A Baby’s Cry

by Cathy Glass

  I eventually finished writing up my log notes and, closing the folder, returned it to the shelf. What tomorrow would bring or where Harrison would be next Christmas Eve I’d no idea.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Best Christmas

  ‘And I thought you were phoning to wish me a Merry Christmas!’ Jill joked, as I finally finished telling her all about Rihanna’s and her father’s visit of the night before. It was 9.45 on Christmas Eve morning and I’d been talking to Jill on the phone for nearly half an hour. ‘I’ll phone Cheryl straightaway,’ Jill now said more seriously. ‘She’ll probably want to speak to you. Are you at home today?’

  ‘I’m going shopping this morning but I’ll have my mobile with me. I’ll be in this afternoon and obviously this evening – it’s Christmas Eve.’

  ‘All right. I’ll phone Cheryl now. And Cathy?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘You handled the situation well. If you hadn’t been able to persuade Rihanna and her father out of taking Harrison, the police would certainly have been involved, resulting in court action. The social services might yet apply for a care order but it’s not so likely. So well done.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I said, relieved I’d done the right thing.

  Having said goodbye to Jill I changed Harrison’s nappy and dressed him in his outdoor clothes, ready for our shopping trip. At the same time I called Adrian and Paula to come and put on their shoes and coats, but they were too excited with thoughts of Christmas to want to bother with food shopping. However, when I pointed out that there wouldn’t be a Christmas dinner if we didn’t go to the high street they were ready in five minutes. ‘We won’t be long,’ I said, for I had no more desire to shop on Christmas Eve than they had.

  But once we were in the high street there was such a festive atmosphere that our shopping trip became quite enjoyable. Decorations and lights festooned the shops and hung across the street; a small choir from our local church sang carols in the square; and a man dressed as Father Christmas sat in a large model sleigh, handing out sweets to the children as he collected money for charity. While shopping we met people we knew, all of whom stopped to wish us a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year, as we did them, so our quick trip to the shops became extended, but pleasantly so. My mobile phone didn’t ring, which was something of a relief as it would have been difficult to maintain confidentiality in the busy high street. I sometimes have to creep down an alleyway to take a call about a child I am fostering or find a quiet corner if I’m in a shop. Sometimes I simply have to tell the social worker I’m in a public place and that I will return their call as soon as I can. But Cheryl didn’t phone until we were home again and I’d unpacked the shopping, and then her call was brief.

  ‘Thanks for all you did last night,’ she said. ‘Jill has phoned, and also Rihanna and her father phoned me first thing this morning. I’ve spoken to them at some length. I’ve explained to them the process we have to follow in considering Rihanna’s application to have Harrison returned to her. I’ve made it clear that a lot of work has to be done before a decision can be reached. I’ve also told Rihanna and her father that there is little the department can do over the Christmas week, as we have only a skeletal emergency staff. Rihanna would like contact and I’ve spoken to my manager. Cathy, this is what I would like to suggest to Rihanna, if you agree.’

  ‘Yes?’ I asked tentatively, wondering what I was being asked to commit to.

  ‘Rihanna is entitled to some contact with Harrison at this point, whatever the eventual outcome. I can’t set up supervised contact until we have a full staff – after Christmas – so I’d like to suggest that Rihanna sees Harrison at your house, with you present, if you agree. It would only be for one hour, and on a day to suit you and your family.’

  ‘I see,’ I said hesitantly.

  ‘You can say no if you wish,’ Cheryl added.

  ‘I’m just concerned about the impact this will have on my children,’ I said. ‘They are at home from school all over Christmas and the New Year. What can I tell them? They’re prepared for Harrison being adopted.’

  ‘Which he might be yet,’ Cheryl said. ‘It’s up to you, Cathy. If necessary Rihanna will have to wait until the New Year, when we can arrange supervised contact at the family centre.’

  Then I had a thought. ‘Could Rihanna come on Boxing Day?’ I asked. ‘Adrian and Paula will be out with their father then.’

  ‘I’ll phone her now and ask. What time on Boxing Day?’

