by Cathy Glass
‘I can feed and change my baby if you show me,’ Faye said. ‘You showed me how to cut those carrots. You can show me how to feed and change my baby.’
My heart went out to her. If only it were that simple, I thought. ‘It’s a lot more difficult than cutting up carrots,’ I said, touching her arm reassuringly. ‘There is so much to learn.’
‘I can learn things. I know it takes me longer, but I can learn. I want to learn. I’m happy about my baby and I want to learn so I can keep it.’ A lump rose in my throat.
‘Faye, do you remember Becky talked to you when you were first pregnant?’ She nodded. ‘You agreed then that it would be better if she found a lovely mummy and daddy for your baby who will look after it very well.’
‘I know,’ Faye said, her face setting slightly. ‘But I don’t want them to have my baby. I’ve changed my mind. I’m not going to give them my baby and they can’t make me.’
The truth was that the social services could ‘make her’ give up her baby if there was sufficient reason, which there was. They could apply to the court for an order to remove the baby at birth, but I didn’t say that. It would have been too cruel. I then realized that in all the talk about pregnancy and giving birth I’d never mentioned the reality of parenting a baby. It hadn’t seemed appropriate or relevant, as Faye wouldn’t be keeping her baby. She hadn’t gone to the antenatal parenting classes for the same reason. As a result she’d built up a completely unrealistic, probably romantic, view of what it was like to look after a baby.
‘Faye, once we get home I’ll explain to you what looking after a baby is really like. Then I think you’ll understand why you and Becky made the right decision when you agreed it would be better if she found a mummy and daddy for your baby. OK?’
Faye nodded. I desperately wished the outcome could have been different, but it was impossible. Faye could never parent a baby without twenty-four-hour support, and her grandparents weren’t in any position to give her that. There really was no alternative. Hopefully, once I’d had a good chat with her, she’d be able to see that.
Faye’s thoughts tended to hop from one idea to another and by the time we were home she appeared to have forgotten about wanting to keep her baby. She hadn’t mentioned it again in the car but had talked happily about other things: when we could see the horses again, that it was her gran’s birthday soon and she wanted to buy her a present, and finally that she desperately needed a wee. Once indoors Faye went to the bathroom while I put the maternity folder away and then made us a hot drink and a snack. Faye asked if we could go shopping for her gran’s present and card that afternoon, and I agreed, as I had a few things I needed to buy from the shopping centre too.
In the mall I was careful to keep away from the store we’d been to previously that sold maternity wear, baby equipment and clothes. But Faye didn’t mention her baby; she was too engrossed in choosing a present, card and wrapping paper for her gran. I decided that if she brought up the matter of keeping her baby again, I’d explain the complex and all-consuming needs of a baby so she’d see the impossibility of keeping it. I could have done with one of those baby simulators – the life-size dolls that cry out for care day and night. Faye would soon tire of its relentless demands, for she loved watching television, playing and her sleep.
We had lunch out, then returned home and Faye helped me to make a cottage pie for dinner. We all ate together, chatting as usual about what we’d done that day. College lectures had begun for Paula and she said she had a lot of research to do that evening for an essay. After dinner Faye settled in front of the television for an evening of soap viewing, only interrupted by her bath. Lucy joined her for a while. Adrian was mainly in his room on his laptop. Although Faye hadn’t mentioned keeping her baby again, it soon became clear that she hadn’t forgotten it. When I went to say goodnight to her (and Snuggles) she said, ‘Cathy, I really do want to keep my baby. Will you tell Gran and Becky?’
I sat on the edge of the bed and, taking her hand in mine, I explained in laborious detail all the negative things I could think of about looking after a baby: the constant crying, the smelly, pooey nappies, the non-stop demands of feeding and changing, the exhaustion, and the fact that there was no time to do anything you enjoyed, like watching television or playing games, as a baby required all your time. My pièce de résistance was that she wouldn’t be able to go to the day centre or the stables again. Her face fell and I felt guilty, but I had to make her see that keeping her baby wasn’t an option.
‘But I like going to the stables,’ she protested. ‘I want to see the horses again.’
