by Glass, Cathy
What was Minty doing? Wasn’t she going to fight for Tayo? Sandra must have told her that she was entitled to legal aid and travel expenses. I wondered if it was something to do with Minty’s immigration status. Perhaps it had occurred to her, as it had to Sandra, that each time she made an appearance at the contact centre, she was more likely to be apprehended and ultimately deported. After all, she wasn’t to know that the Home Office hadn’t the least interest in detaining or deporting her.
I suddenly realized that if Minty’s attendance at contact was going to become sporadic or nonexistent, then Sandra needed to get her signature on the consent form to allow Tayo to come away with us at Easter sooner rather than later. We couldn’t go without it and I had now paid the full cost of the holiday, over five hundred pounds, which I wouldn’t get back if we had to cancel at the last minute – to say nothing of the family’s disappointment.
As soon as everyone was back at school on Monday I telephoned Sandra, and after giving her an update on the excellent week we’d had at half term, I asked her about obtaining Minty’s consent.
‘Don’t worry,’ she said. ‘I’ve left the consent form with James at Headline, and next time Minty is there, he’ll ask her to sign it. I’ve also left a message on Minty’s voicemail explaining about the holiday and the form.’
‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘Minty must turn up for at least one contact this week surely?’
‘Yes, most definitely. Because I’ve left another message on her voicemail saying that if she doesn’t turn up, I’ll apply to the court to have the contact terminated as it’s unfair on Tayo.’
I should have known by now that Sandra was one step ahead of me and was not going to pussyfoot around. ‘Thanks,’ I said. ‘Tayo doesn’t need any more rejection or uncertainty. And he deserves a holiday – I know he’s really looking forward to it.’
Minty heeded Sandra’s warning and did turn up at the next contact session on Tuesday. This time she was absolutely furious. We could hear her storming and shrieking in reception before we got into the centre.
‘She’s got no fucking right! Who the fuck does she think she is? I’m going to get a solicitor on to her. The whole fucking lot of you!’
I wasn’t sure if the ‘she’ Minty referred to was Sandra or myself and I could see that Tayo was unsure as well. He looked at me anxiously, almost protectively. We waited outside until James had led Minty out of reception and the furore receded.
I pressed the security buzzer and Aisha let us in. ‘I’m afraid Mum’s a bit upset with Sandra right now,’ she said. ‘It’s nothing for you to worry about though, Tayo.’
‘Is contact going ahead?’ I asked.
‘If Mum calms down, yes. You go, Cathy, I’ll look after Tayo in the waiting room until James says we can go through.’
I left, hoping for Tayo’s sake that Minty managed to get control of herself.
When Aisha returned Tayo at the usual time, she said Minty had calmed down enough for Tayo to have an hour with her, although once again she hadn’t brought him any dinner. Aisha waited until Tayo was out of earshot before adding, ‘And James said to tell you that she hasn’t signed the consent form for the holiday. She says she doesn’t think it’s safe and won’t sign until she knows more about it.’
That was a reasonable request when it was made by a reasonable parent, but coming from Minty, it seemed ridiculous, given her standard of care.
‘All right,’ I said. ‘I’ll speak to Sandra tomorrow and work out the best way to reassure Minty.’
‘Thanks. And also Minty wanted to know why Tayo hadn’t phoned on Saturday.’
‘He did,’ I said. ‘But Minty wasn’t there and Tayo didn’t want to leave a message.’
‘OK. I’ll make a note because Minty was making an issue of it and said you were breaking the court order.’
‘Did Tayo tell her we phoned?’ I asked.
‘Yes, and she accused him of siding with you against her. I don’t think the poor kid knew what to say for the best – tell the truth or lie to pacify her.’
‘No,’ I agreed. Poor Tayo is caught between a rock and a hard place, I thought, as I closed the door. But Minty was so confused most of the time that I doubted she’d had the wherewithal to check on her mobile for the list of missed calls.
