by Casey Watson
‘Which is more or less what I said to Maggie. That’s great, John,’ I said. ‘And it also shows Emma that she’s being listened to,’ I added. ‘That we’re trying to accommodate her wishes, which puts the ball very firmly in her court.’
And Tarim’s, of course. And he was an adult. Fingers crossed he could go on to actually prove it.
After an incident-free weekend, Monday morning saw us all dashing around like idiots trying to get ready at the same time, as well as making sure Roman was fed, bathed and togged up in his Sunday best. As usual, I insisted that we couldn’t leave until everything was tidied up, which had Emma and Mike raising their eyebrows at each other and adopting a conspiratorial ‘we might as well just humour her and get on with it’ kind of look. Emma was beginning to get to know me like Mike did by now. I knew I wouldn’t operate at my best at the meeting unless I was relatively stress-free, and being stress-free was achieved by cleaning. So we cleaned.
We reached the fostering agency office with five minutes to spare. I’d not been down there in a long time, because there was hardly any need these days. I could probably count my visits in the last couple of years on the fingers of one hand. It felt a very long time since the day I’d pitched up there all those years back. It had been a day – and a meeting – that had profoundly changed my life.
Today, I hoped the same would apply to the three young lives we were here to talk about, and as we all went in I got my first inkling that it might. And that was because I barely recognised Tarim. It obviously was him, sitting in the waiting area beside the man who must be his father, but I still did a double take as I took him in. Gone were the baggy jeans hanging halfway down his backside and the elderly biker jacket. In their place I took in smart black trousers, off-white shirt, skinny tie, proper shoes. He was also nicely groomed, freshly shaved, and sported the sort of shiny hair that, were he my Kieron, I wouldn’t have been able to resist ruffling.
Both Tarim and his father stood up, in unison. ‘Billy Salazar,’ the older man said, proffering a hand to Mike and then to me. ‘Nice to meet you.’ His smile was warm, his handshake firm, his face open – not to mention rather handsome. It was clear where Tarim had inherited his boyish good looks. So far, so good, I thought, glancing past him through the glass conference room doors.
The posse was all assembled, John already coming out to greet us. ‘Come on in,’ he said, reaching out to take Roman’s car seat from Emma. ‘Does he eat biscuits yet?’ he asked her, grinning. ‘For, today, we have biscuits. Even chocolate ones!’ he added, winking at me.
‘That means we’re really honoured,’ I quipped to Emma, making my way to a place round the huge conference table. In truth I felt almost as intimidated as I could see she was feeling. I’d never been much of a one for big, formal occasions – and these kinds of meetings, such a big part of the process in the care system, were exactly that, however many biscuits they laid on.
Still, once we’d got through the silly business of formally introducing ourselves to one another, I settled down a bit, and grew more focused on what might be about to come. First up was the lengthy business of filling in the background to the situation – though we had all been in touch since day one about how things had been progressing, it made sense to pull all the various threads together – particularly for the benefit of Tarim and his father who were obviously new to the whole process.
Hannah then went on to explain that, for the purpose of the meeting as well as any plans that were made as a result of it, it was going to be assumed that, contrary to what Emma had said when first placed into care, Tarim was, in fact, Roman’s biological father.
‘Will this create repercussions?’ Tarim’s father asked, very sensibly, I thought.
‘Not at all,’ Hannah reassured him. ‘There’s no question of there being action taken. It’s obvious to everyone that Emma and Tarim are in a relationship and there’s no evidence of coercion of any kind.’
That out of the way, Hannah explained that if Tarim and his father were to be allowed to have contact with Roman, they would both need to be police checked, and that everyone was aware of Tarim’s recent spell in prison. She went on to say that he would have to work hard to prove that he could be a responsible partner to Emma and father to Roman and to that end would have to agree to attend parenting classes.
Tarim took this in and agreed to it unhesitatingly. I was also pleased to see the glances he and Emma had exchanged throughout this. There was a level of closeness and mutual support here that was obvious to everyone who saw it, and when he shyly outlined how he was looking for work now, and about his and his dad’s plans for doing up his flat, I could sense the whole mood of the meeting shift and lighten.
