A Long Way From Home

by Cathy Glass

  She shook her head. ‘Come on, your turn.’

  I threw the dice and counted my piece round the board.

  ‘Do you think you could talk to someone, like a doctor?’

  ‘Don’t know.’

  We continued to play for a few moments and then I asked, ‘Did your daddy ever tell you off or hit you? The one you lived with.’

  ‘When he came home from work and Mummy was upset he’d shout at me. He said it was my fault she was crying.’

  While I could see only too clearly why he would have felt that, for Anna it must have seemed that history was repeating itself – another nail in the coffin for her relationship with her parents.

  I didn’t know the reason why Elaine wanted to talk to me, other than she thought I would understand, so I assumed it was about why she had put Anna into care. I’d made a note of her request in my log and would update Jill and Lori on what Elaine said the next time we spoke, unless it was something urgent, in which case I would phone them straight away.

  Monday was another fine, warm spring day, and Elaine arrived punctually at 11 a.m., dressed in a lightweight trouser suit and matching blouse.

  ‘You always look so smart,’ I said as I let her in.

  ‘Thank you. It’s a habit, from when I used to work as a legal secretary. We had to look smart for the clients.’

  I smiled, waited while she hung up her jacket and then led the way into the living room where I offered her a drink. For the first time since she’d started visiting she accepted, and I made us both a coffee. Once settled, Elaine began making conversation by asking what work I used to do. ‘Clerical and administration,’ I said. ‘I still do a little now, part-time, mainly from home to fit in around the children.’ She sipped her coffee, admired the garden and appeared far more relaxed than she usually did when Anna was there.

  ‘I hope I’m not stopping you from doing anything,’ she said after a few moments, setting her cup in her saucer, ‘but there isn’t anyone else I know who would understand.’

  ‘It’s fine,’ I said. ‘I’m free until one-thirty when I have to leave to collect Anna from school.’ This wasn’t strictly true as I had a long list of jobs to do, but if Elaine needed to talk about Anna then I would listen.

  She looked around the room as though gathering her thoughts, then took a small breath. ‘It’s difficult for me to talk about it all, even though you’re in the same position.’

  I didn’t understand what she meant about being in the same position. Yes, I had children, but my children weren’t in foster care. I waited. With another little sigh, summoning her courage to begin, she asked, ‘When you and your husband separated did you try to get him back?’

  I was completely thrown. It was the last question I’d expected. Surely this wasn’t the reason she’d wanted to see me?

  ‘Well, yes,’ I said, ‘I did, but it wasn’t really an option. It was his decision to leave. He’d met another woman.’ The words still choked me, although they weren’t as raw now as when it had first happened.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Elaine said. ‘My husband didn’t leave me for another woman but because of Anna and me. Me, really. It was my fault. I’ve changed so much since we had her. I was unrecognizable from the person he used to know. I should have seen it coming, there were enough warning signs, but I was so wound up in my own misery and failings as a mother that I had no time for what Ian was going through. Ian was my first love, we met …’ And Elaine began telling me how it all began.

  ‘Ian and I met by chance in a coffee bar close to where we both worked,’ she continued in a small voice as though viewing the scene from the distance of time. ‘We kept bumping into each other as we collected our coffee and sandwiches to eat at our desks. His firm had offices not far from mine. He started smiling and saying hello, then one day, as we waited to be served, we found ourselves standing next to each other and he struck up conversation. After that we used to look out for each other and stand together in the queue and chat as we waited. I so looked forward to lunchtimes, the girls at work used to tease me. After a month or so Ian said, “We can’t keep meeting like this,” and he asked me on a date. That was the start of it. We began seeing each other regularly, and quickly fell in love. I met his family and he met mine. I was rather a shy, unadventurous young secretary, but he gave me confidence and brought me out of myself. After three years Ian asked me to marry him and I had no hesitation in saying yes. We got engaged, saved up and bought a home of our own. We had a beautiful romantic white wedding that my mother planned.’ Elaine absently fiddled with the wedding and engagement rings on her finger. ‘Tragically, within the year both my parents were dead. My mother died of cancer and my father of a heart attack. He never got over my mother’s death.’

