by Casey Watson
I shook my head. ‘They’re not speaking,’ I reminded him. ‘Remember? Emma holds her responsible for putting her in this position in the first place. Well, she says she does. I’m not entirely convinced. Pound to a penny, she’s actually just on Tarim’s blacklist.’
I frowned as I said his name, and at the thought that came with it. ‘D’you think that’s it? That he’s come out? D’you think that’s where she is?’
Mike pulled a face at Roman, who tipped his head back and got a real case of the giggles. We were all he knew, and the thought struck me forcibly. Home for him was Emma, yes, but also Mike and me – we were his constants, his security, his significant others. And Kieron and Lauren, and Riley and David … I pushed the thought away, because it was becoming an increasingly unpalatable one. That Roman knew nothing of the upheaval that he was soon to be at the centre of; that, whatever the circumstances – whether he stayed with Emma or got shipped off to another foster family – his routine, the voices he was used to hearing, the sights, the smells, the touch. Almost all of that would change, and change abruptly.
Mike was still gurning at Roman as he answered. ‘I’d say if the answer to the first question’s yes, then the answer to the second will be too.’ He turned to face me. ‘Don’t you, love? You know I think it’s time we gave Maggie a ring.’
And we would have done. Except that in the time it took me to finish the drying up, dig out the file, riffle through the papers to find Maggie’s mobile number and punch the details into my phone contacts list, my own mobile buzzed into life in my hands. It was Emma’s number.
It wasn’t Emma on the end of the phone, however. It was a girl who introduced herself as Tash, one of Emma’s new friends from the school, and who wondered if I would be able to go and ‘fetch Ems home’ from hers, as she was ‘proper out of it, like’, and she wasn’t allowed to stay there because of the rules.
‘Hey ho,’ said Mike, as we jumped in the car and sped to the address we’d been given, having had Riley leap into action and take Roman for us, bless her. ‘I didn’t want to watch that episode of Lewis anyway.’
I laughed despite myself. After all, he’d recorded the whole series. He could watch it any time he liked, truth be known. But it was the sort of laugh that came when you were trying to do that whole anxious ‘got to laugh or you’d cry’ thing. And I could have wept. Not for me and not even for Emma. Just for the sheer frustration of having this whole thing playing out exactly as any cynic about ‘Broken Britain’ might expect it to.
As was the scene that greeted us when we got to the address we’d been given, which was what looked like a shared house on the edge of a big estate; the sort of supported set-up Emma herself might move to with Roman. The girl, who had a pretty round face and was dressed from head to toe in black, was apologetic, shy and also heavily pregnant, which would presumably account for her own sobriety. Which, in itself, made me warm to her immediately. She was obviously a girl with a sense of responsibility. She was also, understandably, a little wary, particularly when I asked her if Emma had been with her the whole time.
The answer to my question was no, apparently, though Tash was reluctant to be more specific. She would only tell us that Emma had been with her earlier, then gone off with some ‘other friends’, and that she’d come back with a plan to sober up before getting the bus home to ours, except – ‘Well, as you can see,’ Tash explained, with a world-weary air, ‘it’s not gonna be happening any time soon, is it?’
Indeed it wasn’t. We went into Tash’s small and impressively unscruffy living room to gather up her errant friend, and found her slumped on a little sofa, eyes shut. There was a plastic mixing bowl on her lap and a roll of toilet paper at her side, and I was glad to see that though much of the latter had been used up and scrunched around her, the former was empty, because if it hadn’t been I’d have felt compelled to clean it up. Emma was properly drunk this time – properly out of it. And, though conscious and otherwise seeming okay (she had apparently stopped being sick now), she needed one thing above all others – to sleep it off.
‘I’m sho shorry I’m wasted,’ was all she could manage as we manhandled her into the car.
As at this time – and with her in this state – there really was no sense in trying to have a post-mortem with Emma, when we got her home we just made sure she drank a large glass of water, then I helped her undress and put her to bed. Mike, meanwhile, drove round to Riley’s to pick up Roman, then, while I dealt with him, went up into the loft to get out the travel cot we’d bought for when the grandchildren were babies – there was no way we could let him sleep in with Emma tonight and it would be too much of an upheaval to try and manhandle his cot out of her room. And, since Roman wasn’t used to sleeping by himself yet, we took the view that a better night’s sleep might be achieved if we just had him in our room with us.