  ‘Is twelve o’clock all right?’

  ‘I don’t see why not. I’ll get back to you.’

  We said goodbye and fifteen minutes later Cheryl phoned to confirm that twelve o’clock on Boxing Day was fine with Rihanna, and also thanked me on Rihanna’s behalf. ‘Rihanna has given permission for me to give you her mobile number,’ Cheryl said, ‘in case you have to change arrangements.’

  I reached for a pen and paper and wrote down Rihanna’s mobile number as Cheryl gave it to me. ‘It would make sense for Rihanna to have my mobile number too,’ I said. ‘Shall I text it to her?’

  ‘Yes, if you’re happy doing that. Thank you.’

  Cheryl and I wished each other a Merry Christmas and we said goodbye.

  Once I’d hung up, so that I didn’t forget, I immediately entered Rihanna’s telephone number in my mobile and then texted her so that she had my number: See you on 26th Dec at 12. Cathy Glass. A minute later my phone bleeped with an incoming text: Thank u. I’m so excited!

  I hoped Rihanna’s excitement wouldn’t be short-lived, for as Cheryl had explained to her she was having contact because she was entitled to it; it didn’t mean Harrison would be returned to her. As a foster carer I’d seen many cases where regular contact between a child and the parents had been maintained even though there was no chance of the child being returned to live with the parents. While foster carers, social workers and other professionals working in social care would question if it was really in the best interests of the child (or parents) to encourage a bond that would eventually have to be broken, it was what the court had directed so it had to be followed. I feel there are many areas in social care where a more holistic, realistic and long-term appraisal of the situation would avoid further heartache for children and their parents.

  Putting aside my thoughts and worries about Rihanna I concentrated on Christmas. While Adrian and Paula played and kept Harrison amused in the sitting room I went into the kitchen to prepare as much as I could for the following day. There would be eight of us including my parents and my brother and his wife for Christmas dinner, and they would be arriving at about eleven o’clock on Christmas morning. I made the stuffing for the turkey and put it in the fridge; then I carefully took our best crockery and cutlery (reserved for guests and special occasions) from the cupboard. I put these to one side with the decorative Christmas tablecloth, napkins and Harrison’s First Christmas beaker, plate and bib. Although at nearly six months Harrison would be too young to remember Christmas I’d take lots of photographs; these, together with the Christmas memorabilia, would go with him when he left and form part of his history, which he would appreciate when he was older.

  As bedtime approached Adrian and Paula grew more and more excited until it was time for bed and they could hang their pillowcases on the end of their beds, ready for Father Christmas. We’d already hung a pillowcase on the end of Harrison’s cot, for while Harrison was too young to understand Father Christmas would call and fill his pillowcase with presents, it was important for Adrian, Paula and me that Harrison was fully included in our family’s Christmas.

  ‘What time does Father Christmas come?’ Paula asked me for the third time that evening as I kissed her goodnight.

  ‘When you’re asleep!’ Adrian called excitedly from his bedroom.

  I smiled at her. ‘He’s right.’

  While Paula, aged five, believed in Father Christmas, Adrian, aged nine, had big doubts. He questioned the existence of Father Christmas, while not wanting t
o completely disbelieve. So when he’d asked me outright if Father Christmas existed, rather than spoiling the magic by harsh reality and saying no, or lying and saying yes, I’d said: ‘Father Christmas is part of the magic of Christmas and it’s nice to believe,’ which Adrian had accepted.

  Not understanding what all the excitement was about Harrison was fast asleep at his usual bedtime, while Adrian and Paula lay in their beds, too excited to sleep. They’d left their bedroom doors open and every so often called excitedly to each other across the landing; I could hear them from downstairs and smiled. Children who are too excited to go to sleep on Christmas Eve are part of the joy of Christmas. Eventually Adrian and Paula would fall asleep, safe in the knowledge that when they woke they would find their pillowcases brimming with presents and that Christmas Day would be one of the best days of their lives.

