‘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
By 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 cen
tre, 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.
Rihanna was now concentrating hard and looking serious, and I could tell she was struggling to take all this in. Baby feeding and baby routines are easy once you know how, but as every new parent knows they can appear very daunting to begin with. Although Rihanna was an intelligent woman this was a new world to her, as it is for most first-time parents. ‘And if he needs a change of nappy,’ I finished, ‘the nappies are in the bag, with baby wipes, and disposable nappy bags.’
‘I see,’ Rihanna said slowly. ‘Do I need safety pins for the nappies?’
‘No, they’re disposable.’ I quickly took one of the nappies from the bag and showed her the sticky fastener on either side. ‘Is there a changing mat here?’ I asked the supervisor.
‘There should be,’ she said, glancing around the room. ‘I’ll find it later if we need it.’
‘If you use the changing mat,’ I said to Rihanna, ‘wipe it down first with one of these anti-bacterial wipes.’ I showed her the pot of wipes in the bag. ‘If there isn’t a mat you’ll have to change him on the floor. There’s a small blanket at the bottom of this bag; put that on the floor – it’s clean.’ Rihanna nodded but continued to look daunted. ‘Don’t worry,’ I said. ‘You’ll be fine once you’ve done it. You’ve got my mobile number; if you’re not sure about anything give me a ring.’
‘All right, Cathy,’ she said, appearing slightly reassured that I was on the end of the phone if needed. ‘It’s a pity you couldn’t have stayed for the first few contacts. I’d have felt happier.’
And not for the first time I wondered why the social services didn’t always listen to the intuitive voice of good sense instead of relying on procedure.
‘You’ll be fine,’ I said again to Rihanna. ‘Phone if you need me. Have a good time and I’ll see you at five-thirty.’ Leaving the baby bag on the sofa I smiled at them both, came out and then hurried to the car.
There was just enough time to drive home, cook dinner but not eat it, before we had to return to the family centre to collect Harrison at 5.30. I knew I needed to be better organized for the next contact on Thursday because Adrian and Paula would be at school and I’d have to collect them and go straight to the family centre. Tonight, however, we settled for a quick snack until we could eat dinner after contact.
Rihanna hadn’t phoned, so I was optimistic that the contact had gone well and I’d been worrying unnecessarily. I parked on the forecourt and took Adrian and Paula into the centre. It was now dark and cold, so I wasn’t going to leave them in the car. They’d been into the family centre before and knew they had to wait in reception and look at the children’s books there while I went into the contact room to collect the child we were fostering. There was always someone in the office to keep an eye on children waiting in reception.
When I arrived outside the Blue Room the door was closed, so I knocked and went in. I knew as soon as I entered and heard Harrison grizzling that he’d been fretful and had given Rihanna a hard time. That was before I saw the mess! The room looked as though a tornado had swept through it, picking up and depositing at random anything that came into its path. Apart from the toys (belonging to the centre), which had presumably been used to try to placate Harrison and were now dotted around the room, the contents of the baby bag were strewn liberally on every available surface. The blanket was in a heap on the floor, surrounded by nappy bags, baby wipes and three clean but unusable nappies with their sticky fasteners torn off. The two jars of baby food, now empty, were on the tray of the high chair with the spoon, all of which was caked in an unhealthy-looking mixture of chicken casserole and rice pudding, as were the bib and some of the floor. And when I looked at Rihanna, who was pacing the room with Harrison in her arms, I saw that her clothes also bore the stains of what must have been a very interesting meal! I was about to quip something light-hearted about them having had quite a party but I could see from Rihanna’s face that this had been no party. She looked hot, flustered and close to tears.
‘Oh, Cathy,’ she said, coming over. ‘I’ve made such a mess.’
Understatement, I thought. ‘Don’t worry,’ I said. ‘We’ll soon clear it up.’
‘Nothing went right,’ Rihanna lamented. ‘Harrison wouldn’t open his mouth when I tried to feed him. Then when I got some food into his mouth he spat it out. I tried to change his nappy but he kept wriggling and turning over. I nearly phoned you but I knew I should do it myself.’ Rihanna glanced in the direction of the supervisor, who sat at the table and was still busy writing.
‘Don’t worry,’ I said again. ‘It was strange for both of you. It will be easier the next time.’ But obviously Rihanna was worried – not only by her inability to perform what had probably appeared to her to be simple parenting tasks, but also that the contact supervisor had recorded her failure, and indeed was still doing so. Contact supervisors have to make notes during contact as aide memoires for when they write up their reports later, but I’d seen it done far more subtly. Writing so conspicuously must have made Rihanna feel very self-conscious and nervous.
With my arrival Harrison had begun grinning and babbling happily, and struggling to be out of Rihanna’s arms and into mine. I ignored him, not to be unkind, but because to have taken him now would have undermined Rihanna’s confidence further. ‘You play with Harrison while I tidy up,’ I said to her. I turned to the surrounding mayhem.
As well as having to gather together the contents of the baby bag, which I would need to take with me, I had to make sure the contact room was left clean and tidy, as it was supposed to be at the end of each session. I began with the high chair, removing the jars and spoon, wiping it down and then collapsing it and stowing it in the cupboard. I then tidied away the toys that belonged to the centre, returning them to the toy boxes. Then I threw the torn nappies away, folded the blanket and put that together with the other items that were mine into the baby bag. It only took five minutes and the contact supervisor could have helped but she didn’t, preferring to continue writing her notes, although goodness knows what she was writing – details of my tidying-up? Rihanna was now more relaxed and was cuddling and talking to Harrison, who was his usual sociable self and was smiling at her and no longer struggling to be put down. Finishing the tidying, I zipped up the baby bag, th
rew it over my shoulder and went over to take Harrison and say goodbye to Rihanna.
‘Thank you, Cathy,’ Rihanna said with a smile, as she passed Harrison to me. ‘What would they say at work if they knew I couldn’t feed or change a baby?!’
‘All new parents are the same,’ I reassured her. ‘I’ll let you into a secret.’ I saw the contact supervisor look over, as secrets aren’t allowed at contact, but I ignored her and continued anyway. ‘When I was first asked to look after Harrison, I was very worried I wouldn’t know what to do. Although I’ve had two children of my own the youngest, Paula, is five, so it was a long time since I’d made up formula or changed a nappy. I hadn’t fostered a baby, so I was convinced I wouldn’t know what to do. And to begin with everything took ages, but we got by, and Harrison didn’t know any different.’
‘Really?’ Rihanna exclaimed, surprised and relieved. ‘But you seem so experienced and confident.’
‘And soon you will be too. It’s just practice. Another couple of contact sessions and you’ll be fine, I promise you.’
If only that had been true.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
The Decision
I was better organized on Thursday. Adrian and Paula had returned to school for the spring term, and having seen them in I returned home, took down the Christmas decorations and then in the afternoon cooked dinner. I plated up ours and mashed Harrison’s, which I put in a sealed container for Rihanna to reheat in the microwave at the family centre. I collected Adrian and Paula from school in the afternoon and drove straight to the family centre, where they waited in reception as they had before. Harrison must have remembered being upset at his previous visit, for as soon as we entered the Blue Room he began crying. Not loud sobs but grizzling – enough to unsettle Rihanna, who was standing in the centre of the room, nervously awaiting our arrival.