A Baby’s Cry

by Cathy Glass

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I’d have done the same in your position and let Rihanna in. So don’t beat yourself up about it.’

  ‘Thanks, Jill.’

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Late−Night Caller

  In the days that followed Rihanna’s visit it occurred to me that while Rihanna had mentioned Harrison’s father a number of times when she’d been telling me her story, she hadn’t ever referred to him by name – just as ‘Harrison’s father’. I assumed she had purposely avoided saying his name to maintain confidentiality and protect him. I wondered if his surname was really Smith. When I’d collected Harrison from the hospital the nurse had told me that Harrison had his father’s surname, Smith, and Cheryl had told Jill that Rihanna had checked in and out of the hospital using the name Smith. But Smith is the most common surname in the UK and is sometimes used as an alias, if someone wants to hide their true identity. However, whether Smith was the family name or not was of little consequence really, for once Harrison was adopted he would be given his adoptive parents’ surname. I also wondered why Rihanna had chosen the first name Harrison, a name that is uncommon in the UK (and which Harrison would keep after the adoption), but it hadn’t seemed appropriate to ask her when she’d visited.

  With Christmas fast approaching the week beginning 12 December was a busy one socially. On Tuesday it was the Homefinders Christmas lunch for its foster carers and, as in previous years, they’d booked (and paid for) a nice meal for all the carers at a local pub restaurant. We had a room to ourselves over the main pub, and the carers with pre-school children could bring them rather than finding babysitters. The agency provided two nannies to keep the babies and children amused while the carers ate. It was a lovely meal in a relaxed and festive atmosphere and gave the carers a chance to chat to each other and catch up on news. On Wednesday morning I went into school to watch Adrian’s and Paula’s Christmas play, which was performed in the main assembly hall. As I’d done when watching the school’s summer play, I purposely chose a seat at the end of a row and near a door so that if Harrison became restless I could easily slip out. But he was as enthralled as I was by the children’s nativity play and sat on my lap watching and listening attentively to the children on stage. Adrian was one of a large group of shepherds and Paula was an angel. I wasn’t the only parent who was misty-eyed at the closing scene when the children, grouped around baby Jesus and with the angel’s costumes sparkling in the light, sang ‘Away In A Manger’ in their sweet little voices. I looked at Adrian and Paula and felt incredibly proud. I knew how lucky I was, not only to be blessed with two wonderful children of my own but also to be allowed to foster more.

  On Thursday, Adrian and Paula had their Christmas parties at school and took in lemonade and party food to share. As I was in the PTA (Parent Teacher Association) I helped at the party, which was in the main hall. I took Harrison with me, and the parents organized games for the children and then set out the party food on long tables. The children made such a fuss of Harrison that when the party had finished he didn’t want to leave; Adrian and Paula looked proud that Harrison was their foster sibling.

  Friday was the last day of term and school was due to finish early – at 1.15 p.m. That morning Jill visited me for her four-weekly supervisory meeting. The meeting followed the format of the previous supervisory meetings and after we’d discussed Harrison’s development, she checked and signed my log notes and then brought me up to date.

  ‘Cheryl phoned yesterday,’ she said. ‘She’s spoken to her manager about Rihanna coming here, and she’s also spoken to Rihanna on the phone. Cheryl and her manager are satisfied that Rihanna won’t try to see Harrison again, so they won’t be applying for a Full Care Order now.’

  ‘Good,’ I said.

  ‘However,’ Jill added, ‘Cheryl said that having spoken to Rihanna she doesn’t think that seeing Harrison has helped her. Rihanna is still grieving badly for her son.’ Although this sounded like a criticism of me – for suggesting Rihanna saw Harrison – I didn’t think Jill intended one. Jill is always plainly spoken and had admitted on the phone she’d have done the same in my position.

  Jill continued with an update on the progress of the adoption: ‘The choice of couple has been finalized,’ she said. ‘The couple have been notified they’ve been successful. The other four couples who were shortlisted will have also been notified that they have been unsuccessful,’ she added.