‘So what d’you think will happen now?’ Mike wanted to know when we came back down. Little Roman, bless his heart, had gone out like a light, at least – he’d probably decided that the best refuge from all the commotion was sleep.
I rolled my eyes. ‘What, you mean before or after I throw the frigging book at her?’
‘I mean about this Tarim. I was talking to Riley about it – it’s a point, isn’t it? I mean, if he is sniffing around – and that was definitely the impression I got; that girl was very evasive, wasn’t she? – then will they fix up regular contact, d’you think? Expect us to have him in the house? What? Because if he was with her tonight, and thought it was acceptable to leave her to get herself home in that state …’
He didn’t need to say any more. I shook my head. ‘I can’t believe they’d do that, would they? I mean, she’s denying he’s the father specifically to protect him from social services. And that means he has no official rights in the matter. And as she’s underage, what we say goes, pretty much, I’d say. So, no. I don’t see why we’d have to have anything to do with him. I certainly hope not, in any case.’
I pulled out a kitchen chair and sat down on it. I felt shattered, both physically and mentally. Which was unlike me, as were the tears I felt prickling at the back of my eyes. I could cry for Britain, definitely, in all sorts of situations. I was as soft as they came when it came to kids, always had been. But the tears that threatened now were different; they were tears of sheer exhaustion – the result of taking on too much baby care as well as our errant teenager. The sort of tears that made the point that you were getting too strung up and should try to do something about it.
‘But you know what really upsets me?’ I said to Mike. ‘That if he is out, and she did see him, that she couldn’t just do that one thing. Just tell me, ask me, discuss it with me. Let me help her work something out, you know? After all those promises she made me. It’s like it’s all been thrown straight back at me. All of it. And when I really thought we were at last becoming close.’
Mike sat down beside me and put a strong arm around my shoulder. ‘Hey, don’t start,’ he said softly. ‘Don’t you go off on one, beating yourself up, you hear? She’s a teenager, plain and simple. And not just a normal teenager either, don’t forget. Remember those things you always bang on about – boundaries? Of course you do. And she’s had none of them, and she’s hooked up with the first guy who’s shown her any affection, by the sound of it, and had a baby, don’t forget – all of which is a lot to deal with, by anyone’s standards … love, even you are no match for all that.’ He squeezed my shoulder.
‘Yes, I know, but –’ I began.
‘And our job,’ he continued, ‘is simply to care for her and try to guide her – well, as best we can, anyway – till they decide what’s going to happen to her next.’
‘I know,’ I said again, ‘but if by “they” you mean social services and all these flipping assessment people, then we might as well hang up our gloves right now, because she seems determined to wreck it for herself, doesn’t she? It’s like she’s on self-destruct autopilot. God, how have we so totall
y lost control?’
I was being a bit melodramatic, I knew, but even so this was a serious downward slide. I said so.
‘No, it’s not,’ Mike said. ‘This is just a blip. To be expected. It’ll all seem a lot more manageable when we sit down and talk rationally about it tomorrow. I’m sure Emma will be mortified –’
‘She was mortified last time …’
‘No, this time, really mortified. And we can sit down and see exactly where we are with this Tarim, and how best to go forward from here.’
He was right. Everything would seem so much more manageable in the morning. Except perhaps for Emma, who would no doubt have one hell of a hangover, though perhaps that in itself would help concentrate her mind. I checked the time. Not quite ten. Much too early for bed.
‘Agreed,’ I said. ‘So, how about that Lewis after all? Nice relaxing murder. What d’you think?’
If I thought that was the worst that could happen, I was soon to be proved wrong. The following morning, just as Mike had predicted, Emma was once again full of remorse. I’d been up a good while by the time she surfaced (I’d forgotten just how many hours a teenager could sleep at a stretch), had fed, bathed and played with Roman, and by now put him back down for his morning nap.
