The Mountain in My Shoe

by Louise Beech

  Bernadette’s coffee has gone cold. She must get dressed, call a taxi. ‘I’m seeing Carole at BFL in an hour. Even if I get Frances’ consent to adopt, what about in the meantime? Will I still be able to volunteer until it goes through?’

  ‘Surely it won’t matter,’ says Anne. ‘You’re a huge part of his life.’

  ‘But I have to make sure. Carole might tell me how good the chances are for adopting him.’ She pauses. ‘That’s if he wants me to. I can’t mention it in case he does and it doesn’t happen, can I? I couldn’t let him down.’

  ‘See what they say.’

  ‘I’ll ring you soon. Give my love to Conor. Tell him…’ She isn’t sure what Anne should tell him.

  ‘I’ll tell him,’ says Anne, knowing.

  They hang up.

  Bernadette pours her cold coffee down the sink and leaves the cup on the side. It feels good not to wash it, not to feel she must immediately dry it and put it away; yet she still half anticipates Richard’s admonishment. After a quick shower and a phone call to Top Taxis, she waits by the window. She hears Richard’s voice in the rustle of leaves – I’ll never let you go.

  When Bob Fracklehurst pulls up, she smiles. She didn’t request him, but the universe sent him anyway. She moves away from the window where she has waited so many times for Richard to come home, and puts on her coat.

  ‘You’re going to have to let me go,’ she says aloud, angry. ‘Because I’m leaving. Maybe not today, or next week. But I am!’

  She heads downstairs.

  Anne said everything happens the way it should.

  Bernadette really hopes so.

  When she gets to the driveway Bob Fracklehurst is finishing a cigarette and drops the end in a takeaway cup. Life goes on. For a moment after she gets in the car, he doesn’t speak. The song on the radio crackles.

  ‘I read about your husband,’ Bob says eventually. ‘I’m really sorry.’

  ‘Oh, yes.’ It’s all Bernadette can think of to say.

  ‘You didn’t book the usual trip on Saturday.’

  Bernadette nods. ‘I’m not sure if my Saturdays will continue.’

  Bob looks sad. ‘So where do you want to go today?’ he asks.

  Bernadette directs him to the BFL office and he drives under the archway of trees and emerges by the river. She can’t escape it. The water travels east, past Tower Rise and out to the North Sea, a constant. She hears it when their window is open and sees it every time she leaves the house. She knows she’ll only ever think of Richard while it’s there, picture him trying to crawl out, clawing the muddy bank, over and over and over.

  It suddenly occurs to her that this image could be wrong. What if he didn’t claw? Didn’t try. Didn’t fight. What if he surrendered to the current once Conor was safe? What if – knowing she was leaving him – he simply gave up?

  ‘You okay?’ asks Bob.

  ‘You know, I think I’m fine; then I feel so angry I could scream, and so sad I cry. I was going to leave him and I didn’t love him anymore. So why am I bothered at all?’

  ‘It’s called grief, Bernadette,’ says Bob, kindly.

  She nods. They pass Walton Street where Hull Fair’s rides are being built, and then the stadium. She realises that Bob has taken a route that avoids the rest of the river, like PC French did that night. But sometimes you need to look into the current to see the truth. Ruth’s suggestion that Richard had a personality disorder has been stuck in Bernadette’s head, the way things that make sense do.

  Last week she went to the library and read up on narcissistic personality disorder. The low hum of noise in the building disappeared as she read words like ‘appearing unemotional’ and ‘easily hurt’ and ‘requiring constant attention’. Her eyes filled with surprise tears as she read that a parent’s absence or excessive criticism in childhood was often a background factor. How often Bernadette had felt Richard’s mother was cruel, but not wanted to say?

  Another trait she read was that, in an attempt to hide feelings of insecurity, the sufferer sought to control others’ views of them and their behaviour. Wasn’t that what Richard had done throughout their marriage? Hadn’t she felt she was merely there to make him feel good, strong, happy?

  It was like having an explanation for why you’d got cancer: it didn’t make it fair. And did it justify threatening to kill someone because they wanted to leave?

  Bob turns left at the lights and stops by the pharmacy that’s below BFL’s office. Bernadette looks up at the sash windows and imagines the team coordinating volunteers and writing reports and changing children’s lives.

  ‘How much do I owe you?’ she asks Bob.

  ‘Don’t worry about it,’ he says.

  ‘Don’t be silly.’ She offers him ten pounds and when he won’t take it she sticks it in the glove compartment. ‘I don’t need a receipt.’ She might never need one again; might never fill out a monthly expenses report, sticking on bus tickets or café receipts.

  ‘Take care,’ says Bob. His radio crackles and Barbara’s voice tells him he’s needed elsewhere. Life goes on.

  ‘I’ll still need a lift somewhere soon.’ She gets out.

  Bernadette watches him pull away and goes into the building. She hasn’t been here since a two-day training course on ‘challenging behaviour’, which luckily was during Richard’s work hours. It occurs to her that his is the only behaviour that has ever been a challenge. Passing posters for youth clubs and fostering help groups, she remembers her first interview and telling Carole why she’d like to volunteer.