The Guardian Ad Litum phoned later in the week, and with no apology for missing the review or not seeing Tayo, said she was too busy with other cases to visit Tayo at present and asked for a telephone update, which appeared to replace her visit.
We were busy too. Tayo had asked if he could join two after-school clubs, chess on Monday and gym on Wednesday. I had agreed, with the proviso that he found time to do his homework, which he’d assured me he would. The weeks flew by in a cycle of activity, with contact on Tuesday and Friday, the school clubs on Monday and Wednesday, football club on Saturday, and me squeezing in a night out to see Peter on Sunday evenings.
Easter was fast approaching and I was now seriously worried that the consent form for our holiday still hadn’t been signed. Although I’d left a CenterParcs brochure at Headline for Minty, and Sandra had left a number of messages on Minty’s mobile reassuring her, she was still refusing to sign. It seemed that her stubborn refusal was more a matter of asserting what little bit of authority she had left rather than genuine concern for Tayo’s safety.
Eventually, with only seven days to go before our holiday, Sandra went to Headline for the Friday contact session and came away with Minty’s signature on the form.
‘Well done!’ I said, when she phoned to tell me. ‘That’s a huge relief, it really is. Our holiday was hanging in the balance.’
‘I can’t take all the credit,’ she said. ‘Tayo brought pressure to bear on his mother when he realized he might not be going.’
I hadn’t told Tayo that our holiday was in jeopardy because his mother wouldn’t give her consent, but Minty was unable to keep anything from Tayo and told him. He had ordered her to sign in no uncertain terms, according to Sandra. While I wasn’t completely comfortable with the way her consent had been extracted – it really wasn’t the child’s responsibility, after all – I was just glad that we had her signature and could go.
School finished, I collected Adrian from university, the spring weather warmed up, and we packed our bags and left for Tayo’s first holiday ever. The build up of anticipation, the journey, and our eventual arrival jettisoned Tayo into unbridled excitement as his cries of ‘Are we there yet?’ were replaced by ‘We’re here! We’re on holiday!’
We unpacked, hired a bike each, then cycled to the Oasis swimming dome where we stayed until late evening. After a huge meal in the American Wild West themed restaurant we cycled back to our villa under the pine trees and stars and fell into bed, exhausted. The following day was action-packed as we took in ten-pin bowling, badminton (which Tayo had a natural flair for), archery, a long bike ride, an hour’s swim, and another huge meal, this time Italian. And so the week continued, living up to everyone’s expectations, with something new every day. The weather was kind to us and there was no rain, and although the evenings were chilly, a brisk cycle ride along the tracks in a hitherto unexplored part of the forest soon warmed us up. Everything we did was an adventure for Tayo, and it was nice that Adrian was with us, for he had a made a big impact on Tayo who followed him everywhere like a shadow.
There was one blot on the otherwise near perfect landscape, however, and I became increasingly concerned about it as the week progressed. Far from taking Tayo’s mind off his absent father, the holiday seemed to have fuelled his imagination even more.
Tayo’s previous comments of ‘I wish my dad could see this’ had been replaced by the more definitive: ‘I’m going to show my dad this’ or ‘My dad likes this too’. And rather than three or four comments a day, he was now making three or four an hour. I began to feel that it was bordering on the delusional. We couldn’t do anything without the invisible presence of Tayo’s father and he was everywhere.
‘He’s not,’ I said. ‘And he’s never likely to.’ I explained what had been happening while Adrian had been away.
‘Tayo talks as though he’s in regular contact with him,’ Adrian said.
‘I know. Perhaps you could have a word with him, man to man?’
Adrian agreed. When the two of them cycled on ahead the following morning, he took the opportunity to chat with Tayo, using his own absent father as a starting point, as he thought Tayo could relate to that. It was obvious that Tayo had enjoyed their man-to-man chat when the girls and I caught up, but the effects were minimal. There was an hour’s respite from Tayo’s father over lunch at the Pancake House, then it began again when we played crazy golf.