I was in the middle of preparing her a bacon sandwich when she finally shuffled, dark-eyed and pale-faced, into the kitchen. I remembered teenage hangovers, even if not with Emma’s evident regularity, and how something hot and greasy always seemed to do the trick.
The minute I smiled at her she burst into tears. ‘Oh, Casey, I’m so sorry. I don’t know why I did it, I really don’t. I just … oh, God. If it helps any, I feel like utter crap.’
‘It doesn’t help, love, but I’ll just tell you what my mum used to tell me – and that you’d do well to remember.’ I waggled my fish slice in her direction. ‘That you brought it on yourself.’ I laughed then at the sight of her wan, miserable face as she gingerly pulled out a chair and lowered herself onto it. ‘Come on,’ I said, placing the plate in front of her. ‘This’ll help, I promise. As will this.’ I popped a steaming mug of coffee down beside it. ‘So do your best with it. Then you and I need to have a chat. Ideally before Roman wakes up again. So chop, chop.’
This made her blink back even more tears. ‘I feel so bad that you had to have him all night, I really do,’ she said, before taking a tentative nibble. Then she put the sandwich back down and pushed the plate away from her. ‘Ugh,’ she said. ‘I don’t think I can eat this. I feel really sick.’
‘It’ll pass,’ I said, replacing the coffee with water. Perhaps it was still a bit too soon. ‘Just take deep breaths,’ I said. ‘It’ll settle. It usually does.’
She took the glass and sat back, drinking tiny sips while she watched me load the dishwasher. And when I’d done, I sat down across the table from her.
‘Love,’ I said. ‘I know you feel terrible and I feel for you, I really do. But right now I feel more terrible for that little lad upstairs and that you doing this sort of thing means he’s not getting what he needs.’ I looked hard at her. ‘Tarim. Did you see him last night?’
I probably couldn’t have picked my moment any better, as she was all out of energy or ideas with which to argue. She simply nodded. ‘He was there,’ she said. ‘Waiting for me outside the unit when school finished. I hadn’t planned it or anything, Casey, honest. He just got out yesterday and he came straight to see me. Before doing anything else.’ She paused to sip the water. I could see she was proud to have been able to relate this evidence of Tarim’s devotion. ‘And he does have a right, you know – I am his girlfriend.’
‘Yes,’ I said, trying to choose my words carefully. ‘But you have a phone, Emma, so why on earth didn’t you use it? If you had only rung me and explained that to me, then we could have sorted something out.’
This seemed to spark something in her; something that came from nowhere. Or somewhere, more accurately. The very prison her beloved boyfriend had just come out of. ‘Oh, right,’ she said, ‘like you’d have gone, “Okay Emma, you just go off out and have a great time with Taz – don’t worry about the baby or anything.” Yeah, sure!’
I got it then, in that instant, that perhaps she had wanted to phone. I didn’t know why – it was just a sense and I trusted it. That she’d suggested to Tarim that she phone me, even, but that he had told her not to – for the reasons she’d just so pithily retorted.
So I bit my tongue. ‘You know what I mean, Emma. Of course I wouldn’t have said that; you’re not stupid. You know that. But I would have understood that you wanted to see each other, and, as I say, we could perhaps have sorted something out. Could have arranged properly for me to look after Roman while you did see him. But instead you just assumed that I would look after Roman for you – you didn’t even give me the choice – then went out drinking; the very thing you promised me you wouldn’t do.’
‘Of course I did – I had to! Taz has only just got out of prison, Casey – isn’t it obvious that he’d want a drink?’ She drew a stray few strands of hair from her forehead and looped them round her ear irritably. ‘Anyway, you weren’t always this old,’ she reasoned. ‘You’d have done stuff you shouldn’t have when you were my age.’