  I nodded but I felt sorry for those other couples who for six months had been preparing themselves for the possibility of adopting, and had now been rejected and would have to start the process all over again – searching the registers for another child to adopt. Often couples (who have already been approved as suitable adopters) spend years applying to adopt specific children, having their hopes continually raised and then dashed. I think the whole system needs a radical overhaul, so that children who are in care are matched with suitable adoptive parents much sooner.

  Jill then said a planning meeting had been arranged in the New Year – for Wednesday 18 January, when Harrison’s adoptive parents would meet me and learn about Harrison first hand. The couple already had basic details about Harrison and the photographs I’d given Viera, but on the 18th they would learn more from me about Harrison’s routine, likes and dislikes, etc. and could ask me questions. At this point the couple still had the option of pulling out and not proceeding with the adoption, but of course very few do. Couples who reach this point know how lucky they are to have the chance to adopt a child and are fully committed. Jill, Viera, Cheryl, possibly Cheryl’s manager and the couple’s social worker would also be present at this meeting. I made a note of the date of the meeting in my diary and then Jill asked me, almost suspiciously: ‘You haven’t heard any more from Rihanna?’

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘I’d tell you if I did.’ Which she accepted.

  That afternoon, the last day of school, I met Adrian and Paula at 1.15 and they came out very excited and carrying Christmas decorations they’d made in class, Christmas cards from their friends and a gift each from their teachers which was very generous. The playground was alive with the sound of excited children – all happily breaking up from school and looking forward to Christmas, as well as parents calling ‘Happy Christmas’ to each other. Once home and out of the school routine we could relax and enjoy the final build-up to Christmas. I love Christmas – the magic never wears off for me – but I had to admit there was a cloud hanging over this year’s festive season, and that was my thoughts and worries about Rihanna and how she would be coping. I didn’t know Rihanna’s religion and quite possibly she didn’t celebrate Christmas, but in England you can’t avoid the festive atmosphere of Christmas whatever your religion. And being surrounded with images of happy families with their children would be a cruel reminder to Rihanna of what she had lost. But I knew I had to let go of her pain and be positive, for in two months Harrison would be settling in with his adoptive parents, who would love and care for him as Rihanna would have done.

  By 23 December I was more or less prepared for Christmas. I just needed to collect the turkey, fresh fruit and vegetables the following day – Christmas Eve – and then there would be no more shopping until well after Christmas. I’d wrapped the presents to go in the children’s pillowcases on Christmas night, and they were hidden in my wardrobe. The pile of presents – from friends, and relatives we wouldn’t see over Christmas – had grown under the tree, and the children were also looking forward to seeing their father on Boxing Day, when they would exchange presents with him.

  It had taken some time to get the children into bed and asleep that night as they were very excited; even Harrison had taken longer than usual to settle, wanting to play peek-a-boo through the side of the cot rather than lie down and sleep. It was after 9.30 by the time all three children were asleep and I was downstairs tidying up. Then at ten o’clock I went through to the sitting room and switched on the television to watch the news.

  Just as
I sat down I heard a tapping sound, so I was on my feet again, going into the kitchen. Sometimes the cat flap on the back door sticks and Toscha taps on it with her paw, asking to be let in. However, when I went into the kitchen I saw that she was already asleep in her basket. I went to the cat flap and checked there wasn’t another cat trying to get in, as had happened once before. But there wasn’t another cat and the cat flap appeared to be working normally. I glanced around the kitchen; then I switched off the light and returned to the sitting room. But before I’d sat down I heard the tapping again. Silencing the television I crossed to the French windows, where I gingerly lifted back one curtain and peered into the darkness, wondering if there was something on the patio making the noise. The tapping sounded again and it was then I realized it wasn’t coming from the patio or the kitchen, but from behind me: from down the hall. Someone was tapping quietly on the front door. Carol singers? Kids messing around? I wondered. But it was too quiet for that. The hall light was on and I went down the hall and to the front door, where I slid the cover on the security spy hole.

