A Baby's Cry (2 page)

‘And, Cathy,’ Jill said, her voice growing serious, ‘you need to prepare yourself for the possibility that you might meet Harrison’s mother at the hospital tomorrow. A nurse will be with you, but I thought I should warn you.’

‘Oh, yes, thank you. I hadn’t thought of that. That will be upsetting – poor woman. Do you know anything more about her?’

‘No. I asked Cheryl but she seemed a bit evasive. Secretive almost. I’ll be speaking to her again tomorrow to clarify arrangements for collecting the baby, so I hope I’ll find out more then.’

And that was the first indication of just how unusual this case would be. Jill was right when she said the social worker was being secretive, but it was not for any reason she or I could have possibly guessed.

Chapter Two

Helping

W
hen I arrived home I unloaded all the bags of baby equipment from the boot of the car and then took them upstairs, where I stacked them in the spare bedroom. This was the bedroom I used for fostering and it was rarely empty, for there was always a child to be looked after. However, I’d already decided that baby Harrison wouldn’t be using this bedroom for the first few months but would be sleeping in the cot in my room, as Adrian and Paula had done when they were babies. This was a precautionary measure so that I could check on him and answer his cries immediately. And again my thoughts went sadly to Harrison’s mother, who wouldn’t have the opportunity to hear her baby cry at night or see him chuckle with delight during the day.

Having unloaded the car, I left all my purchases in their bags and wrappers in the bedroom and had just enough time for a cold drink before I had to leave to collect Adrian and Paula from school. They attended a local primary school about a five-minute drive away. They didn’t know yet that we were going to foster a baby and as I drove I pictured the looks on their faces when I told them. They would be so excited. Some of their friends had baby brothers and sisters and Paula, in particular, loved playing babies with her dolls: feeding them with a toy bottle, changing their nappies and sitting them on the potty. Sometimes Adrian joined in and more than once I’d been very moved by overhearing them tenderly nursing their ‘little darling’ and discussing their baby’s progress. Now we were going to do it for real, and I should make sure Adrian and Paula fully appreciated that a baby could not be treated as a toy and mustn’t be picked up unless I was in the room, which I’m sure they knew.

‘A baby!’ Paula squealed in delight as I met her in the playground and told her. ‘What, a real one?’

I smiled. ‘Yes, a real baby. I’m bringing him home from the hospital tomorrow.’

‘I can’t wait to tell my teacher!’ Paula exclaimed.

A minute later Adrian bounded over from his classroom exit, which was further along the building.

‘A baby!’ he exclaimed in surprise when I told him.

‘Yes, he was born today in the City Hospital,’ I said. ‘I’m going to collect him tomorrow afternoon.’

‘How was he born?’ Paula asked innocently as we began across the school playground.

‘Same as those rabbits you saw last year,’ Adrian said quickly, glancing over his shoulder to make sure his friends hadn’t heard Paula’s question.

‘Yuck!’ Paula said, screwing up her face. ‘That’s horrid.’

The previous summer we’d gone with friends to a working farm which had open days, and by chance in a fenced-off area of a barn we’d seen a rabbit giving birth. All the children watching had been enthralled and a little repulsed at this sight of nature in the raw, but as the man standing behind me had remarked: ‘At least we won’t have to explain the birds and bees to the kids now!’

‘What’s the baby’s name?’ Adrian now asked, changing the subject.

‘Harrison,’ I said.

‘Harrison,’ Paula repeated. ‘That’s a long name. I think I’ll call him Harry.’

‘Yes, that’s fine,’ I agreed. ‘Baby Harry sounds good.’ And I briefly wondered why his mother had chosen the name Harrison, which was an unusual name in England and more popular in America.

When we arrived home Adrian and Paula ran upstairs to the spare bedroom to see all the baby things I’d told them I’d bought. ‘It’s like Christmas!’ Paula called, for rarely were there so many store bags and packages in the house.

After dinner the children didn’t want to play in the garden, as they had been doing recently in the nice weather, but wanted to help me prepare Harrison’s bedroom. I thought it was a good idea for them to be involved, so that they wouldn’t feel excluded when Harrison arrived and I was having to devote a lot of my time to him.

The three of us went upstairs and I gave Paula the job of starting to unwind the polythene from the new cot mattress, while Adrian helped me carry the sections of the cot into my bedroom. He also helped me assemble it and once the frame was bolted into place he and Paula carried in the new mattress. I lowered in the mattress and then fetched the new bedding from the spare room. Taking the blankets and sheets out of their wrappers, we made up the cot. I felt a pang of nostalgia as I remembered first Adrian and then Paula sleeping in the cot as tiny babies.

‘It’s not very big,’ Adrian remarked. ‘Did I fit in there?’

‘Yes. You were a lot, lot smaller then,’ I said, smiling. Adrian was going to be tall like his father, who unfortunately no longer lived with us.

‘Can I climb in?’ Adrian said, making a move to lift a leg over the lowered side.

‘No, you’ll break it,’ I said. ‘And don’t be tempted to try and get in when I’m not here, will you?’

Adrian shook his head.

‘What about me?’ Paula asked. ‘I’m smaller than Adrian. Can I get in?’

‘No. You’re too heavy too. It’s only made for a baby’s weight. And just a reminder: you both know you mustn’t ever pick up Harrison when I’m not in the room?’ Both children nodded. ‘I want you to help me, but we have to do it together, OK?’

‘OK,’ Adrian said quickly, clearly feeling this was obvious, while Paula said: ‘Ellen in my class has a baby sister and her mother told her babies don’t bounce. That seems a silly thing to say because of course babies don’t bounce. They’re not balls.’