  Sadly many children never experience the joy of Christmas and wake to another day of abuse and neglect, where the most they can hope for is to escape another beating, and party games are as unlikely as finding their parents sober or not suffering the effects of drug withdrawal. Christmas dinner for those children is likely to be whatever they can find in the bottom of the fridge; sometimes there is nothing and they make do with dry cereal – there always seems to be a packet of cereal in the home of neglected children but rarely fresh milk. The gap between well-looked-after children and those who are neglected and abused is never wider than at Christmas. That night as I went to bed I thought of little Ellie who, now in care, would be experiencing her first proper Christmas, and the thousands of children for whom tomorrow would be no more than another day of suffering.

  ‘He’s been!’

  ‘Father Christmas has been!’

  I heard Adrian’s and Paula’s voices calling from their bedrooms the following morning. I turned over and, opening my eyes, looked at the bedside clock: 6.30. Not too bad, I thought, as last year they’d woken at 5.15 on Christmas morning.

  ‘Merry Christmas!’ I called back.

  Traditionally in our house on Christmas morning we all group in one bedroom and I watch Adrian and Paula unwrap their presents. Pushing my feet into my slippers, I slipped into my dressing gown and, picking up the camera from on top of the chest of drawers where I’d left it ready the night before, I padded round the landing. I quickly checked on Harrison, who was still asleep, and then went into Paula’s bedroom. Adrian was sitting on the foot of Paula’s bed, having brought in his pillowcase full of presents, and Paula was propped up in bed with her pillowcase bulging beside her. They grinned as I entered and I gave them both a kiss.

  ‘Merry Christmas,’ I said again.

  ‘Merry Christmas, Mum,’ they chorused.

  Delving into their pillowcases they began unwrapping their presents, while I stood to one side, smiling happily and taking photographs.

  The look on children’s faces as they tear off wrapping paper to reveal a gift they’ve wanted for some time is priceless and makes all the work that goes into Christmas completely worthwhile. I stood beside Paula’s bed, caught up in their joy as she and Adrian repeatedly dipped their hands into their pillowcases, held up another present and then unwrapped it.

  ‘How did Father Christmas know it’s just what I wanted?’ Paula exclaimed over and over again.

  While Adrian smiled and said, ‘Thanks, Mum,’ each time he unwrapped a present.

  Apart from their main gifts – toys they’d previously mentioned they’d like for Christmas – there were ‘stocking fillers’ of chocolate novelties, fancy socks, a mug each emblazoned with their favourite Walt Disney cartoon, and an art and craft activity set. They were so pleased and grateful it touched me deeply and again I appreciated how lucky I was to have my children. Just as Adrian and Paula finished unwrapping their presents we heard Harrison call out as he woke. Leaving their opened presents on Paula’s bed, they came with me to Harrison’s room.

  ‘Happy Christmas,’ we chimed. Harrison greeted us with a big smile and then pursing his lips blew a raspberry, which was a new trick of his and always made us laugh.

  ‘Look, Harry!’ Paula exclaimed, pointing to the pillowcase of presents on the end of his cot. ‘Father Christmas has been!’

  Harrison grinned and blew another raspberry. I lowered the side of the cot, lifted him out and quickly put a dry nappy on him, while Adrian unhooked the pillowcase and propped it on the floor. Having fastened the last of the press-studs on his sleepsuit I sat Harrison on the floor beside his pillowcase and took the first photograph. He looked slightly startled as the flash went off and then he grinned and clapped his hands in appreciation. Adrian and Paula knelt either side of him and began taking the presents from the pillowcase and helped him unwrap them. Indeed they unwrapped the presents for him, as to begin with Harrison was more interested in the brightly coloured wrapping paper that crinkled and crackled rather than the present inside. But as the presents emerged – a play centre with buttons to push that made various sounds; two first books; a push-along car; a soft toy in the shape of a fire engine – he began to take more interest. The final photograph I took was of Harrison nestled like a hamster in the middle of his presents and wrapping paper and grinning at the camera. ‘Perfect,’ I said, and it was.

