by Cathy Glass
A lump rose in my throat and I didn’t know what to say. Jill came to my rescue. ‘Sadly, that won’t be possible,’ she said kindly. ‘Cathy is a foster carer and has two children of her own. Her job is to give Harrison the best possible care until he is adopted, and she does that very well.’
‘But it’s more than a job to Cathy,’ Rihanna said. ‘I can tell she loves him. I know if you asked her to keep Harrison and adopt him she would.’
I didn’t say anything. I looked at Rihanna as her tears fell and I felt my own eyes mist.
‘Plans for Harrison’s adoption are progressing well,’ Cheryl said evenly to Rihanna. ‘The adoption team will be finalizing their choice of a family for Harrison shortly and then he will be settled.’
‘But I don’t know the family,’ Rihanna said, desperation in her voice and wiping her hand over her eyes. ‘And from what you’ve told me I am unlikely to know them, or even meet them. I feel I know Cathy and her family, and I know they will love and care for Harrison just as I would have done. I can tell: I can see it in her face, hear it in her voice. She loves Harrison as she loves her own children. Why don’t you ask her to adopt him?’
There was silence as Rihanna’s words hung in the air; then Cheryl said: ‘It is not possible.’
Rihanna delved into her handbag and, taking out a tissue, wiped her eyes and blew her nose. I sniffed and just about managed to stem my own tears. I couldn’t look at Rihanna; I couldn’t bear to see her pain. Rihanna was right: of course I would have kept Harrison had the social services asked me to. But Harrison was being found a two-parent family to match his cultural identity and I knew I would never be asked to adopt him. There was a list of prospective adopters who were far better-suited than me.
Rihanna was still crying openly while dabbing her eyes and I wondered why no one was comforting her. Reaching across the circle I took her hand. ‘Don’t cry,’ I said. ‘Please don’t cry. Harrison is doing very well. I know you love him. I love him too, but so will his permanent family. I know he will be well looked after and happy wherever he is. Please try not to upset yourself …’ My voice trailed off and I swallowed hard.
Rihanna had one hand in mine and was holding a tissue to her face with the other. I couldn’t just sit there and watch her cry; it was not in my nature. Rising from my chair I stood beside her and put my arm around her shoulders. She rested her head against me like a child and continued to cry openly. All that could be heard for some moments was the sound of Rihanna’s sobs. Jill looked close to tears herself while Cheryl, not knowing what to say or do, looked embarrassed. I held Rihanna, feeling her pain and sorrow personally, and with no idea why this woman with so much love to give her child could not keep him.
After a few minutes Rihanna’s tears began to subside and she slowly lifted her head. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, wiping her eyes on the tissue. ‘I told myself I wouldn’t cry. I am so sorry.’
‘There’s no need to be sorry,’ Jill said kindly. ‘You have a right to cry.’
I returned to my chair and sat down, very close to tears myself.
‘We can speak further after this meeting,’ Cheryl said to Rihanna, finally patting her arm.
‘There’s no point,’ Rihanna said bluntly, without looking at Cheryl. ‘You and I both know that.’
There was an awkward silence and I wondered if Rihanna would elaborate and give a clue as to why there was no other path open to her apart from having Harrison adopted, but she didn’t.
Presently Cheryl said to Rihanna: ‘Is there anything else you’d like to ask Cathy about Harrison while she’s here?’
Rihanna looked at me, her eyes now dry but still very, very sad. ‘Could you send me a few more photographs, please, before he leaves you? I won’t be allowed any once he is adopted.’
‘Yes, of course,’ I said, and drawing my bag on to my lap, I took out the envelope containing the recent photographs.
‘No sooner said than done,’ Jill quipped, but no one smiled.
I handed the envelope to Rihanna and watched as she lifted the flap and, taking out the photos, flicked through. ‘Thank you so much,’ she said gratefully, brightening a little. ‘They’re lovely. Hasn’t he grown! I thought he had when I saw him with you in the street. Oh, and doesn’t he look smart in that navy romper suit?’
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘You chose his clothes well. Everyone we meet remarks on how smart he looks. And the cuddly panda and teddy you sent are at the foot of his cot,’ I added.