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ I said.

  ‘Thank you. Ian was fantastic, so supportive. I don’t know what I would have done without him.’ She let out a heartfelt sigh.

  ‘We always knew we wanted a family, but the months, then years, passed and nothing happened. Eventually we went to see our doctor, who sent us to the hospital for infertility tests. The results weren’t a huge shock. After all those years of trying we guessed one of us couldn’t have children and we were already talking about adopting by then. We had one go at IVF [in vitro fertilization] and then approached our social services about adopting. We soon learned that we were considered too old to adopt a baby or young child. Ian was thirty-nine then and I was thirty-five.

  ‘Time passed and we’d almost resigned ourselves to not having a family, and then by chance I saw a story in the news about a couple who’d adopted from abroad. I started researching international adoption and found it had been going on for years all over the world. Orphaned and abandoned children who couldn’t be looked after in their own country matched with couples abroad who wanted to adopt. You can imagine our joy. It seemed the answer to our prayers. Not only would we have the family we so dearly wanted, but we would be saving a young child from a life in an orphanage.’ Elaine stopped and, overcome with emotion, wiped a tear from her eye.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  A Family Torn Apart

  ‘The process to adopt from abroad is long and complicated,’ Elaine continued when she felt able. ‘We had to be passed to adopt in this country first, which involved many visits from a social worker who asked lots of searching and personal questions. She then wrote our Home Study report while we attended the training and preparation course. Then there were police checks, references – bank and personal – and we both had to have medicals. After that we had to go before a panel of ten people who asked us questions about our reasons for wanting to adopt and what we thought we could give a child. I was so nervous my hands were trembling, but we passed. Our papers were then sent to the Department for Education, and a Certificate of Eligibility was issued. That was the proof we were allowed to adopt – I still have it.’ She paused and threw me a small, sad smile. ‘How long ago that seems now.’ I nodded thoughtfully.

  ‘After we’d been accepted to adopt it was up to us to get in touch with an adoption facilitator in the country we wanted to adopt from. By then I’d done a lot of research on the internet and had joined an online support group for international adoption. The members were very helpful. They had either adopted from abroad themselves so knew what to do, or were going through the process and were willing to share their experiences. If I had a question about procedure or the next step, one of them would help. Because our paperwork was going abroad it all had to be notarized by a solicitor here first and then legalized by our Foreign and Commonwealth Office. After that we had to send it to the facilitator in the country we were adopting from and pay to have it translated and legalized in that country. Weeks, sometimes months, passed in between, when all we could do was wait and hope. You try to think of other things and resist the temptation to keep phoning, but it’s there with you the whole time. It’s the biggest life-changing decision you ever make, but we were never in any doubt it was the right one
for us.

  ‘While we waited we got the nursery ready and bought baby clothes and toys. You can’t leave it until the last minute, although it’s a strange feeling shopping for baby things when there is no sign of a baby. If you’re expecting you have the proof inside you, your stomach swells and you can feel it move, so you know that the nursery, clothes and toys will be used in time. But when you’re adopting there is nothing but faith and hope. You are completely reliant on others. I tormented myself with the possibility it might not happen and the nursery would remain empty forever. Ian’s parents weren’t much good – they kept trying to put us off – but my sister was supportive and so were our online friends. Then, after all those months of waiting, we got the call. Dr Ciobanu, our adoption facilitator, phoned us at home one evening and said a baby girl had been left at the orphanage and was free for adoption. Can you imagine our joy? It was the best feeling ever. Our baby had arrived. He sent a photograph and we immediately fell in love with little Lana.’

  ‘Lana?’ I queried.

  Elaine nodded sombrely and continued. ‘We confirmed straight away we wanted to adopt her and the following week we were on the plane. I’d had our bags partially packed for some time, knowing that now all our paperwork was in we could get the call anytime, and would have to leave as soon as possible. On the plane I kept looking at the photo of Lana, the proof our baby was real, at the orphanage and waiting for us. We began bonding with her from the moment we received her details. Our happiness was indescribable.

