted glass: a tall, thin one and a shorter one with pigtails. The shorter one was passing a bunch of balloons to the tall, thin one. Her sister. Her niece. She smiled, ran to the front door and opened it before they could knock again.