  ‘Oh no!’ I gasped out loud, as I saw who was on the doorstep.

  Illuminated by the porch light, facing the door and with tears streaming down her face, stood Rihanna. My heart sank as anxiety gripped me. Jill had been right when she’d said that allowing Rihanna to come in once could encourage her to return, and Cheryl, her manager and I had been wrong. Badly wrong. What was I supposed to do now? The social services hadn’t applied for a Full Care Order; Harrison was still in care on a Section 20, so technically I could let Rihanna in to see Harrison, although as before I could refuse her entry as it was my house. But unlike before she was now obviously very upset and I doubted it was in either her or Harrison’s best interests to allow her to come in and see him. I considered opening the door on the safety chain and telling her through the crack that she should go home and phone Cheryl first thing in the morning, but I felt that as Harrison’s mother she deserved more than that – being dispatched through a crack in the door.

  She tapped lightly on the door again and slowly, reluctantly and not knowing what to do, I turned the doorknob and opened the door, my heart pounding. Rihanna looked at me from her tear-stained face; she wasn’t wearing a headscarf and her hair was dishevelled. More of Jill’s words came back: … coping? … overtly distraught? Clearly she wasn’t coping now and was obviously distraught.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she began, her face creasing with more tears. ‘I know it’s late. I hope I didn’t wake the children. I tapped rather than using the bell.’

  I gave a small nod and tried to think of what to say – gentle words that would send her away and, I hoped, encourage her to accept Cheryl’s offer of counselling.

  ‘Cathy,’ she said, delving into her coat pocket for a tissue and barely able to speak, ‘you won’t believe what’s happened tonight. I had to come straight here.’

  I was about to say that I was sorry, but that whatever had happened, I couldn’t let her in, and she needed to go home and phone Cheryl in the morning, but she suddenly reached out and grabbed my arm. I started and took a step back.

  ‘Cathy, I have to see you,’ she said. ‘I told my parents this evening. I told them all about Harrison and his father.’ I stared at her, aghast, as her hand tightened on my arm. ‘You won’t believe what’s happened,’ she said again.

  I was sure she was going to say that she was now on the run and in fear of her life and needed a safe place to hide, or even that she was running away and wanted to take Harrison with her. I felt my legs tremble and a cold shiver run down my spine. But what Rihanna said was not as I’d imagined, although it was no less shocking: ‘Cathy,’ she said, wiping her eyes as more tears fell, ‘I’ve told my parents everything about Harrison. They are very, very upset, but they are going to help me.’

  It took me a moment to realize what Rihanna was saying and that her tears were not of sadness but of joy.

  ‘Oh Cathy,’ she said, finally releasing my arm, ‘can I come in? I have to see you. So much has happened.’

  Foster carers often have to make snap decisions – weigh up a person’s sincerity, motive and intentions, and decide if that person is telling the truth and can be trusted. I now had to decide if Rihanna was telling me the truth, in which case I would let her in; or if, unbalanced by grief, she’d concocted this story to get into my house and possibly snatch Harrison or do us harm. Her eyes hadn’t left mine as she’d been speaking and I decided what I saw was sincerity. I opened the door wider and stood aside to let her in.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said quietly, stepping past me and into the hall.

  I closed the front door and then showed her through to the sitting room, where I also closed the sitting room door so that we wouldn’t disturb the children sleeping upstairs. Picking up the remote control I switched off the television, as Rihanna perched on the sofa. I sat in the armchair and looked at her. The Christmas decorations stirred silently overhead and the lights on the Christmas tree glowed.

  ‘I don’t know where to begin,’ she said after a moment, tears springing to her eyes again. ‘So much has happened tonight. It’s like a miracle. I went to my parents straight from work. I never thought this could be happening.’