Not that I tucked the cynical part of myself out of sight for the duration. That part of me was chirruping away in my ear even now, telling me not to get too carried away by this all-new and improved Tarim. I was fully aware of the person he could be, but I wasn’t about to forget that this side of his personality was probably how he managed to manipulate Emma so easily.
Maggie spoke next. As Emma’s social worker, she was responsible for looking after Emma’s well-being, she explained. And to that end she agreed that Tarim having contact with both her and Roman would support that. ‘So we’re happy to put in place supervised contact,’ she told Tarim and Emma. ‘To take place at a family centre that’s close to where you live, Tarim, and also, as long as Casey and Mike are happy to agree to it, at their house too – as long as it’s pre-arranged and they’re at home.’
We both agreed. In fact we welcomed it, because it represented a great leap forward. Far better to welcome him into our home and get to know him and support them both with Roman than have her sneaking around trying to see him without us knowing.
Then finally, finally, it was Emma’s turn to speak, when Maggie asked her how she felt about what was being proposed. ‘Do you have anything to add,’ Maggie wanted to know, ‘about what you would like to happen?’
And that’s when Emma dropped her bombshell.
‘Okay,’ she began, ‘well, first I really want to thank everybody …’ Good, I thought. She’d remembered our little chat and had obviously rehearsed it. ‘I know I’ve messed up,’ she went on. ‘And I know I’ve been silly and a bit irresponsible, and I want to say thanks for giving me and Taz a chance to prove we can do okay. And …’ she paused and looked at Tarim, ‘… and, well, me and Taz were talking on the phone last night, and we were thinking … well, there was something I wonder if I could ask you?’
She looked at Maggie, who nodded and smiled and beckoned for her to continue. ‘Course you can,’ she said. ‘Anything. Anything you need … anything that’s worrying you …’
Emma shook her head slightly. ‘It’s not anything that’s worrying me, exactly. It’s just about me and Roman moving into one of those mother and baby places. I was wondering if I had to do that – whether it was actually in the rules? Because it’s just that –’ she glanced at me now, then Mike, then back to Maggie. She was now blushing furiously. ‘What I was wondering,’ she said nervously, making me wonder what on earth was coming next, ‘was if it would be possible for me to stay with Casey and Mike till I’m sixteen instead? I mean, I know I’m not mum of the year – actually, I’m pretty crap still, aren’t I? And I just think,’ she went on, the words tumbling out in a rush now, ‘that if I stay with them I know I’ll do much better than if I have to be on my own. I just …’ she shrugged then and looked right at me. ‘Can I please, Casey?’
Now it was my turn to blush. I was stunned. Where had that come from? That would mean – when was her birthday? – another fourteen, fifteen months. A long time. A long intense time, moreover. With a baby who’d become a toddler … It was a great deal to take in.
‘My,’ said John, clearly watching me and Mike struggling to do so, ‘that’s a bit out of the blue, Emma!’ He grinned to reassure her. ‘You know,’ he went on, ‘that’s really quite a big thing to spring on us, n
ot only because Mike and Casey will need a bit of time to think about it, but also because, as you know, they’re part of my specialist fostering team. They’re not strictly speaking trained as mother and baby carers – they only got that status temporarily so they could step in and help out and look after you. So I think what’s best is if we all –’
‘Yes,’ I said, ‘we’ll do it.’
I didn’t need to consult with Mike because our hands had already consulted, under the table. He squeezed mine now. ‘I’m sorry,’ I said to John, ‘that is, of course, if it’s all right with you.’
‘Casey, you really don’t need to make this decision now,’ John cautioned. ‘I think we all of us need to think about something as big as this.’
‘No we don’t,’ I said. ‘At least, Mike and I don’t. l mean, have your meeting, or whatever you need to do, but as far as we’re concerned it’s fine. If it’s what Emma wants – and I happen to think that’s very sensible of you, Emma – then Mike and I are fine with it. If we can, we will.’