  I returned Harrison to his cot with a couple of his new toys while I showered and dressed. Adrian and Paula returned to Paula’s room and played with their presents, and also kept an eye on Harrison. Once I was ready I dressed Harrison and took him downstairs, where I gave him a breakfast of porridge. Presently Adrian and Paula appeared in their dressing gowns but didn’t want any breakfast, just a drink, as they’d eaten a large chocolate bar each from their selection boxes. ‘No more chocolate until later,’ I said, and they agreed.

  By eleven o’clock we were all ready, and excitedly awaiting the arrival of my parents and my brother and his wife. The Christmas tree lights glowed, Christmas music played in the background, the vegetables for dinner were prepared and the turkey was cooking in the oven. My parents arrived first, laden with presents. We all kissed and exchanged Christmas greetings; then once they’d taken off their coats we went through to the sitting room, where we put the presents they’d brought under the tree to be opened later. I made them coffee and warmed mince pies; then my brother and his wife arrived, also with a bag of gifts. From then on our Christmas really got under way, with games, lots of fun and laughter and a huge Christmas dinner; then in the afternoon we settled around the Christmas tree and opened our presents.

  My brother and his wife as usual made a great fuss of Adrian, Paula and Harrison. I knew they were trying for a baby and I hoped they didn’t have to wait long, for it was obvious how much love they had to give a child and what great parents they’d make. I took lots of photographs, as did my parents and my brother and his wife. Our Christmases are always well photographed and afterwards I choose the best family group photograph, which I have enlarged and then frame and display on the wall in the sitting room; my parents and brother do the same at their houses. Each Christmas seems even better than the last, and I knew how lucky I was to have such a wonderful family and to be able to enjoy Christmas with them.

  I didn’t say anything to my parents (or my brother and his wife) about Rihanna’s visits or that she’d changed her mind and now wanted to parent Harrison. It wasn’t the place or time and I knew my parents, in particular, would be very worried if they knew of the uncertainty now surrounding Harrison’s future. As it was, they believed Harrison would be adopted and if that changed – nothing was certain yet – I would tell them.

  It was after ten o’clock when all our guests finally made a move to go, and Adrian, Paula and I saw them off at the door. ‘Thanks for a lovely day, and for all our presents,’ Mum said again, while Dad said, ‘Best Christmas ever,’ and we all agreed.

  I’d put Harrison to bed an hour before, as he’d started to fall asleep on my mother’s lap, and, having closed the front door on another clear but cold night, I steered two tired but very happy
children up the stairs and into the bathroom for a quick wash before they climbed into their beds. As I kissed first Paula and then Adrian goodnight their smiling faces said it all: their hopes, dreams and wishes for a magical Christmas had come true and I knew they would sleep well tonight.

  Having looked in on Harrison – he was fast asleep – I went downstairs to make a cup of tea before going to bed, for I too was exhausted. It then occurred to me that I hadn’t checked my mobile phone since that morning; I’d been too busy having fun. Returning downstairs I took my phone from my handbag and opened the messages. I had four texts – three from friends wishing me a Merry Christmas, and one from Rihanna: Hi Cathy, is it OK if I bring my mother tomorrow? Sent at 2.15 p.m.

  I paused for a moment with my phone in my hand. Clearly Rihanna’s mother must be over the shock of learning she had a grandchild and now wanted to see him. I wasn’t sure this was a good idea at this point, for if Harrison was adopted she wouldn’t see him again. Wouldn’t it be better to wait until the social services had made their decision, and if Rihanna was to be allowed to keep Harrison for her to see him then, rather than start to bond with him now and then have to say goodbye in a couple of months? However, as Harrison was still in care on a Section 20 Rihanna could make this decision and it wasn’t my place to object, so I texted back: Yes. See you at 12.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Little Brother

  The house seemed morbidly quiet after all the fun and laughter of the day before, as though it has been abandoned, which in a way it had. Adrian and Paula were out with their father; Toscha had finished off some turkey leftovers and was now in the garden; which left Harrison and me in the sitting room, awaiting the arrival of his mother and grandmother. Rihanna hadn’t said if her father was coming but I had assumed he would be.