  ‘We took photographs of our adoption journey and I kept a journal so that our baby would know her roots, just as the social worker had said we should. It was late when the plane arrived, and we went straight to our hotel and to bed. Dr Ciobanu knew what time our flight was due in and had said we should go to the orphanage the following morning to meet him and our baby. Needless to say, we didn’t sleep much that night – we were far too excited. We were up early but I couldn’t eat breakfast. I just wanted to go to the orphanage and see my baby. We’d booked a cab through the hotel reception to take us to the orphanage. I can still remember that journey, our joy, our hopes and expectations that very soon we would be a family and our lives would be complete. We were let into the orphanage by a care worker who said Dr Ciobanu had been called away. She then told us our baby was dead and we should choose another one. Just like that.’

  ‘Oh, no!’ I gasped. ‘That’s dreadful. I’m so sorry. I had no idea.’

  Elaine’s eyes glistened with tears. ‘It was awful. Bad enough our baby had died, but it was made worse by her heartless behaviour. Not, I’m sorry to have to tell you your baby has passed, just, She’s dead, you choose another one. After, I wondered if her harshness might have been due to her limited English, but her manner was cold. I mean, you can show compassion in ways other than words.’ I nodded. ‘Anna doesn’t know about Lana. We didn’t want her thinking she was second best, so please don’t tell her.’

  ‘No, of course I won’t.’ There was no reason why I should tell Anna, as it didn’t directly affect her. My thoughts flashed to Anna’s Life Story Book and the Memory Box I’d unpacked and looked through before putting away. I now realized there was a far more painful back story, which for good reason Elaine and Ian had decided not to tell Anna.

  Elaine then told me of the dreadful conditions they’d witnessed in the orphanage and my eyes welled. I’d read about those orphanages in newspapers and had seen pictures on the television, but hearing about them first hand moved me deeply.

  ‘No words can describe our heartache and disappointment at losing Lana and we just wanted to go home. We wouldn’t try to adopt again; clearly we weren’t meant to have children. We were going to bring forward our flight home, but then late that evening Dr Ciobanu telephoned us at the hotel and apologized for what had happened. He asked us to go to the orphanage the following day as he had another child for us who was a bit older but very healthy. Ian and I spent the whole night talking about what we should do and decided to go the following day. We had nothing to lose, and of course this new child needed a home as much as Lana had done.

  ‘It was obvious as soon as we met Anna, or Anastasia as she was then, that she was very different from Lana. At two and a quarter, she was very lively and robust, and obviously healthy. Dr Ciobanu wasn’t a bad man, but with so few resources and only two care workers the level of care at the orphanage was very low and there was a limit to what he could do. We decided to go ahead and adopt Anna and we saw her at the orphanage every afternoon while Dr Ciobanu prepared our adoption application for the court there. We quickly bonded with Anna. She was feisty then and knew her own mind, but just when we thought everything was on track again there was a problem.’

  ‘Oh, no. What happened?’

  ‘Nothing to Anna, but it was the height of summer and with most judges on holiday we couldn’t get a court date for three months. Anna’s mother needed to work and took a job abroad for that period and we reluctantly returned home. The thought of Anna in the orphanage for all that time was very worrying but there was nothing we could do. Dr Ciobanu promised us she’d be well looked after. We flew back on 18 November, a few days before the court hearing, and went straight to the orphanage to see Anna. Dr Ciobanu was there and brought Anna to us. Her first words were “Mummy and Daddy”. Can you imagine that! I hugged her, but even then I remember thinking how stiff and unresponsive she was. She clearly remembered us but didn’t show any affection. She never has.

  ‘We saw Anna every afternoon at the orphanage until the court date. Did we spoil her? Yes, definitely. Did she always have her own way? That was one of the questions the psychologist I eventually took her to asked. Yes, she did. We showered her with gifts and did exactly what she wanted. We’d waited so long for a child and Anna had led such a miserable life, why wouldn’t we want to make her happy? Did we realize how badly damaged she was by her early years’ experience? No, and we assumed that whatever had happened could be put right with our love and kindness.