Emma leapt out of her seat then, pushed her chair back and ran round to us. ‘Oh thank you, thank you, thank you!’ she said, hugging each of us in turn.
‘Well, well,’ said Mike, afterwards, while we sat in the car just down the high street, while Emma and Roman said a quick goodbye to Tarim and his dad.
‘Well, well, indeed,’ I agreed.
‘Teenagers,’ Mike observed. ‘Never a dull moment with teenagers.’
‘Or, indeed, toddlers,’ I replied, smiling at the thought of my utter lunacy. I turned to Mike and grinned at him. ‘And now we have both!’
‘Bloody hell, Casey,’ he said. ‘You don’t mess about, do you, love?’
‘I know,’ I said. ‘I think I’m still a little bit in shock. Have we practically just gone and adopted a teenager and a six-month-old baby?’
‘Seems that way,’ he chuckled, shaking his head.
But the day wasn’t done with surprises. I pulled my phone from my bag at that point, to switch it back on after the meeting, to find three missed calls from my daughter. Which prompted the inevitable moment of maternal panic. What had happened? What was the emergency? What was wrong? But there was also a voicemail, and as soon as I was two seconds into it – ‘Mu-um! Where are you? Call me back this very instant!’ – I could tell by Riley’s jolly tone that there was no need to send for the cavalry. Instead I cut her off mid-flow, and called her instead.
So it was that, just as Emma was skipping back down the road to get in the car, she found me whooping and punching the air and generally acting the loony.
‘Whattt?’ she and Mike asked in unison, as she clambered in.
‘Woo hoo!’ I trilled, for want of a better word. ‘Grandchild number three alert, folks – Riley’s pregnant!’
Chapter 14
The next couple of weeks went by in something of a blur. First the development – which had taken some time to sink in – that we were going to care for Emma and Roman for another year and a half, then the brilliant but also unexpected news that Riley was to be a mum again. She’d said nothing – given me no inkling whatsoever – which seemed really out of character. We were so close. And I hadn’t even realised they’d been trying.
But when I’d quizzed her, wondering if it was because I’d been so wrapped up in my fostering, Riley had laughed out loud. ‘That’s because we weren’t, Mum, you nitwit!’ she said. ‘We’d hardly have been trying for a baby and going through the fostering application at the same time, would we?’
Which set my mind at rest. A happy accident, that was all.
So here we were, as a family, in completely new territory. Our own house now occupied long term by a teen and a tot, and a third grandchild due around Christmas.
‘I feel old, Casey,’ Mike said, peering into the dressing-table mirror, as he was getting ready for work a couple of Mondays later. He pulled a face. ‘Really old. Look at all this grey coming through!’
I sprung from the bed. I felt curiously energised myself. ‘Don’t be daft,’ I said. ‘Keep you fit, all these little ones will. Mind you,’ I added, noting how, despite my get-up and go, my back creaked as I did so, ‘at the rate Riley and David are going, we’ll soon have a bloody nursery full! Let’s hope it’s a girl, eh? And then may be that’ll be the end of it.’
You could have too much of a good thing, after all. I grabbed my dressing gown. ‘I’ll go get showered while you get the coffee on,’ I told him. ‘Er … If that’s not too much effort for you, old man!’ I then added, which earned me a flick on the backside with the towel he’d been drying his hair with.
I would never admit it of course, and for the most part I was largely delighted, but as the days passed there was the odd moment when I had a small ‘Oh, my, what have we done?’ moment, and felt rather daunted by recent events. One thing kept coming back to me: would we have committed to keeping Emma and baby Roman if we’d had Riley’s news before that particular meeting?
It would have given us pause for thought, certainly – how could it not have? But, try as I might, I couldn’t decide if we’d have still reached the same decision. So I should do myself a favour, really, I kept telling myself, and stop trying to answer that particular question.
I was so thrilled for Riley, because she was so thrilled herself. What had been a delightful accident that we were all a bit bemused by had now changed into full-on excitement. Now she was expecting again she had allowed herself to nurture a definite hope for a little girl, or a ‘pink one’ as she so eloquently called it.
