A Long Way From Home

by Cathy Glass

‘First door.’

  Once inside it was obvious from the symbol on the door where the Ladies was. As Ian waited in the corridor outside, Anastasia and her mother arrived. Anastasia looked at him but didn’t say anything and they went through a door further down.

  ‘They’re here,’ Ian said as Elaine came out of the bathroom.

  ‘Well, that’s a relief,’ she sighed, but her heart was racing. ‘Was Dr Ciobanu with them?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Where are they now?’

  ‘In the waiting room, I think.’

  They took a couple of steps and stopped, trying to prepare themselves for meeting Anastasia’s mother. It would have been easier if Dr Ciobanu had been there to introduce them and possibly translate, but it seemed cowardly to wait in the corridor until he arrived. Anastasia’s mother would be just as, if not more, nervous than they were. Although they’d known for a while that they’d meet Anastasia’s mother, they had little idea of how to manage the situation – what to say or do.

  Taking a deep breath, Ian opened the door and led the way into the waiting room. A dozen or so wooden chairs had been crammed in around the edges, and that was the only furniture in the room. A single light bulb hung from the centre of the ceiling, giving off a small glow in what was otherwise a dismal, dingy room. They looked at Anastasia and her mother sitting in one corner with spare chairs either side. Her mother had her head lowered and was looking down. Two men in their twenties, an elderly man and a middle-aged couple sat on the other side of the room.

  Having seen them, Anastasia tugged at her mother’s arm and then whispered something. Her mother looked up as Ian and Elaine crossed the room under the gaze of the others waiting. They both said hello to Anastasia’s mother and she nodded in reply. They sat down, Elaine next to her and Ian beside her. Apparently she didn’t have another adult with her for support. ‘How are you?’ Elaine asked awkwardly.

  She shook her head and pointed to her lips, signalling she didn’t have any English. Elaine threw her a reassuring smile, although she felt anything but confident herself. It was upsetting and surreal, sitting here in this foreign court waiting room beside the mother of the child who would shortly be theirs. It was like nothing she’d ever experienced before or would again. There was no point of reference, so she didn’t know how to act. Elaine sat stiff and upright, struggling to contain her emotions under the inquisitive gaze of the others in the waiting room. It seemed Anastasia had been told to wait quietly, for there was none of her usual exuberance or inquisitiveness; she just sat beside her mother, looking around.

  It was chilly; the only heat came from a small electric fire high up on one wall. Elaine and Ian, like the others waiting, had kept their coats on, but neither Anastasia nor her mother had coats. Anastasia was wearing the tracksuit bottoms and jumper they’d seen her in at the orphanage, her mother a long woollen dress with thick tights, a threadbare grey cardigan that could have been a man’s and a headscarf. Elaine unzipped the holdall she’d placed at her feet and took out the coat they’d brought for Anastasia and passed it to her mother. She smiled and nodded, clearly pleased and impressed – it was probably the first new coat the child had ever possessed. She said something to Anastasia and then drew her from her chair and helped her into the coat. She turned to them and said, ‘Thank you.’ It was her only English and Elaine could have wept.

  ‘Pity we didn’t bring a coat for her mother too,’ she said quietly to Ian. But that could have been construed as giving the mother a gift, which wasn’t allowed.

  The others in the court room had watched this and Elaine met their scrutinizing gaze and looked away, hoping they didn’t have long to wait. If it was uncomfortable for them, it must have been torture for Anastasia’s mother, although she seemed to be coping. Elaine tried to picture herself in her position, about to give up her child, and saw herself distraught and weeping uncontrollably. She assumed Anastasia’s mother must have prepared herself for this moment over the previous year when it had became obvious, and she had accepted, that like other poor women in her position she couldn’t look after her child and there was no alternative.

  The door opened and another man came in, and then a few minutes later another couple, and the waiting room slowly filled. It was now 10.45. ‘Where’s Dr Ciobanu?’ Ian said anxiously.

  ‘How would I know?’ Elaine returned tetchily, then apologized. Nerves were getting the better of her. ‘I’m sure he knows what he’s doing,’ she said, and placed a reassuring hand on his.

  Anastasia said something to her mother, who looked at Elaine, then she pointed to the holdall and gesticulated drinking. Elaine smiled and nodded. ‘Yes, of course.’