‘I know you do, love. Have a think about what I’ve said and we can talk about it again tomorrow. If you have any questions, I’ll answer them.’
‘OK.’
Then she brightened, asked when we could see the horses again in the field and hugged me goodnight. I hoped that when she’d reflected on what I’d said she’d understand and that would be the end of the matter. My hope was soon dashed.
Chapter Eleven
Anniversary
The following day I took Faye in the car to see her grandparents, and when I collected her she said they’d had a really nice time and had gone into their neighbours’ flat for a cup of tea. The couple had their niece and nephew visiting and Faye knew them well. Our afternoon and evening continued with dinner and then Faye watched her usual television programmes. When she went up for her bath she saw Paula on the landing and I heard them chatting for a while. But when Faye was in the bathroom Paula came down to find me, and she was looking worried.
‘Mum, I think you should know that Faye’s just told me she wants to keep her baby, but you won’t let her.’
My heart sank. ‘That isn’t what I said, and it’s not my decision. Thanks for telling me, love. I’ll talk to her.’
‘She can’t keep it, can she?’
‘No, but she needs to hear it from her social worker. Don’t you worry, I’ll sort it out.’
When Faye finished her bath she came downstairs in her nightdress and dressing gown as she usually did, towel-drying her hair. I had switched off the television.
‘Where’s my programme?’ she asked, put out.
‘You can have it on in a moment. I need to talk to you first. Sit down, please, love.’
She sat in the chair she used for watching television and looked at me questioningly.
‘Faye, it’s not my decision whether you keep your baby. You, Becky and your grandparents decided together some weeks ago that adoption was best. Do you remember?’
‘Yes, but I’ve changed my mind.’
‘I understand, but it’s not that simple. Tomorrow I’ll telephone Becky and tell her what you’ve said. I expect she’ll want to talk to you.’
‘Will she be cross?’
‘No, not cross. But she’ll be able to advise you on what’s best for you and the baby.’
‘Will she tell Gran?’ Faye asked, now looking concerned.
‘I don’t know. Why?’
‘I hope she doesn’t. Gran will be cross and Grandpa will be unhappy.’
Faye’s simplistic, childlike view of the world meant that she saw things in absolutes. People were either cross or happy, good or bad, right or wrong, on your side or against you. There was no in-between middle ground, where most adults live their lives. I hoped that Becky could make Faye see that this was far more complex than upsetting her grandparents.
‘Can I have the television on now?’ she asked.
It was on the tip of my tongue to say, And supposing your baby is crying when you want the television on, what then? Or you’ve just stepped into your bath and the baby starts crying. Would you immediately get out, dripping wet, to answer its cries? And how would you know what the baby wanted? Feeding, changing, winding or soothing? Parenting is a sharp learning curve. How would you cope? But I’d explained this to Faye already and it wasn’t her fault that she hadn’t grasped it.
‘Yes, you can have the television
on,’ I said. I passed her the remote and then went into the hall to telephone Mum.
I was still phoning Mum most evenings for a quick chat, but tonight as we talked I thought she sounded a bit down.
‘Are you sure you’re all right?’ I asked for a second time.
‘Yes. How’s Paula doing at college?’ she asked, changing the subject.
‘Very well. There’s a lot of work, but she’s enjoying it.’
‘Good, and Adrian, Lucy and Faye are all right?’
‘Yes, they’re fine. What have you been doing today?’ I asked, bringing the conversation back to her.
‘Sweeping up leaves in the garden,’ she said slightly despondently. ‘Autumn’s here.’
‘Yes. Indeed. I’ll have to do ours.’
‘I’m going to the cemetery tomorrow,’ Mum added.
‘Oh, yes?’ I said, a little surprised. As far as I knew Mum hadn’t visited Dad’s grave since the funeral. It was a bus journey away, so I’d assumed either my brother or I would take her in the car on a weekend.
‘I’ll come with you,’ I said. ‘We can go in the car.’
‘There’s no need for you to come rushing over,’ Mum said, as usual not wanting to be any bother.
