A Baby’s Cry

by Cathy Glass

  ‘No,’ I said gently. ‘I’m afraid the system here doesn’t allow that.’ Although I’d often thought it should.

  ‘I’m so unhappy,’ Rihanna said. ‘The pain grows. I feel I’m being punished for loving a man I knew my parents would not have approved of. It’s a punishment that will continue forever.’ Rihanna stopped but her tears continued to fall silently. She took a tissue from her pocket and pressed it to her cheek.

  What could I possibly say that would help? While I now understood the reason for Harrison coming into care and the high level of security surrounding him, it didn’t provide any answers. In some ways I’d have been better off not knowing; then I could have continued believing that Harrison was the product of an illicit affair between two famous people whose reputations would have been ruined if their baby’s existence had become known. Instead, the reality was that Harrison was the result of a loving partnership of twelve years; a baby who should have been brought up, and loved and cared for, by his own parents had it not been for a family misinterpreting the word honour.

  ‘And you’re sure your parents wouldn’t change their minds if they knew they had a grandson?’ I asked, aware that some mothers of pregnant teenage girls reject their daughters to begin with and then go on to support them and their grandchild.

  Rihanna shook her head and wiped her eyes. ‘No. We are a close family and I have cousins whose families are far stricter than my parents. They would put pressure on my parents and make their lives unbearable.’

  We fell silent again as Rihanna dabbed her eyes. I had never felt more impotent to offer help in my life. I could see that Rihanna’s situation was impossible; there was no way out other than to have Harrison adopted, as Rihanna had decided, and lose him for good. ‘I’ll have to tell Jill, my support social worker, what you have told me,’ I said presently. ‘But it will be kept confidential and won’t go any further.’

  Rihanna nodded. ‘I understand. Thank you for listening, and thank you for looking after Harrison. I won’t keep you any longer. I’ll go now.’ Clutching her tissue and headscarf Rihanna stood to leave. I stood too.

  ‘What will you do now?’ I asked, concerned for her safety.

  ‘Continue as best I can,’ Rihanna said dejectedly. ‘And hope the pain goes away. I’ll go to my flat now; then tomorrow I’ll go to work as usual and pretend nothing is wrong, as I have been doing since I first found out I was pregnant.’ With her head down Rihanna crossed to the sitting-room door and I followed her down the hall. At the foot of the stairs she paused and glanced upstairs. ‘Will you say goodbye to Harrison for me, please? Tell him I love him?’ Her eyes immediately filled again with tears.

  ‘Yes, I will,’ I said. ‘Or you could.’

  She looked at me with a start.

  ‘Do you want to go up and see Harrison in his cot?’ I asked. ‘He’s asleep. He won’t know you’re there.’ I’d said it instinctively, feeling it was the right thing to do. I now trusted Rihanna and believed she didn’t pose a threat to Harrison, my children or me; otherwise I wouldn’t have suggested it.

  Rihanna hesitated and looked anxiously up the stairs. ‘Do you think I should?’ she asked, child-like and vulnerable.

  ‘Yes, I do,’ I said. ‘But it has to be your decision.’

  She hesitated again, then said, ‘Yes please, Cathy. I’d like to say goodbye to Harrison.’ And just at that moment, Harrison did something he hadn’t done in the evening for a long while: he woke with a small cry.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  A Baby’s Cry

  ‘He’s awake,’ Rihanna whispered with a mixture of surprise and concern. ‘I heard my baby’s cry.’

  ‘So did I,’ I said. ‘But he’s not normally awake at this time. He sleeps very well.’ It was almost as if Harrison had sensed his mother’s presence, for we’d been very quiet and I was sure our whispered voices hadn’t woken him.

  I saw Rihanna’s anxiety and uncertainty increase; perhaps she was wondering if now Harrison was awake she should leave without seeing him, or possibly that I might withdraw my offer.

  ‘This way,’ I said decisively, so there was no room for doubt, and began to go upstairs.

  Rihanna followed, her footsteps treading lightly behind me on the carpeted stairs. The landing light was on as usual in the evening, and she followed me silently round the landing, past Adrian’s and Paula’s bedrooms, and to Harrison’s room. I always left his bedroom door ajar so that I could hear him if he woke, but of course he hadn’t woken in the evening since the second night he’d slept in his own room – over two months ago.