‘My dad can hit the best shot in the world. He plays golf every week and gets a hole in one. I’m going to play golf with my dad when I go home,’ declared Tayo.
And so it went on. Adrian and I exchanged a glance and he shrugged. Later he said, ‘Sorry, Mum, I did my best. I thought he’d taken it on board.’
‘I know love, he might yet. He’s excited at the moment. Hopefully it will lessen as times goes on.’
But it didn’t. Despite a truly brilliant week when we took in all the activities the village had to offer at least twice, Tayo’s talk of his father had become obsessive and compulsive, like an itch that had to be scratched.
We returned home refreshed and energized by our holiday. But once back, I decided I had to say something to Tayo about his dad. I explained that while he most definitely had a father, and it was possible he liked and could do all the things Tayo said, he couldn’t possibly know for certain because we weren’t in contact with him, and neither could we be. It sounded harsh but I couldn’t let his obsession continue to build. It was starting to affect his life. Tayo listened to what I said without comment.
Two days later I found Tayo sitting in his bedroom writing. He showed me the sheets of A4 paper, not at all abashed. They were letters to his father, about half a dozen of them, that clearly would never be posted, but they detailed the horror of living with his mother and asked why his father hadn’t come to get him yet. There was no mention of us or the improvement in his life since coming into care, just lines and lines of furiously scribbled prose, which would have been cathartic if it had given Tayo release, but it didn’t.
When Sandra called to ask how the holiday had gone, I told her we’d had a good time but mentioned Tayo’s growing obsession with his father. She was obviously concerned and said she’d speak to Tayo, and arranged to visit the following day at two-thirty as we were still on the Easter break and there was no school. When she arrived I made her a coffee then left the two of them alone in the lounge for the best part of an hour.
‘I see what you mean,’ Sandra said when they’d finished and Tayo had disappeared down the garden to the swings. ‘He became quite angry when I said there was no way we could contact his father, let alone arrange for Tayo to live with him. For the first time I could see his mother’s anger in him.’ She paused. ‘I’m wondering about art therapy, do you think it might help? Give him some direction for his anger and emotions.’
‘I don’t know. But it’s worth a try. When is it?’
‘I’ll find out and get back to you. In the meantime, will you explain to Tayo about what is involved in the therapy? I won’t say anything to him now. I think he’s had enough of me talking for one day.’
That evening when I told Tayo what Sandra had suggested, and explained that I’d looked after a boy before who’d gone to art therapy and had thoroughly enjoyed the painting and clay making, Tayo told me to ‘stick it’.
‘I beg your pardon?’ I said sternly.
Tayo looked at me, eyes wide and angry. ‘I don’t want art therapy. I like football like my dad.’
‘This is as well as football, not instead of. And you don’t know if your dad likes football. For all you know, he might be into art.’
‘He plays football!’ he returned, stopping just short of shouting. ‘Every weekend! And he scores all the goals!’
I didn’t know what else to say. I couldn’t emphatically deny it was true any more than Tayo could claim that it was. So I clung to the belief that given time, Tayo would adjust to being in care and his fantasy would slowly subside.
Chapter Twenty
Anger
School returned for the summer term and I returned Adrian to university. He had his end-of-year exams looming which he would have to pass to enable him go on to the second year. Paula had her GCSEs starting in three weeks, Lucy had her final B. Tech exams in a month, and Tayo would have his SATs. It was going to be an important term for everyone and I was pleased we had managed the Easter break, which had recharged everyone’s batteries and set them up for the hard work that lay ahead.
At the end of the third week of term, Tayo’s teacher asked to see me. Here we go again I thought. What’s he done this time?
But there hadn’t been an incident. Rather, Mrs Gillings was worried Tayo was falling behind with his work again, and some homework hadn’t been completed. I spoke to Tayo that evening and restated the importance of doing well at school so he could go to university if he wanted, like Adrian.