‘I’d like to. I’ll have Faye with me, but she can wait in the car while we’re at the grave.’ I thought that Mum might not want to share such a private moment. ‘She’s no trouble.’
‘I know she’s not. But are you sure? You do so much rushing around.’
‘Yes. I’d like to come, if you’d like some company.’
She immediately brightened. ‘Yes, I would.’
‘Good. We’ll be with you around eleven o’clock and perhaps we can get some lunch out after.’
‘Yes, that would be nice. I was feeling a bit gloomy. Tomorrow is the anniversary of the first time I went out with your father, our first date. I felt I wanted to go to the cemetery.’
‘Oh, I see. I didn’t know.’ I obviously knew the date of my parents’ wedding anniversary but not the date of their meeting. I doubted my brother knew it either.
‘I’ve bought a red rose to place on his grave,’ Mum said. ‘Your father gave me a red rose on our first date, all those years ago.’
My eyes immediately filled as I pictured my darling mum going into the florist to buy a single red rose to put on my father’s grave in memory of when they’d first met. He’d always given Mum a single red rose on their wedding anniversary, as well as other gifts, but I’d never appreciated the significance of it until now.
‘That’s lovely,’ I said. ‘Dad would appreciate that. We’ll see you tomorrow then.’
‘Yes, looking forward to it. Thanks, love.’
When I told Lucy, Paula and Adrian where I was going the following day and about the red rose they were as moved as I was.
‘How wonderfully romantic,’ Paula said. ‘Grandpa loved Nana so very much.’
‘He still does,’ Lucy said. ‘Death doesn’t stop that kind of love.’ Which made me tear up all the more.
Then Adrian shared something I hadn’t previously known. ‘Kirsty and I celebrated the anniversary of our first date. I took her out for a meal. I booked the table in secret and gave her some flowers. She said it was very thoughtful and the best surprise ever.’
‘That’s lovely,’ I said, touched and proud of my son.
Anniversaries and other family celebrations are often difficult in the years immediately after a loved one has passed, when their absence is even more obvious. I wrote the date my parents had first met in my diary, as I thought Mum would probably want to mark the day in future by taking a red rose to his grave. Now I knew I would always go with her if she wanted me to.
The following morning Adrian, Paula and Lucy left the house first, calling their goodbyes as they went, and then while Faye was getting ready I telephoned Becky. The call went through to her voicemail, so I left a message asking her to phone me when she was free. I said I needed to talk to her about Faye but that it wasn’t an emergency. I then waited for Faye to finish getting ready. The time chart was still in place, although Faye seemed to be slowing down the bigger she got, so I had to make allowances and lightly chivvy her along. I’d already explained to Faye we were going to take my mother to visit my father’s grave, and once in the car I told her that I’d left a message for Becky to phone me.
‘And you’ll tell her I’m keeping my baby.’
‘I’ll tell her what you’ve said, yes.’
‘Good.’
Faye sat in the passenger seat with Snuggles on her lap without a care in the world, totally oblivious to the enormity of what she was now proposing and the worry her change of mind would cause to all involved. I’d had a restless night worrying, but Faye had slept like a log. As far as she was concerned, she wanted to keep her baby and that was that. If only it were that simple, which of course for Faye it was.
My mobile began to ring just as I pulled into Mum’s driveway – it was Becky. ‘Thanks for returning my call,’ I said. Mum was at the front door and, seeing me with the phone to my ear, beckoned to Faye to go in. ‘Just a second, Becky,’ I said. Then to Faye, ‘You go in with my mother and I’ll be with you soon.’
‘Tell Becky I want to keep my baby,’ Faye said.
‘What was that?’ Becky asked.
‘Here, you can tell her,’ I said to Faye, and passed her the phone.
I gestured to Mum to go indoors and we’d be in when we’d finished on the phone. She disappeared inside and closed the door.
‘I want to keep my baby,’ Faye said to Becky. But that was all she said before handing the phone back to me. ‘You tell her the rest,’ she said, and jumped out of the car.
I put the phone to my ear again as Faye went up to the front door and pressed the bell.