  Her mother must have been told they’d bring a drink for Anastasia. Elaine unzipped the holdall again and took out the selection of drinks she’d brought especially: small packets of apple and orange juice, strawberry and chocolate milkshakes and a bottle of water. Anastasia’s eyes lit up and she took the chocolate milkshake.

  ‘Thank you,’ her mother said. She inserted the straw that was attached to the packet, then handed the drink back to Anastasia.

  Five minutes later the door opened and Dr Ciobanu finally appeared. ‘Thank goodness,’ Ian said. He motioned for them all to go outside and they left the waiting room.

  ‘Good, the child has a coat and a drink,’ Dr Ciobanu said as they grouped around him. He exchanged a few words with Anastasia’s mother in their own language and then turned to them. ‘Your hearing was set incorrectly for 2 p.m. this afternoon.’ Elaine gasped. ‘Don’t worry, I have spoken to the judge and it has been moved. We can’t have the child waiting all that time. You will go in second on the list.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Ian said gratefully.

  ‘You have your passports with you?’

  ‘Yes.’ Ian took them out of his briefcase and passed them to Dr Ciobanu, who tucked them into the folder he held. ‘We can wait outside the court room,’ he said. ‘The first case is being heard now. It won’t take long.’ Elaine felt her heart start to pound.

  Anastasia’s mother took her daughter’s hand and walked behind Dr Ciobanu. Ian and Elaine followed them down a corridor where they stopped at the door at the end.

  ‘We will be told when to go in,’ Dr Ciobanu said, then translated for Anastasia’s mother. She nodded solemnly.

  They stood in awkward silence, tense and sombre, and not sure where to look. Even Dr Ciobanu had lost his usual relaxed manner and kept opening and closing his folder – more as a displacement for anxiety than checking the contents. Elaine stole occasional glances at Anastasia and her mother, who kept her gaze down. Then Dr Ciobanu said something to her and she looked up and replied. Elaine glanced at him. ‘I asked her when she was returning to work and she said tomorrow.’ Elaine nodded.

  A few minutes later the court room door suddenly opened and a man and a teenage boy came out. ‘We’re in next,’ Dr Ciobanu said, straightening. ‘Wait here.’ He disappeared inside and the door closed behind him.

  Elaine met Anastasia’s mother’s eyes and saw her anxiety, and for a few seconds they were both united in the bond of their ordeal. Ian cleared his throat nervously and no one spoke. Then the door to the court room opened again and Dr Ciobanu said, ‘Come in. Only speak when the judge asks you to.’

  Elaine swallowed hard. This was it. The time had finally come, and they followed Anastasia and her mother into the court room. Her gaze went to the judge, who sat behind a bench on a raised plinth at the front of the court, reading paperwork. Two rows of empty chairs were in front of him. He didn’t immediately look up. A court official and a police officer sat behind a desk to the right of the podium.

  ‘Wait there until you are told to approach the bench,’ Dr Ciobanu said quietly, pointing to a place a few yards in front. He translated for Anastasia’s mother and she joined them. Elaine saw she was chewing her lip anxiously as she held her daughter’s hand; the empty drink packet dangled from Anastasia’s other hand.

  The room wa
s quiet save for some distant street noise. They waited without moving as the judge continued to read their paperwork. In his fifties, he wore a dark suit and half-rimmed glasses. Elaine and Ian could see their passports on the bench beside their adoption application. The room was grey stone like the rest of the building and not much warmer. Elaine shivered, although more from nerves than cold.

  Presently the judge looked up and said something to Dr Ciobanu, who replied. Then there appeared to be some more questions and answers between them. Elaine’s and Ian’s apprehension grew. Was there something wrong with their application that would stop the adoption going ahead? Anastasia’s mother would understand what was being said but her face was expressionless. It fell quiet again as the judge turned the pages of their application, then he took a sip of water from the glass on the bench and nodded at Dr Ciobanu. He said something to Anastasia’s mother who took her daughter’s hand and stepped forward. The empty milkshake carton dropped and she quickly picked it up and stuffed it in her cardigan pocket.