‘Thank you,’ Rihanna said quietly, and her face clouded again.
‘I’ll send more photos – for as long as Harrison is with me,’ I said.
‘And, Rihanna, you’ll have the one of you and Harrison together at the goodbye contact,’ Cheryl added.
Immediately I knew that was the wrong thing to say; so too did Cheryl and Jill. Rihanna stuffed the photographs back into the envelope and, jumping up, fled from the room in tears.
‘That was tactless of me,’ Cheryl said. ‘But I thought it might help.’
Cheryl had been referring to the photograph that would be taken at what is known as the ‘goodbye contact’. This is the last time the parent (or parents) of a child who is being adopted is allowed to see their child.
Jill shook her head sadly. ‘I don’t think Rihanna will be up to attending a goodbye contact,’ she said. Cheryl agreed.
‘I know I couldn’t,’ I said. ‘It’s the stuff of nightmares: to have to smile for a photograph knowing you are saying goodbye to your child forever.’
Chapter Twenty
An Ideal World
The three of us, Jill, Cheryl and me, stayed where we were – in the meeting room – for a few minutes, to see if Rihanna would return, but she didn’t. Jill and Cheryl then put away their notepads and pens and I checked my mobile; there were no missed calls but one reassuring text message from Chris: Harrison is fine. I thought it was sweet of her to text. Cheryl then thanked Jill and me for coming and left the room to go to her office, which was in another part of the building. Jill and I also left the room and slowly made our way down the stairs, across reception and into the car park, both of us sombre and subdued.
‘At least I was able to give Rihanna the photographs,’ I said in the car park, wishing I’d been able to do more.
‘Yes,’ Jill agreed. ‘And you were able to reassure her that Harrison is doing well and is contented, which should ease her worries.’
I shrugged despondently. I could tell that Jill thought as I did – that my meagre reassurance was small recompense for the huge loss and grief Rihanna was feeling.
‘Anyway, thanks for arranging Chris to babysit,’ I said as we prepared to part.
‘You’re welcome,’ Jill said. ‘Take care, and phone me if you need me.’
‘I will.’ We went our separate ways, downcast and deep in thought.
The picture of Rihanna – so dignified yet so very upset – stayed with me for the rest of the day, and indeed for most of that week. Sometimes an image is so poignant that it can seal itself into your mind and it is very difficult to shake it off, and so it was with Rihanna: polite, gentle, quietly spoken, grateful, but so desperately unhappy. I was sure I would have liked Rihanna anyway, but as she was the mother of the child I was looking after my affinity and empathy towards her were even stronger. I felt she would have made a wonderful mother – kind, caring and loving – and not knowing why she couldn’t keep Harrison made her grief almost impossible for me to come to terms with.
By the end of the week I’d worried myself so much that I telephoned Jill and said: ‘Rihanna wouldn’t do anything silly and harm herself, would she? I think she’s desperate.’
Jill took a more professional and objective approach. ‘I’m sure Cheryl is aware of Rihanna’s emotional state,’ she said. ‘And she’ll offer appropriate help if and when she feels it is necessary.’
I knew I had to try to let go of my worries for Rihanna and concentrate on Harrison, but it wasn’t easy.
&nbs
p; By this time Harrison was regularly sleeping through the night, so at the end of the week I moved his cot into his own bedroom as I’d planned. The first two nights he took a while to settle, clearly realizing there’d been a big change in his surroundings, but on the third night he settled more easily and after that he was fine. It was strange for me too, not having Harrison in my bedroom and hearing his little sighs and movements during the night. But like Harrison I adjusted, although I often checked on him during the night, just to make sure he was covered and comfortable.
The same week Harrison had his second vaccination and as before he cried when the needle went in but soon recovered after a cuddle. I continued to have him weighed every week at the clinic and he continued to grow and flourish. I took plenty of photographs – for Harrison’s Life Story book, for his adoptive family, for Rihanna and for me to keep. During October the sun lost its warmth and the air began to chill as autumn set in. I put away the light jacket Harrison had been wearing and began using the thicker padded suit Rihanna has sent in the case.