  ‘We met her mother for the first time in the court waiting room. She was a small woman dressed in thick woollens and a headscarf. She looked sad and we felt very sorry for her, naturally. We couldn’t talk to her because of the language barrier, but we thought she was very brave and selfless to put her daughter first and want a better life for her. It was only later, when we were home and Anna had learned more English, that we discovered her mother had beaten her and locked her in a cellar at night. Little wonder Anna won’t sleep in her own bed.’

  ‘She does now,’ I added.

  ‘Does she? She wouldn’t for us,’ Elaine said quietly, and I could have kicked myself for being so thoughtless.

  Elaine then told me of the very difficult first week they’d had with Anna in the hotel, when she wouldn’t settle, eat or sleep properly.

  ‘We thought she would settle once we were home and she did start eating, but the poor kid had worms and had to be treated for that. Otherwise she was physically healthy. It was her behaviour and attitude to us that caused the problems. Far from improving, it went from bad to worse. Every little thing was a challenge and she was so angry most of the time. She still is. To begin with she refused to learn English, and would never do anything we asked or wanted to do. It felt as though she was rejecting us and it hurt. We thought she’d be pleased to have parents, a nice home and room of her own. But when she started using English she said she liked the orphanage more than us, and other hurtful things. Then she’d watch for my reaction to see if I was upset.

  ‘I couldn’t take her anywhere for fear she’d have a tantrum, which I wouldn’t be able to control. Eventually I stopped trying to go out. If Ian was with me it was a little easier, but he was embarrassed too. The children our friends had were usually well behaved if they were out or had visitors, so too were my nieces and nephew. Anna seemed to take delight in doing the wrong thing and would only ever do what she wanted. She was vicious at times – still is – hurting me and other children at nursery and then
school. As she grew, her problems increased. She became sly, manipulative, defiant and always so angry. It sounds awful talking about her like this, but it’s true. It was relentless and wore Ian and me down, and forced us apart. Anna came between us. We weren’t even allowed to sleep in the same bed or have a minute to ourselves. Anna never smiled – she still doesn’t – or wanted a cuddle. In fact, I’m sure she never wanted us. She seemed pleased when Ian left just after Christmas, as though she had won, but then of course all her rage was aimed at me.’ Elaine stopped.

  ‘Didn’t you think to ask for help?’ I asked.

  ‘I did many times. I went to the doctor and we paid to see a psychologist privately – more than one. That’s when Anna was diagnosed with Reactive Attachment Disorder. When the psychologist explained the causes and effects, it made perfect sense. It was Anna. The neglect and abuse she’d suffered as a baby and young child, and of course us having to leave her for three months added to this. We couldn’t afford to pay for her to have therapy privately – it would have gone on for years – and there was a long waiting list for a referral under the National Health Service. Ironically, her being in care seems to have speeded up the process. As you know, she has been referred.’

  I nodded. ‘Where is Ian now?’ I asked.

  ‘Staying with his parents. I was already worn down with trying to look after Anna, and after Ian left her behaviour got worse. It came to a head one day when Anna had been particularly spiteful at school and I had to collect her early. I told her off and sent her to her room when we got home. I was surprised she went; she never normally did as I told her. I left her for a while and then went up. She wasn’t in her room but in my bedroom. I had a drawer in there containing my parents’ personal effects – their watches, spectacles, some costume jewellery of Mum’s, a few ornaments they’d collected on their holidays. Personal things that reminded me of them, and a photograph album. I’d shown Anna them once when I’d tried to talk to her about losing your parents. She’d broken everything that was breakable and had ripped up the photographs of Mum and Dad. I was so angry and upset I nearly hit her. I’d never been that close to hitting her before. Then I began crying uncontrollably. I sat there among my parents’ broken keepsakes and wept. Anna just looked at me without any compassion or sorrow and I knew then I’d reached the end. I telephoned the duty social worker. I’d had the number ready for a while, intending to phone to ask for help, but I broke down and sobbed, and said they needed to take her.’ She paused. ‘The rest you know.’