  I eased his bedroom door further open. The glow from the landing fell softly into the room, allowing enough light for us to see without switching on the main light, which would have startled him. Rihanna paused at the door and I gestured for her to follow me in. She joined me beside his cot. Harrison was lying on his back and was wide awake. When he saw us he grinned, first at me and then, turning his head slightly so that he could see, at Rihanna. Her hand shot to her mouth to stop her cry from escaping.

  Had Harrison woken any other night – without Rihanna present – I would have checked that he was dry and comfortable, given him a hug, then resettled him and left him to go back to sleep. However, tonight wasn’t ‘any other night’ – far from it. This was likely to be the one and only time Rihanna would have a chance to see and hold her baby before he was adopted.

  Lowering the side of the cot I reached in and as I did Harrison smiled and stretched out his arms, ready to be picked up. I lifted him out of the cot and his little arms closed around my neck. Supporting him in the crook of my arm I turned him to face Rihanna so that he could see her and she him. The light from the landing softly illuminated the three of us by the cot. Rihanna still had her hand pressed to her lips and hardly dared look at her son; while Harrison, unaware of the enormity of the situation, grinned at her and then let out a large burp.

  I laughed. ‘So that’s what woke you, young man,’ I said quietly, nuzzling his ear.

  He gurgled and grinned and I smelt that gorgeous warm baby smell, so sweet and pure, and I knew Rihanna could smell it too.

  She was still standing a little way in front of us, her hand covering her mouth and watching him in awe, not daring to touch him; while Harrison, now relieved of indigestion, clearly felt much better and was ready to play. Always a sociable baby, he wasn’t upset by a stranger suddenly appearing in his bedroom; or perhaps he suspected this lady wasn’t a stranger and was significant to him. He grinned at Rihanna, looked around the room, made a few endearing babbling sounds and then reached out a hand towards her. For a moment Rihanna just looked at his hand without making any attempt to touch or hold it, as though she was scared to make contact. Then slowly, very slowly, she lowered her hand from her mouth and, reaching out, encircled Harrison’s hand in her own. They looked at each other for a moment and then Harrison began wriggling and leaning towards her, which I recognized as a sign he wanted to be held by her.

  ‘Would you like to hold him?’ I asked gently.

  Rihanna hesitated and then gave a small nod. Letting go of Harrison’s hand she tucked the headscarf she’d been clutching into her coat pocket and held out her arms, ready to receive him. I gently eased Harrison into her arms, where he rested comfortably against her chest. With his head on her shoulder he snuggled his face into her neck, and I smiled. Then after a few moments Rihanna slowly allowed her head to relax on to Harrison’s, so that her cheek was resting lightly on his forehead. Her eyes closed and the room grew quiet and still.

  I continued to look at mother and child, bathed in the soft warm glow of the landing light, and my heart ached for them. It was a portrait of true serenity, love and peace: a picture of the perfect union between a mother and her baby, albeit temporary. What thoughts were going through Rihanna’s mind as she finally held her son I couldn’t begin to guess, but Harrison had stopped his previous wriggling and hardly stirred. He lay contentedly against Rihanna as though knowing
this felt right and making the most of every moment.

  It was after ten o’clock and I was hoping Adrian and Paula wouldn’t wake, for if they discovered Harrison’s mother here it would be difficult for me to explain and they could have found it unsettling. They had accepted that Harrison was a baby whose mother couldn’t look after him and who was being found new parents and would be adopted. If they didn’t wake I wouldn’t tell them of Rihanna’s visit; there was no need for them to know. But I was already aware that tomorrow I would have to tell Jill that Rihanna had called and I’d invited her in and then suggested she saw Harrison, and she would pass the information on to Cheryl.