  I waited while she composed herself as conflicting thoughts dashed through my mind. I didn’t share Rihanna’s euphoria for if, as she said, the impossible had happened and her parents were going to help her, I could already see all sorts of problems, which I doubted Rihanna had considered.

  ‘Only my mother was at home when I arrived,’ Rihanna began. ‘My father and sister were still at work. I told my mother I had something to tell her: something that would make her upset and angry, but which I had to share. Cathy, I knew I couldn’t live a lie any longer and it would be better if my family never spoke to me again than I continued as I had been. It was unbearable. So I took my mother through to the lounge and made her sit down. She kept offering me something to eat, which is what she always does when I visit. I then told her about the relationship I’d been having with Harrison’s father; that it had begun at university and had developed and continued for twelve years, until I found out I was pregnant. I said that although I loved Harrison’s father I knew we couldn’t be together, so I ended the relationship before I had the baby. When I started to tell my mother about Harrison she didn’t believe me and laughed. She asked where I’d been hiding a baby, thinking I was joking. I explained about foster care and I told her about you; then I showed her the photographs of Harrison, which I carry in my handbag.’ Rihanna maintained eye contact as she spoke.

  ‘My mother started to believe me then and was very angry and upset. She called me lots of bad names and said I had brought shame on the whole family. I left the house in tears, knowing I would never see my family again. I went back to my flat and sat and cried for ages; I felt so alone. Then at about eight o’clock my father telephoned. I was surprised to hear him as I knew my mother would have told him what I’d said to her when he got home from work. His voice sounded flat and disapproving, but not angry; he said he wanted to come to my flat to talk.’

  Rihanna paused and took a deep breath before continuing. ‘I was scared, Cathy. I didn’t think my father would hurt me but I knew my cousins could. I guessed my mother would have phoned her sister and told her. When I heard the doorbell ring I was nearly sick with worry. My father was alone and he looked dreadful – tired and ill – and I knew I was responsible. I said I was sorry for bringing shame on our family. He didn’t say anything; he just walked past me and went into the living room and sat down. It was only the second time he’d been to my flat and I saw him look around at all the photographs of Harrison I have propped along my bookshelves. I offered him a drink but he refused. I sat down and there was this awful silence when he couldn’t look at me; then he said: “I am very disappointed with you, Rihanna. You went behind our backs and saw a man who you knew we would not have approved of. You deceived us for a long, long time. That was wrong of
you. Now there is a child whose existence you have kept hidden with more lies. I understand from your mother that the child is being looked after by the state. I am embarrassed. He is our responsibility and I will not have him living on charity and brought up by strangers. The child is innocent. He is also our grandchild.”’

  As Rihanna said the word ‘grandchild’ she stopped, overcome by emotion and delved into her pocket for a tissue. Wiping her eyes she took a moment before continuing. ‘My father said that although he was disappointed in the way I’d behaved he recognized we lived in England in the twenty-first century and that times were different. He said he didn’t condone what I’d done, but that the baby should not be an orphan and abandoned on the state. He said our family had a duty to the child and that he would stand by me so that I could fulfil my duty.’ Rihanna paused again and looked at me intently. As I met her gaze anxiety gripped me. ‘Cathy, I know this seems incredible but my father is waiting outside in the car. He wants me to take Harrison home with me now.’

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Harrison

  Hearing that Rihanna now wanted the baby she’d abandoned into foster care should been have been good news. It should have sent me hugging and kissing Rihanna, crying with joy. The perfect end to her story and so wonderful that it was happening just before Christmas. But as I sat in the armchair and gazed at Rihanna, as astonished and overcome as she was by her father’s unexpected change of attitude, I desperately sought the right words to deal with what could be a very ugly scene.

  ‘Rihanna, I’m very pleased your father is taking a supportive role,’ I began carefully. ‘And I appreciate he is a proud man who is having to come to terms with an awful lot. But have you thought through the implications if you were to take Harrison now? I mean—’