I was stacking the clothes Harrison had outgrown in the bottom of the wardrobe in his bedroom. Usually when a child is in care any clothes the child outgrows that have been bought by their natural family are offered back to the family, as legally the clothes belong to them. However, while I appreciated why this was done it had always seemed cruel to me: to return the child’s clothes to the parents but not the child – what an upsetting reminder of the child they had lost! And to return Harrison’s first-year clothes to Rihanna, which she’d so lovingly chosen but had never seen him wear, when he would shortly be adopted, was a cruelty I couldn’t contemplate. So I continued to stack his outgrown clothes at the bottom of his wardrobe in the hope that they might simply disappear.
In November Harrison had his third vaccination, which completed the first course. The next vaccination wasn’t due for another eight months, when he would be one year old and very likely settled with his adoptive family. Harrison’s second LAC review was also scheduled for November and, as before, it was held at my house.
It began at eleven o’clock, when Harrison had just woken from his mid-morning nap, and he was very pleased to see everyone. Jill arrived first, then five minutes later Cheryl and Viera (from the adoption team) arrived together, followed by Tom Gray, who was chairing the meeting as he had before.
I made us all coffee and took it through to the sitting room, where once everyone had finished making a fuss of Harrison, Tom opened the meeting with introductions. He asked me to speak first and I gave an update on Harrison – his progress, development and any significant events since his last review. Tom made notes as I spoke, and I said Harrison was alert, reaching the developmental milestones as he should; was eating and sleeping well; and was now in a room of his own and sleeping through the night. I said that following the health visitor’s advice I would be introducing solid food into Harrison’s diet soon, and that he had completed the first series of vaccinations in the childhood immunization programme. I then passed Tom the red book and he noted the dates Harrison had had his vaccinations and also his current weight.
Thanking me, Tom then asked Jill if she had anything to add, and she said that as my support social worker she visited regularly and that Harrison was being well looked after.
‘Yes, I can see he is,’ Tom said, unable to resist a smile at Harrison, who was waving his arms as though trying to attract Tom’s attention.
Tom then asked Cheryl for her report and also asked if there had been any contact between Harrison and his mother since the last review. Cheryl said there hadn’t, but that Rihanna had received photographs of Harrison and had also – at her request – met me at the beginning of October.
‘So you have met Harrison’s mother?’ Tom said to me. ‘How did that meeting go?’
‘All right,’ I said. ‘Although Rihanna was very upset.’
‘And she hasn’t been in your street again?’ he asked me.
‘Not as far as I’m aware.’
Tom nodded and made a note, and then Cheryl gave the rest of her report, which was short. As at the previous review her report contained many omissions (due to the high level of confidentiality), but this time Tom didn’t question Cheryl or press her for the missing information, so I guessed he’d met Cheryl and her team manager prior to the review and had been updated on any confidential information. I also knew that this information, as before, would not be appearing in the minutes of the LAC review, which were circulated to all those involved in Harrison’s case.
Tom thanked Cheryl and then asked Viera to give her report, which was on the progress of the adoption. Viera said she had seen all the couples who had been shortlisted – as being suitable to adopt Harrison – and she had now narrowed the list down to two. She said both couples were excellent matches for Harrison and she hoped to finalize her decision and have her report ready by the end of November.
‘So you won’t be taking it to the matching panel this month?’ Tom queried, aware that that had been Viera’s original plan.
‘No,’ she said. ‘We’re slightly behind. The panel doesn’t meet in December, so I anticipate going to the matching panel in January, and the adoption panel in February. We can then start introducing Harrison to his adoptive family straight after the adoption panel meets. So he should be living with his family by the end of February or beginning of March at the latest.’
Tom made a note and then, glancing from Viera to Cheryl, asked: ‘Will you be offering Rihanna a goodbye contact?’
Cheryl answered: ‘I have already mentioned it to Rihanna, and the department will make a formal offer – through her solicitor – nearer the time, but we are not expecting Rihanna to attend a goodbye contact. She would find it too upsetting.’
Tom nodded and made another note on his pad. Then, there being no other business, he said: ‘The next review is due in six months. But from what Viera has told us Harrison will almost certainly be with his adoptive family by then. I therefore suggest we set a date for the next review and confirm or cancel it nearer the time. Is the second of May all right for everyone?’