‘What’s this about?’ Becky asked. Mum opened the door and Faye went in.
‘Faye says she has changed her mind about giving up her baby for adoption and now wants to keep it.’
‘When did this happen?’
‘The day before yesterday, after we’d been to the antenatal appointment. Although Faye said she’d been thinking about it for a while. I think that as we’ve been talking much more about her pregnancy, she’s grown closer to the baby. It’s all become more real to her, so she may have suddenly grasped the enormity of what she’s giving up.’
‘And she didn’t before?’ Becky asked. ‘I discussed it with her.’
‘I don’t know. I’ve emphasized how difficult it is to look after a baby, but Faye now thinks I’m trying to stop her from keeping her baby. I’ve told her it’s not my decision.’
‘Has she told her grandparents she’s changed her mind?’
‘No. She’s worried how they’ll react. She doesn’t want to upset them.’
‘I need to talk to Faye,’ Becky said. ‘I’m up your way tomorrow afternoon. Could you be in around four o’clock?’
‘Yes. Faye’s seeing her grandparents in the day, but we’ll be back then.’
‘Thank you. Tell her I’ll talk to her tomorrow, although I really don’t know what else I can offer. Obviously Faye has the same rights as anyone else, but I don’t see how she could parent a child without full-time help. Her grandparents can’t offer that level of support, even if they were all moved to a bigger flat. There’s nothing in the public sector. There just isn’t the funding for the type of placement Faye would require, much as I wish there was. I’ll talk to her tomorrow.’
‘OK. I’ll tell her you’re coming.’
Becky hesitated before ending the call. ‘Cathy, you’ve got to know Faye. I am right, aren’t I? She couldn’t manage the baby.’
‘No. Faye is a lovely person, but she would need constant support. She does now, really.’
‘Yes.’
We said goodbye and I returned my phone to my bag and let myself into Mum’s house. I could hear Faye and Mum talking, and as I went into the living room I found them side by side on the sofa with a cup
of tea and a biscuit, smiling and chatting like old friends.
‘Is everything all right?’ Mum asked.
‘Yes. It was Faye’s social worker.’ Then to Faye I said, ‘Becky is coming to see you tomorrow.’ Faye didn’t say anything.
‘Shall I make you a coffee?’ Mum asked, going to stand.
‘No, I’ll do it. You stay put.’
I went into the kitchen as Mum and Faye resumed chatting, now talking about the leaves that were blowing past the window. I wondered if Faye would tell Mum the reason for Becky’s visit, but she didn’t. When I returned with my coffee she was telling Mum about brushing the horses’ manes and how the horses at the stables would be missing her. Perhaps she realized that the matter of her wanting to keep her baby might be upsetting for my mother, as it would be for her own grandparents. I helped myself to a biscuit and settled in a chair. Faye was very relaxed and comfortable chatting to someone my mother’s age, even more so than talking to Adrian, Lucy and Paula, who were more her age and with whom she got on reasonably well. She asked Mum how her legs were, which made Mum and me smile. Mum said her legs were fine, thank you, and Faye said that was good, as her gran and grandpa suffered with their legs. Once we’d finished our drinks Mum suggested we went to the cemetery, as rain was forecast later. She fetched her coat and also the red rose, which she’d kept in the fridge so it would stay fresh. It was neatly wrapped in a cone of cellophane and tied with a small red-ribbon bow, similar to the one Dad would have given Mum on their first date and those he always gave her on their wedding anniversary. I was touched by its simple beauty and the love enshrined in that one small bloom. A first date, a romance, and a lifetime of happiness. It moved me deeply.
‘That’s a nice flower,’ Faye said as she put on her coat.
‘Thank you,’ Mum said. ‘My late husband gave me a rose like this on our first date, and for all our wedding anniversaries.’
‘That was kind of him,’ Faye said.
‘Yes, love. He was a kind man,’ Mum said.
‘I used to put flowers on my mummy’s grave,’ Faye said. ‘But we haven’t been for a long time because of Gran’s legs and Grandpa’s stroke.’