I wanted to tell her that, yes, I had – I was only human, after all – but then I didn’t have a baby when I was doing them, did I? But I knew it would fall on deaf ears. And I was much, much more interested in keeping her on side, where I could at least, hopefully, exert some small influence on what happened next, particularly now we had the added complication of Tarim to negotiate. ‘Fair point,’ I said. ‘And yes, you’re quite right. I had my moments. But this isn’t about me – this is about you, and what’s going to happen now. Are you planning on sneaking off with him every time you’re out of my sight, or are you going to be responsible and sensible and remember that you’re part way through an assessment with Roman, and that I need to report back to Hannah about your progress?’
The mention of Hannah’s name seemed to trigger another strong reaction – breaking the illusion that this was a simple mother–daughter-style ticking off and that this particularly fourteen-year-old was in any way predictable.
‘Oh, just do what you have to,’ she said wearily. ‘Grass me up if you want to.’
‘Emma,’ I said. ‘The term “grass me up” isn’t the right one. I am not here to “grass you up”, as you put it. It’s my job to help you do what you need to in order to show Hannah you’re a responsible mum to Roman, and –’
‘And you’ll still be as bad as all those baby snatchers if you do grass me up. That’s the problem,’ she whined. ‘No one will give me a fucking chance! Just like they never gave Taz a chance either! It’s so stupid. If we were just left alone to get on with our lives there wouldn’t even be this fucking problem!’
With her petulance came another loud-and-clear indication that she was a challenging teen – and still a young one – who needed those boundaries put in place right now. ‘Emma,’ I said sternly, ‘I suggest you calm down. You won’t like it, but you really need to take it on board, okay? There is a problem. You are fourteen and that in itself is a problem. Legally, it is a problem. However much you think your life would be better if we just left you alone, trust me, it wouldn’t. And here are some facts. First of all you have been drinking underage – which is illegal. Secondly, the person who’s been supplying you with alcohol has also been breaking the law as well. Now, if that’s Tarim, then we have another problem right there, don’t we? What with him just having come out of prison and all, that’s not going to look very good for him, is it? Thirdly, like it or not, you are being scrutinised. You are being assessed to see if you can be a competent mother to Roman, and make no mistake, if things come out badly, then trust me, you will lose him. You will lose him because he has rights too, Emma. Don’t forget that. You brought him into the world and he is your baby, no question. But we live in a civilised society only because there are laws in place to prote
ct vulnerable people. And that includes Roman. He has a right to be taken care of properly and that’s why he is protected by the courts. Do you get that?’
Since Emma had her head down and was listlessly prodding the bread of her uneaten sandwich with a finger, I had no way of knowing. But she had ears, and I knew she was listening.
‘Finally,’ I went on, just to press my point home, ‘Mike and I have been very lenient with you up to now. You know that. And we’ve done this to give you the best possible chance of proving that you can look after Roman. But that only goes so far. You really have to shape up now. Roman deserves a good and caring mum, just the same as any child does. A mum, and possibly a dad, too, who will put his needs first. And if you’re not going to do that, then I’m obliged to tell Hannah and Maggie. Do you understand what I’m saying, Emma? Do you?’
I had watched her throughout and I watched her still. She was now turning the glass of water around and around in front of her, using her palms. She finally stopped and looked at me. Perhaps the message had hit home. I was hoping for contrition; an acceptance, however sullen and grudging it might be, that it really was time to accept the seriousness of the situation – that if she didn’t get her act together, she really could lose her baby.
But what I got instead took my breath away. ‘Like I said,’ she answered quietly, ‘you go ahead and do you what you have to do. It’s not in my hands, is it? It never has been, not since the minute I got pregnant. Social services always knew what they wanted. They wanted my baby so they could give it to some childless old couple somewhere. It’s like Taz said, there’s nothing we can do about it, is there?’
‘Emma,’ I said quietly, ‘where is all this coming from? There is a lot you can do about it, trust me. Everything is in your hands.’
She shook her head. ‘You really believe that? I don’t. They’re going to take him, Casey. Whatever I do. This whole thing is just them waiting till they’ve found their “perfect” family. And if they do take him, that’s that, isn’t it? We’ll just have to wait till I’m sixteen, won’t we?’ She fixed her eyes on me, as if to see how I would react to her next words. ‘And have another one,’ she said. ‘And then I’ll be legal. So they won’t be able to touch me then, will they?’