  Harrison was still lying contentedly against Rihanna, his head resting on her shoulder and his face snuggled into her neck. With her eyes lightly closed, she was breathing in and appreciating every moment of their limited time together. Every so often she turned her head towards him and lovingly kissed his forehead. Harrison responded with a little sigh of contentment and snuggled closer to his mother, soaking up her love. After a few minutes his breathing began to deepen and I saw his legs and arms go limp as he started drifting into sleep. Rihanna held him close and swayed slightly, gently rocking him; then she looked at me and whispered, ‘I think he’s asleep.’

  I nodded.

  ‘Shall I put him in his cot?’ she asked quietly.

  ‘Yes please.’

  ‘Can you help me?’ she said, uncertain.

  I moved closer to the cot and lightly supported Harrison’s back as Rihanna changed the position of her hands so that she could lower him easily and gently into the cot. As she did and his body uncurled on to the mattress, he snuffled but didn’t wake. Rihanna pulled the covers up to his chin and then leant over and kissed his forehead.

  ‘Goodnight, my love,’ she whispered. ‘Try to forgive me. I’ll always love you, wherever you are. Goodbye, my son.’

  Straightening, she stepped away from the cot and immediately crossed to the bedroom door. I raised the side of the cot and followed Rihanna out of the bedroom, pulling the door slightly to behind me. I wondered if she would want to stay and talk, but she hurried down the stairs and to the front door.

  ‘Are you all right?’ I asked, joining her in the hall.

  She nodded and took her headscarf from her coat pocket. Her face was expressionless, as it had been when she’d arrived, as though she was trying to blot out emotion and struggling to keep control.

  ‘Thank you, Cathy,’ she said quietly, her voice trembling. ‘Thank you for everything.’

  Quickly looping her headscarf over her head she tied it loosely under her chin and I opened the front door. ‘Look after yourself, Rihanna,’ I said, as she stepped out and into the cold night air, but there was no reply.

  I watched her go down the path and then on to the pavement, where she disappeared from view. Mother and child were now separated again after the briefest of reunions.

  I closed the front door and then locked and bolted it for the night. It was quiet upstairs; the children hadn’t woken and Harrison had returned to sleep. As I went thoughtfully down the hall towards the sitting room, I wondered if Harrison would remember his mother’s visit in the morning. I knew that at his age babies could remember significant events for up to a week, although of course Harrison wouldn’t know the significance of what had happened tonight – that he had met his mother and she had said goodbye.

  In the sitting room I took my fostering folder from the bookshelf, picked up a pen and sat on the sofa, where I opened the folder and selected a new sheet of paper. I thought that if I wrote up my log notes now rather than leaving it until the morning, it might help exorcize the thoughts and emotions that were chasing through my mind, and which I knew would keep me awake.

  I filled in the date at the top of the sheet and then wrote: Rihanna came to the house at 9.10 p.m. and said she wanted to talk to me. I invited her in and … I paused and looked up, my thoughts consumed by the image of Rihanna on my doorstep, not arriving but leaving my house. Dignified as always but obviously badly hurting inside, she was now on her way home to a flat where presumably the only evidence or reminder she had a son were the photographs I’d given to her. Then the following day she would have to put her sorrow on hold so that she could go to work and tend to the needs of her patients, all the while aching for the child she had lost. I thought of Harrison’s father – a good, kind man, Rihanna had said – who would continue to live his life believing his partner of twelve years had left him for another man, and unaware he had a son. I also thought of Rihanna’s family, who were doubtless also good, kind people but who, if they discovered Harrison’s existence, had been conditioned to believe they needed to reject their daughter and even put her life in danger to maintain their family’s honour.

  Then I thought of Rihanna again and the poignant image of her in the bedroom holding her son. It touched me now, as it had then, and I felt my eyes mist. Whether or not I’d made the right decision in inviting Rihanna into the house and then suggesting she saw Harrison I didn’t know, but in the morning I would find out. Once Adrian and Paula were at school I’d have to telephone Jill and tell her everything. What she and then Cheryl did with that information was out of my control.

  I looked down again at the sheet of paper and continued writing: Rihanna said she needed to tell me the reason she could not look after her son … I wrote until I’d finished the evening’s events; then I went to bed exhausted, emotionally drained but able to sleep.