  At the top of the stairs is an open-plan office where plants wilt near a radiator, a half-empty vending machine flashes blue lights and staff type away on keyboards. Carole is at the reception desk with Bernadette’s folder; one of her pearly pink nails is chipped.

  Carole turns and her expression changes from up to down, as though someone has flicked a switch.

  ‘Bernadette,’ she says. ‘I’m sorry to hear about your loss. Come on in.’

  She follows Carole into a separate office and sits opposite her, the grey desk dividing them like a frown line between eyes. The heating is turned up too high.

  ‘This must be such a difficult time for you,’ says Carole. Her black hair is so sleek it reflects the overhead light. Bernadette remembers her habit for pushing it behind her ear repeatedly. ‘Coffee?’

  ‘No, thank you.’ Despite the dry air, Bernadette thinks a drink will make her sick. ‘I’d rather just talk about Conor.’

  ‘Well, it’s a unique situation; we’ve never had a volunteer in such a predicament.’

  ‘I suppose it is a predicament,’ says Bernadette sadly. ‘But I’d like to continue here. I’m considering taking other steps in Conor’s life…’

  Carole interrupts. ‘As you know, the primary concern for us is the child.’

  ‘But can I still volunteer?’

  ‘No.’ Carole studies Bernadette, frowns. ‘Boundaries would inevitably be overstepped. As you know, he can’t know your surname or where you live, and he does now.’

  Bernadette knows that confidentiality is to protect both volunteer and child; a child might turn up at a volunteer’s home unannounced, causing upset for both the youngster and the volunteer’s family. They might make allegations against a member of a volunteer’s family that would be hard to prove or disprove. Anonymity helps volunteers remain detached, something Bernadette knows she’s never succeeded at. She knows the words: Detachment is so the volunteer is there as an independent in the child’s life, distinct from regular carers or the professionals paid to support them.

  But Richard has changed it all.

  Carole opens Bernadette’s folder and says, ‘Conor will naturally seek more information about his father, leading directly to you and your life.’

  Bernadette feels tears welling; she fiddles with her bag, wishes the heating would go off. ‘You see, I’d like to adopt him. But that could take years to get off the ground. And in the meantime, if I’m not a volunteer
, how will I see him?’

  Carole says kindly, ‘But Bernadette, don’t you see? You’re his family.’

  ‘I am?’

  ‘Yes. No boundaries. Why would you need to volunteer with us? You’re more to Conor than that; you’re his step-mum, you don’t need to volunteer anywhere.’

  Bernadette hadn’t thought of it. Why has it taken her so long to see? It’s like when she found out Richard was Conor’s dad. Shouldn’t the similarities have been obvious? Yet she missed them. Like you might a yellow book on a full bookshelf.

  ‘So I’ll be able to visit him?’ she asks.

  ‘Of course. And being his step-mum will help an adoption application.’

  Bernadette puts her bag on the floor. ‘So what do we do here?’

  ‘You just have to sign our leaving form, relinquish all association with us.’ Carole pushes a form across the table and Bernadette signs after skim-reading. ‘You’ve been a wonderful volunteer. Conor has thrived and I’m sure it’s down to you. I can drop you in Hessle if you like. I’ve to see a new child there.’

  Carole drives along the river and Bernadette is glad. She doesn’t need people to decide on her behalf whether she can face the water. Now sunlight dances on the waves, turning muddy swirls into hopeful blue. Conor would say that hopeful isn’t a way to describe blue, but Bernadette would insist that since blue is often associated with sadness it’s nice to make it joyful for a change.

  ‘You can leave me here,’ she says as they approach the foreshore.

  Carole hands Bernadette her folder. ‘You might want it as a record of your time with us.’

  Bernadette closes the door and watches Carole head into the village. She walks down the hill to the foreshore, then along chalky white stones that merge into mud and eventually water. Three children chase a wet dog towards the bridge, their wellington boots coated in slime and their cheeks aglow. Bernadette loves dogs but Richard never wanted one. Said it would stink the flat out. She had wanted to argue that the place smelt of damp anyway but of course never said a word.

  Life goes on.

  Looking out across the water, Bernadette suddenly remembers being stuck in that abandoned fridge as a child. When her mother eventually opened the door, the sun stung her eyes like the drops her doctor used for infections.

  Her mum had helped Bernadette out and said, ‘It was only a short time,’ and hugged her tightly.

  Bernadette insisted it had been forever. Without light, time has no measure. Children respond less well to darkness. But even with an abundance of light, it’s the absence of human contact that damages. The fridge’s cold insides hurt Bernadette more than not being able to see.

  Life goes on.

  Bernadette approaches the water, her shoes sinking into the mud. She came here with Conor a handful of times, watched him chase the water, always feeling it was too close to Tower Rise, wondering what might happen if, by chance, Richard came home ill and saw them.

  But everything happens the way it should.

  She stands where the waves gently lap at her feet, letting them wash her ankles and calves. The cold is invigorating. With one hearty thrust she throws the BFL folder out across the river; white papers scatter like homework from a child’s school satchel. They sway on the wind and land in separate parts of the river; two stay joined, maybe held by a paper clip.