Tayo shrugged despondently. ‘Not fussed,’ he said. ‘My dad didn’t go to university and he makes heaps of money.’
‘That’s as may be, Tayo but you’re going to do your homework before the television goes on,’ I said firmly. Enough was enough – he wasn’t going to use his father as an excuse to start failing.
He refused point blank to do the outstanding homework so I stopped his television, but he wasn’t ‘fussed’ about that either. In fact, when I came to think of it, Tayo wasn’t fussed about a lot of things that he used to enjoy, and I wondered if he was starting to become depressed. I tried talking to him again, reassuring him, and using my usual philosophy of trying to put things into perspective by balancing the negatives of life with the positives, but he was having none of it. ‘Not fussed’ and ‘not bothered’ was his new philosophy and he was sticking to it.
Tayo’s despondency also developed an insolent air and I was increasingly finding that when I suggested anything – or insisted on it in the case of homework – he shrugged in a what-are-you-going-to-do-about-it? manner. And there was very little I could do, except for continuing to talk to him and encourage him.
During these weeks, Minty turned up for contact, but was usually late and often incoherent, which I was sure did nothing for Tayo’s disposition. He switched on the television as soon as he arrived and ignored her when she came in. According to Aisha, if he did speak to his mother he was terse or often quite rude.
Meanwhile, phone contact continued spasmodically with Minty answering about every second or third call and occasionally managing to ask Tayo how he was, before lapsing into a wail about her own ills, and who had done the dirty on her now. Once when she answered she was so drunk she couldn’t put two words together.
‘You fucking waster!’ Tayo shouted towards the phone, which was on speaker.
I picked up the handset. ‘Minty, I’m terminating this phone call. It’s not in either of your interests to continue.’ I replaced the handset and turned to Tayo. ‘Don’t you ever use that word again. Do you understand?’
‘Why not? She uses it,’ he said, referring to his mother.
‘And you want to be like her?’ I asked, more from annoyance that reason.
‘No! I want to be like my fucking father, but none of you bastards will find him!’ He stormed out of the lounge and upstairs where he slammed his bedroom door. I gave him five minutes to cool off then went up, knocked on his door and went in. He was lying face down on his bed crying.
‘Tayo, love,’ I began.
‘Go away!’ he yelled. ‘I don’t want you here. You’re not my family. Get out. I want my dad.’
I tried again half an hour later but he still didn’t want anything to do with me. By bedtime he had calmed down sufficiently to apologize but still didn’t want to talk. It saddened me greatly that he couldn’t share his feelings as he had done before; he seemed to be pulling away and cocooning himself. He had pinned all his hopes on his father and I’d known from the start he had set himself up for disappointment. Now it was happening. How I wished I could have given him what he so desperately wanted but in reality, all I could do was carry on as we were and keep him safe and well cared for.
* * *
School had noticed a change in him as well. Apart from the standard of his work, which was still dropping, Tayo was becoming increasingly confrontational, his anger brimming over into the playground and classroom. Over one week in April there were three events that were serious enough to be logged on incident report forms. I was called in again, this time to the Head. Tayo was already in her office, looking far from shame-faced. The Head made it clear that she had been very lenient because of Tayo’s circumstances but one more incident and he would be formally excluded for the following day. I said I would talk to him again and thanked her for her understanding. I waited until we were in the car before I said anything.
‘Tayo, do you realize how serious this is? Exclusion will go on your school report and then follow you to secondary school.’
‘No, it won’t,’ he put in quickly. ‘I won’t be in this country.’
‘You will be, and it’s irresponsible not to think about your future.’
‘Shut up! I’m not talking to you anymore.’ And he didn’t for the rest of the day.
I was concerned and astonished by his stubbornness and tenacity. He had a dream of his father taking him to live in Nigeria and he was sticking to it. What worried me was that he was slowly destroying his real life chances for the sake of a dream, and causing himself terrible unhappiness in the process.