  The following morning Harrison was awake first, as usual, and when I went into his room he looked around as though expecting to see someone else with me. I picked him up, kissed and hugged him, and then went about the morning’s routine, while wondering how Rihanna must be feeling as she made her way to the hospital where she worked as a doctor.

  Once Adrian and Paula were at school – it was the last week of term before school broke up for the Christmas holiday – I phoned Homefinders but Jill was in a meeting. I left a message with her colleague asking if she would phone me as soon as she came out of the meeting and then busied myself – with housework and playing with Harrison – while waiting for Jill to return my call. At 11.15 Jill phoned and straightaway asked me if everything was all right.

  ‘Rihanna came here last night and told me all about Harrison’s background and the reason for the secrecy,’ I said.

  ‘She told you?’ Jill exclaimed in astonishment. ‘She told you everything?’

  ‘Yes – well, I assume it was everything. I’m certain it was all true.’ I was kneeling on the floor in the sitting room, keeping Harrison amused.

  ‘So who is Harrison’s father?’ Jill asked, unable to hide her intrigue.

  ‘No one famous,’ I said. ‘Not that it helps. It’s all so sad, Jill.’ And I began telling Jill what Rihanna had told me. I said that Harrison was a result of a loving but forbidden partnership which had lasted twelve years and which Rihanna had ended when she’d found out she was pregnant. I explained why the secrecy was necessary to protect Rihanna and Harrison’s father; and I ended with where Rihanna was now – alone in a rented flat, going to work each day while aching for her son. Jill listened in silence as I spoke, just occasionally sighing – with sadness, at the hopelessness of Rihanna’s situation and also, I suspected, with frustration that such an attitude as Rihanna’s family’s still existed today and wrecked lives. I got to the point where Rihanna was about to leave the house (without seeing Harrison) when Jill interrupted and exclaimed: ‘So Rihanna didn’t ask to see Harrison? She just came to talk to you?’

  I paused. ‘She didn’t ask to see Harrison, no. But I suggested she did.’

  Jill fell quiet again as I told her what had happened then: that I’d invited Rihanna in with the offer that she could go upstairs and see Harrison, which she had accepted. I told Jill, Harrison had been awake but Adrian and Paula had stayed asleep and therefore didn’t know Rihanna had been. I then described the scene in Harrison’s bedroom as Rihanna held her son and
finally kissed him goodnight and said goodbye. I finished by saying that Rihanna had thanked me and then left, not in tears but obviously very upset.

  ‘I’m not surprised she was upset, poor woman,’ Jill said. ‘You’re right, it is so sad. And unnecessary!’ she tutted, but when she spoke again it was with professional detachment. ‘Harrison is in care under a Section 20, so from that point of view no court orders were broken when you allowed Rihanna into your home. I’ll obviously have to update Cheryl and she may feel it’s necessary to apply for a care order until Harrison is adopted. If she does, you know you won’t be allowed to let Rihanna into your house again? Any contact will need to be arranged in advance and supervised at the family centre.’

  ‘Yes, I know, Jill,’ I said.

  ‘And the other issue is – and I’m sure you thought about this before you invited Rihanna in – now you’ve done it once, Rihanna arriving on your doorstep might become a regular occurrence. In which case the social services would certainly apply for a care order – to protect Harrison. They’ll be starting introductions to the adoptive parents in February, so it isn’t in Harrison’s interests to begin building a relationship with his birth mother now, only to say goodbye in a couple of months. I’m afraid Rihanna has left it too late.’

  ‘I know,’ I said. ‘I’m sure she does too. She won’t come back again.’

  ‘Did she tell you she wouldn’t?’

  ‘No, but she said goodbye to Harrison. It was final. While she couldn’t bring herself to attend a goodbye contact at the family centre, this just happened naturally. But I’m sure it was goodbye for Rihanna.’

  ‘All right. Let’s hope so. And Rihanna seems to be coping? She wasn’t overtly distraught?’

  I hesitated. ‘She goes to work each day, so I suppose she must be coping.’

  ‘Well, let’s hope she’ll accept the counselling that Cheryl has offered. I’ll ring Cheryl now and update her. Make sure you write everything you’ve told me in your log notes in case there are any repercussions. And Cathy?’