  The judge spoke to her and appeared to ask her some questions, his tone authoritative. She replied in a small, timid voice, head bent and only occasionally meeting his gaze. Then she must have been told to return to where she’d been standing, and it was their turn. ‘Go forward,’ Dr Ciobanu told them. ‘Call the judge “Sir”.’

  They took the few steps to where Anastasia and her mother had stood. Elaine felt her legs tremble and hoped they wouldn’t give way. ‘You are Ian and Elaine Hudson?’ the judge asked in very good English, addressing Ian.

  ‘Yes, Sir.’

  ‘You and your wife have applied to adopt this child Anastasia?’

  ‘Yes, Sir,’ Ian said again.

  ‘You are from England. I studied there.’ Ian nodded and then smiled, unsure if he should say something, but the judge was continuing. ‘I have read the Home Study report from your social worker. You can’t have children?’

  ‘No, Sir.’

  ‘And you can provide for the child? You know you are expected to open a bank account for her when you return and save for her each month.’

  ‘Yes, Sir.’

  He said something to Dr Ciobanu in their own language and then to Anastasia’s mother, who gave a small nod. Looking at them again, he said, ‘I grant the adoption. The child is yours.’

  It took them a few seconds to realize that it had happened, that the adoption had been granted and Anastasia was theirs. All those months of planning and waiting and it was over in ten minutes. But Anastasia’s mother had clearly been expecting this moment and knew what to do. She brought her daughter to them, placed a small crucifix in her hand and, kissing her cheek, turned and hurried out of the court room. The door banged shut as Ian and Elaine stared after her.

  ‘Wait outside the court room while I get the paperwork from the judge,’ Dr Ciobanu told them. ‘I will join you shortly.’

  Numb and completely overwhelmed, they took Anastasia by the hand and began towards the door. It was then that Ian realized they didn’t have a photograph of Anastasia’s mother. ‘Wait here,’ Ian said as they emerged from the court room. ‘I’ll see if I can find her.’ Dropping Anastasia’s hand, he hurried down the corridor in search of her mother.

  Chapter Ten

  All New

  No words can describe how Elaine felt at that moment as she stood in the corridor outside the courtroom holding her daughter’s hand. Disbelief, euphoria, relief and panic combined as she stood immobile, staring after Ian. Then realization and responsibility kicked in. She was a parent and needed to behave like one. She looked at Anastasia, who returned her gaze, wide-eyed and confused. Did she understand what had just happened in the court room? Did she have any idea? She wasn’t crying or upset, so perhaps like her mother this was simply the end of a long and inevitable journey. ‘Are you all right, love?’ Elaine asked quietly, and Anastasia stared back.

  Ian reappeared, out of breath and clutching his phone. ‘I got two photos of her,’ he said.

  ‘How was she?’ Elaine asked.

  ‘Upset, as you’d expect, but she wiped away her tears and put on a brave face for the photograph. I think she was pleased I’d asked her and that we are going to keep her memory alive for Anastasia.’

  Ian showed her the two photographs he’d taken in the square outside the court house and Elaine’s eyes immediately filled. The woman was looking directly into the lens and trying to smile so that her daughter would have a positive image to remember her by. It felt uncomfortable standing outside the court room, looking at photographs as if they were on holiday. But these two pictures would probably be the most important either of them ever took. Elaine was pleased they were nice photos. A copy would go in Anastasia’s Life Story Book and another they’d frame and put on a shelf in her bedroom so she would grow up aware of her origins, just as the social worker had said.

  Seeing Ian’s mobile phone, Anastasia agitated to look and he showed her the photographs and then put it away. Phones and cameras weren’t allowed in the court house.

  ‘Well,’ he said to Elaine with a big sigh, ‘we’ve finally done it! Congratulations.’ He kissed her cheek, then stooped to kiss Anastasia’s. Her skin felt cold. ‘I don’t think she’s warm enough,’ he said to Elaine. ‘Perhaps put on her hat, scarf and boots.’

  ‘Oh dear, yes, of course,’ Elaine said, immediately concerned for her daughter’s welfare.

  They tucked themselves in a corner of the corridor out of the way, and Elaine unzipped the holdall and took out the fleece-lined boots, then the matching scarf, mittens and hat. Anastasia’s face lit up, clearly having never owned anything like this before.