  They float the longest.

  When all the papers have sunk Bernadette turns and starts walking towards Conor’s house. She knows she will one day come to terms with Richard’s flaws – with his occasional cruelty and that final threat – because everything he was and everything he did led to Conor. She’s going to see Richard in the boy more and more as he grows up. The best part of him remains. So she must remember him, not as the husband who might have killed his wife, but as the father who rescued his son.

  62

  The Book

  16th November 2012

  To Conor,

  I hope your doing ok. Theyre gonna give your book to Bernedette soon to keep for you so I just wanted to explain proper why I did what I did. I mean I can tell you when I see you and you can ask me anything you want but I want to put it in here for you. I didnt just let you go easy I promise. I thought and thought about it all I really did. I talked lots with Bernedette and with Ann too and the social workers. It went round and round in my head. Then there was something I saw on the telly about kids in care being worse off than ones who stay somewhere forever even if its not there own real mums. Maybe I should of done that to start with. I feel bad all the time that Ive been there for Kayleigh but not you or Sam or George. I don’t know if its cos shes a girl and I see the me when I was small and want to change it all by making her ok somehow. It hurts so much to talk about George. I dont really do it much. When I do think about him I know I do right by lettin you go with Bernedette forever and maybe if Id of done that with him hed be here alive still. I dont know if someone might want to do the same for Sam one day. I dont know if he has anyone as nice as Bernedette. But if there isnt Im gonna try and see him more and be a better mum to him. Im gonna try and do things rite so he can maybe live with me one day. Ill still see you after all this like I do now so really nothing much changes its just that youll not really be my son youll be Bernedettes son now officially. That makes me real sad. Im crying now sorry. But it does make me feel kind of releived too cos I know deep down Im doin this for you and only you. With Bernedette youll kind of know your dad too and she can tell you all his stuff and that way your still close to him even without him. I do love you little boy. I hope you enjoy your new home and Ill see you soon anyway.

  Your Mum xxx

  Grace Bryan

  Hull Social Services

  Ref – New Adoption Application

  5th December 2012

  Dear Bernadette,

  I’m the social worker who will guide you through the whole adoption process for Conor Jordan, and though I’ll be calling you later today to arrange a first home visit I just wanted to send a note outlining exactly what will happen now.

  As you know already, it can take several months to be assessed and approved. The recommended maximum time from your formal application is eight months, which means for most people it will not take longer than this. However, just to let you know that occasionally it can, though I see no areas of concern in your application.

  This might be an emotional few months, so do make sure you’re getting lots of support from family, friends and colleagues.

  I would like to invite you to your first preparation group, where you’ll have the opportunity to meet experienced adopters and foster carers, as well as having the chance to speak to some adopted adults. I understand your situation is different to most, in that you have known the child for five years and he is your stepson, but these sessions can still be helpful.

  I will go through the whole process with you. I’ll visit your home over the next several months, both to assess you and how the living arrangements are going. I understand you have just this week moved into the more suitable accommodation we looked at, and this will look good in your assessment. I will also meet your family, friends, neighbours and general support network. It seems very thorough, but we have to make sure we’re making the right decision, and that you are too.

  I will then write a report called a Prospective Adopter’s Report, which will include your assessment, some personal references, all checks, and a medical report. You will have the opportunity to write some of this yourself. Then finally you’ll sign it and it goes to the adoption panel.

  When you have been approved – and 94% are – it is official. You apply to the court for an official adoption order and your new life with Conor will begin.

  This is a lot to take in, but I wanted to make sure you have all the information before we meet for the first time. If you need to know anything at all, please contact me on the above number.

  Best regards,

  Grace Bryan

  63

  Bernadette<
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  The cottage is the last in a row of five, painted feather-white like the other four but with an extra window as though trying to stand out. It does, at least to Bernadette. Upon first viewing the end-of-terrace house a month ago she had thought it benefited from the company of a neighbour on one side and the solitude of a small field on the other. The best of both worlds. Like when, as a child, she pushed a chair against the bedroom door to read alone, knowing her parents were just on the other side if she wanted them.

  Now Bernadette has the key to this two-bedroom house with a sloping back garden and bramble bushes that tangle like fruity spider webs about the fence. Snow covers them all today: the windowsills, the bushes, the grass, the roof. It’s hers. It will be Christmas in three weeks and she’ll spend it here.

  The removal van isn’t here yet, but Bernadette unlocks the door and goes in. Only her breath fills the space, like that first day at Tower Rise. Then Richard had called the removal company and complained that they were late. Bernadette doesn’t mind this time. It means she can explore and imagine in peace. She can sniff the air like she always does in a new place and claim it properly.

  The estate agent said the place had been empty for some time.

  Waiting for her.

  She goes up the narrow staircase and looks into the bedrooms. Both are in the roof so enjoy a sloped, attic feel. Bare floorboards mean Bernadette’s heels click intrusively as she crosses the first room, to a window flat against the roof. It opens onto a school playground and a row of shops. She imagines that if a bed were beneath the glass, at night the sleeper might be able to see the stars. The other bedroom looks onto the back garden. There are no trees, but she can plant new ones in spring.