Less straightforward, and potentially more stressful, of course, was the formalising of our roles as mother and baby carers to Emma for the next year and a half. Though I relished the challenge, I was definitely a little apprehensive about guiding her. Roman was adorable, an easy baby – no trouble at all. But that was in my view – and it wasn’t for me to bring him up. Social services had made that fact abundantly clear when they had sanctioned it, and John had spelled it out in no uncertain tones.
‘Emma’s the one that has to do the bringing up here, okay, Casey? You’re there to guide her and help her to make the right decisions, but at the end of the day the doing of it is her job. Obviously, now you have mother and baby status, you also have full responsibility for both of them – which means you can override her decisions if you ever feel she’s putting Roman at risk in any way, and take charge if you feel it’s warranted and needed. But if that happens then you must always call Maggie, Hannah or myself, and cover your back by keeping detailed notes on everything. I’m not telling you how to suck eggs,’ he had finished, grinning at me, ‘but it’s important to me that you and Mike are properly protected – you know?’
I did know. This was obviously a great deal more complex than having responsibility for a single young child. I now had two, and if what was good for one wasn’t good for the other … Well, I just hoped it was a bridge I didn’t need to cross.
So far, happily, everything seemed to be going to plan. Emma was ecstatic that Tarim was officially allowed back into her life, and now he was no longer her guilty little secret she opened up more. She was also much more biddable and happy to be cooperative, skipping off to her ‘school’ eagerly – and not just because I was the childcare, because she seemed to genuinely be blossoming. The dark days of her mother’s letter and being told she was a piece of rubbish seemed just that – dark days, that were long behind us. She didn’t mention her mother and neither did I. It was all about looking forward, to Roman’s development, to being with Tarim – to a future that looked like being so much better than the past.
As for me, I was in full-on Casey overdrive. With Roman now seven months old and crawling – not to mention exercising his newly found baby-gabble voice – my germ busting had gone into overdrive. I found myself constantly spraying and wiping – any surface his little hands might reach. It did wonders for my skirting boards and surfaces, obviously, but nothing for my poor creaky back.
By the time Tarim ha
d his first official contact visit at our house, I had even begun to allow myself to ignore the little voice that kept whispering that I should be braced for the next disaster. Able to see Tarim on her own now, Emma was just so much happier in every way, and the successful contact visits the three of them had enjoyed at the family centre had convinced all of us the time was right to have Tarim visit at our house, so that they could all bond in a less official environment. And though I naturally had to supervise, I felt able to relax the reins.
In fact, having been so touched to see how well Tarim was bonding with his infant son, I allowed them to have the living room to themselves.
‘Are you sure?’ Emma asked. ‘I mean don’t you or Mike actually have to be in the room with us or something?’ Which in itself reassured us – it was clear she was taking the rules seriously now.
‘Well, yes, if I was doing it by the letter, then I would be,’ I told her and Tarim, ‘but I do want the three of you to be able to spend some time alone. I tell you what,’ I said, conscious that I still needed to maintain a presence, ‘I’ll just be in either the kitchen or the dining-room area, so if we leave the door open I can still sort of supervise, can’t I? I’ll be able to hear you but I won’t be so in your face. Give you a degree of privacy.’
And, in fact, I could hear everything and see plenty anyway. Tarim helped dress Roman, then took charge of giving him lunch, which had Emma in fits of laughter as he sat there carefully starting to pull tiny pieces from a sandwich, while Roman banged his chubby fists down impatiently.
‘He can do it himself, Taz,’ she giggled. ‘Just leave the two halves on the tray, see? He can manage perfectly well. You just have to watch he doesn’t try to stuff the whole lot in at once – which he will if you keep him hanging about waiting much longer!’
Tarim looked completely amazed at this development. Giving Roman the sandwich, he shook his head. ‘I can’t believe I’ve got a kid who can already feed himself!’ he marvelled. ‘I’ve missed so much, Ems. Hey, he’s going to be well clever, isn’t he?’