  ‘I hope the boots fit,’ Elaine said, squatting beside her to put them on. She carefully slipped off the plimsolls she was wearing and, with Anastasia steadying herself against Ian’s leg, she eased her feet into the boots. They were slightly too big but better that than too small. Anastasia looked down at them, delighted. Elaine tucked her jogging pants into the boots and then eased her little hands into the mittens. Anastasia was still holding the crucifix and later Elaine would put it somewhere safe. She tied the woollen scarf loosely around her neck and put on her hat. It felt strange dressing her, like dressing a doll, but she knew she’d soon get used to it.

  ‘That looks snug and warm,’ Ian said.

  Elaine put the plimsolls into the holdall. They’d keep those and the clothes Anastasia had worn for the court hearing to show her when she was older. The crucifix she’d place in the Memory Box together with anything else significant that would help give Anastasia a better understanding of her past.

  The court room door opened and Dr Ciobanu came out clutching a wodge of papers, his folder and their passports. ‘You can have these back,’ he said, handing the passports to Ian. ‘I have the adoption certificate but I will need it to apply for Anastasia’s new birth certificate, passport and visa. You can go to your hotel now and I’ll be in touch just as soon as I’ve had these processed.’ He clearly had a lot to do and wanted to get away.

  ‘Thank you,’ Ian said, shaking his hand.

  ‘Thank you,’ Elaine added.

  ‘You have a cab waiting?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘OK. I’ll be in touch.’

  ‘Dr Ciobanu,’ Elaine said quickly before he left, ‘does Anastasia know what happened in court? That she has now been adopted?’

  ‘Yes, I would think so,’ he said. Then almost as an afterthought he said something to her in her own language.

  ‘Mummy and Daddy,’ she said, puzzled, then her brow knitted and her face clouded.

  ‘She’ll be fine,’ he said, patting her woolly hat. ‘Take her back to the hotel and give her a bath and something to eat.’ He said a quick goodbye and hurried off. Months later, looking back, Ian and Elaine were sure that was the moment Anastasia had been told what had happened in court.

  ‘Mummy and Daddy,’ she repeated quietly.

  ‘Yes, come on, love, let’s go,’ Elaine said.


  They took a mittened hand each and Elaine felt Anastasia’s fingers tighten around the crucifix, as they returned down the corridor. Outside the cab was waiting where they’d left it, the driver at the wheel. It seemed a lifetime ago that they’d arrived at the court house, although it was little more than an hour. Ian opened the rear door and helped Elaine and Anastasia in, then tucked the holdall in the footwell at Anastasia’s feet and got into the passenger seat at the front.

  The journey back to the hotel seemed quicker than going, for now they had Anastasia to tend to. To begin with she sat quietly beside Elaine under the adult seatbelt, looking at everything around her: the driver, the back of Ian, the seats, the hand brake, the windows, the door furniture and the view through her side window. Perhaps it was the first time she’d ever been in a car, they had no way of knowing, but clearly she was fascinated by what she saw. Then she grew restless. The car was much warmer than the court house and Anastasia pulled off her hat and threw it into the footwell at Elaine’s feet. Elaine picked it up.

  ‘Are you too hot, love?’ she asked, taking off her scarf; she left on her mittens. A moment later Anastasia pulled off her mittens and threw them at Elaine’s feet. She picked them up, took out the crucifix and tucked it into her pocket for safekeeping. Anastasia wriggled, tried to remove her seatbelt, which Elaine told her had to stay on, then she began straining forward, tugging on her belt to get at the holdall at her feet.

  ‘Perhaps she wants another drink?’ Ian suggested, turning round in his seat to look.

  Elaine unfastened her own seatbelt so she could reach the holdall and took out the first carton of drink she came across – the apple juice. But it was obvious from Anastasia’s scowl this wasn’t the drink she wanted. Elaine rummaged some more and took out the other packets. Anastasia grabbed the strawberry milkshake.

  ‘Do you want some help?’ Elaine asked, refastening her belt, as Anastasia struggled to remove the straw from the side of the carton. But she wanted to do it herself and eventually managed to tear off the straw as she’d seen her mother do. She inserted it into the packet with too much force and strawberry milkshake shot everywhere – down the front of her coat, the car seat and her side window. Her expression immediately fell serious as if she expected to be told off.