Viera, Cheryl and Jill checked in their diaries for next year and confirmed it was, while I made a note of the date on a piece of paper which I tucked into my fostering folder, to transfer to my diary when I bought one for next year.
Tom thanked us all for coming, thanked me for the coffee and then left with Cheryl and Viera. After I’d seen them out I returned to the sitting room, where Jill was bouncing Harrison gently on her lap.
‘It sounds as though Viera is very close to finalizing the adoption plans,’ Jill said positively, as I sat on the sofa.
‘Yes,’ I agreed thoughtfully.
Jill glanced at me. ‘In the New Year you’ll have to start preparing the kids and yourself for Harrison leaving.’ Jill wasn’t being unkind, but part of her role was to make sure the foster family was prepared when they had to say goodbye to a foster child; otherwise it could have a negative impact, not only on the carer and her family but also on the child who was leaving, who would sense their negativity.
‘I know,’ I said. ‘But we’ll have a lovely Christmas all together first before I think about Harrison going. I’m looking forward to Harrison’s first Christmas.’
Jill glanced at me again. ‘So what’s wrong?’
I shrugged. ‘I like Christmas but I feel very sad for Rihanna. I began Christmas shopping yesterday and bought some little presents for Harrison – a feeding beaker and plate, and a little jumper. They all have Baby’s First Christmas printed on them. I can’t help thinking how sad Rihanna must be in the build-up to Christmas. She won’t be part of Harrison’s first Christmas – or any of his Christmases, come to that. Christmas is such a family time and I can’t begin to imagine how awful it must be for those separated from their families. I take it Cheryl hasn’t heard any more from Rihanna since that meeting in October?’
‘No, or she would have said.’
I was silent for a
moment, and then added lamely: ‘I’ll obviously take plenty of photographs of Harrison’s first Christmas, so at least Rihanna will have those to remember it by.’
Jill paused from bouncing Harrison and looked at me carefully. I felt a lecture coming on. ‘Cathy, in an ideal world no child would ever be abused, neglected or separated from their parents. No parent would ever lose their child. In an ideal world every child would wake on Christmas morning in a nice warm bed, surrounded by sacks of presents, with two loving parents asleep in the room next door. But sadly this is not an ideal world and is never going to be. All we can do is to try to make the best of our little bit of the world. Giving Harrison a lovely Christmas and taking photographs is the best you can do for him and his mother.’
I met her gaze. ‘I know, Jill. And we will have a lovely Christmas. I just hope Rihanna finds some peace too.’
The build-up to Christmas, having begun at the beginning of November, gathered momentum throughout the month so that by the start of December, Christmas was everywhere. Adrian and Paula were busy rehearsing their school Christmas play as well as letting me know what presents they hoped Father Christmas would bring them. The advertisements on television were dominated by Christmas, and the question on most people’s lips was: What are you doing for Christmas? I was now shopping and wrapping presents at every opportunity, as well as planning what we would eat over the festive season. My parents and my brother and his wife would be coming for Christmas Day, and Adrian and Paula would be seeing their father on Boxing Day, as they had the year before. Harrison was now eating solid food (which I pulped in the food processor), and I planned to do the same with his Christmas dinner so that he could experience all the new tastes.
On Sunday 4 December, I bowed to pressure from Adrian and Paula and agreed to put up the Christmas decorations early, rather than waiting until the following weekend as I’d planned. So while Harrison had his morning nap I braved the loft again and, keeping a watchful eye for any spiders, I brought down the boxes of decorations which we’d carefully packed away the year before. I returned to the loft for the Christmas tree which, while artificial, was very realistic and difficult to tell from a real tree, except that it didn’t drop pine needles everywhere. Adrian and Paula were very excited, to put it mildly, and helped me carry the boxes downstairs, where we opened them in the sitting room. It was magical discovering all the glittery decorations again – the tinsel, garlands, a model of Father Christmas on his sleigh, glass baubles and so on – and I was soon in the Christmas spirit. I went up the ladder and began hanging the ceiling decorations while Adrian and Paula assembled and then decorated the Christmas tree. When Harrison woke from his nap I carried him into the sitting room and sat him on the floor so that he could watch.