‘It’s a saying,’ I said. ‘To try and explain that babies are fragile and need to be treated very gently.’

‘I’ll tell Ellen,’ Paula said. ‘She didn’t understand either.’

‘Well, she’s daft,’ Adrian said, unable to resist a dig at his sister.

‘No she’s not,’ Paula retaliated. ‘She’s my friend. You’re daft.’ Whereupon Adrian stuck out his tongue at Paula.

‘Enough,’ I said. ‘Are you helping me or not?’ I’d found since Paula had started school that the gap between their ages seemed to have narrowed and sometimes Adrian delighted in winding up his sister – just as many siblings do.

‘Helping,’ they chorused.

‘Good.’

With the cot made up and in place a little way from my bed we returned to the spare bedroom, where I left Adrian and Paula, now friends again, to finish unpacking the bags and packages while I took the three-in-one pram downstairs, a section at a time. It was a pram, pushchair and car seat all in one. I set up the pram in the hall and another wave of nostalgia washed over me as I remembered how proud I’d felt pushing Adrian and Paula in the pram to the local shops and park. The pram base unclipped to allow the pushchair, which was also the car seat, to be fitted, and I guessed I’d be using the car seat first when I collected Harrison from the hospital. I returned upstairs, where Adrian and Paula had finished unpacking all the items.

‘Well done,’ I said. ‘That’s a big help.’

They watched as I stood the baby bath to one side – I’d take it into the bathroom when needed – and then I set the changing mat on the bed and arranged disposable nappies, lotions, creams and nappy bags on the bedside cabinet. Now I was organized I was starting to feel more confident that I would remember what to do. As Jill had said: you simply feed one end and change the other – repeatedly, as I remembered.

Once we’d finished unpacking, the children played outside while I cleared up the discarded packaging and then, downstairs, distributed it between the various recycling boxes and the dustbin. I hadn’t heard from Jill since her phone call earlier and I wasn’t really expecting to until the following day, when she’d said she’d phone once she’d spoken to Cheryl, the social worker, with the arrangements for collecting Harrison and I hoped some more background information. Apart from knowing Harrison’s first name, that I was to collect him tomorrow afternoon and that his mother wasn’t drink or drug dependent, I knew nothing at all about Harrison. Although it wasn’t unusual for there to be a lack of information if a foster child arrived as an emergency, this placement wasn’t an emergency. Jill had said that the social services had known about the mother for months, so I really couldn’t understand why arrangements had been left until the last minute and no information was available. Usually when a placement is planned (as this one should have been) before the child arrives I receive essential information on the child, which includes relevant medical and social history; the background to the case; and the child’s routine – although, as Harrison was a newborn baby it would be largely up to me to establish his routine. I assumed Jill would bring the necessary forms with her when she visited the following day.

That night Paula was very excited at the prospect of Harrison’s arrival, and after I’d read her a bedtime story she told me all the things she was going to do for him: help feed him; change and wind him; play with him; push the pram when we took him to the park to feed the ducks and so on. Clearly Harrison was going to be very well looked after and also very busy; I knew I would be busy too – especially with contact. When a young baby is brought into foster care there is usually a high level of contact initially, when the parents see their baby with a supervisor present, usually for a couple of hours each day, six or even seven days a week. This is to allow the parents to bond with their baby and vice versa, and also so that a parenting assessment can be completed as part of the legal process that will be running in the background. But a high level of contact has its down side, for if the court decides not to return the baby to live with its parents and instead places the child for adoption, then clearly the bond that has been created between the parents and the baby has to be (painfully) broken. However, the alternative – if there is no contact – is that a baby could be returned to parents without an attachment, which can have a huge negative impact on their future together and particularly for the child. I was, therefore, anticipating taking Harrison to and from supervised contact at the family centre every day.

So that when Jill phoned the following morning and said there wouldn’t be any contact at all I was shocked and confused.

Chapter Three

Alone in the World

‘W
hat, none?’ I asked in amazement. ‘No contact at all?’

‘No,’ Jill confirmed, but she didn’t give a reason.

‘What about Harrison’s father? Grandparents? Aunts? Uncles? There must be someone who wants to see him, surely?’

‘Not as far as I know,’ Jill said; then, after a pause: ‘Look, Cathy, I’ve just spoken to Cheryl and she’s given me a little background information but it is highly confidential, and of a very delicate nature. I think it would be better if I saw you in person to tell you what I know.’

‘All right,’ I agreed reluctantly, for I was now intrigued and would have preferred to know straightaway.

‘But I’m afraid it won’t be today,’ Jill continued. ‘An emergency has arisen with a new carer – their child’s gone missing – and I need to talk to the police. Can I come tomorrow morning, say ten-thirty?’

‘Yes, I’ll be here.’

‘Good. Now to the arrangements for this afternoon. Cheryl has asked that you collect Harrison at one o’clock from the maternity ward at the City Hospital. The nurses will be expecting you, so go straight up to the ward. And don’t forget your ID; they’ll ask for it.’ Jill was referring to my fostering ID card, which carers are expected to carry with them when on fostering business.

‘I’ll remember,’ I confirmed.

‘If you need me, phone my mobile – I’ll leave it on silent – but I’m not expecting a problem.’

‘Will I be meeting Harrison’s mother at the hospital?’ I asked. This was now starting to worry me.

‘I think you might,’ Jill said. ‘She will be discharged at the same time as her baby. But Cheryl has assured me that Harrison’s mother is very pleasant and won’t give you any trouble. And it will be reassuring for her to meet you – to see who is looking after Harrison.’

‘Yes, I can see that,’ I said, confused, for this didn’t sound like an abusive or negligent mother. ‘And Harrison’s mother doesn’t want any contact with her baby after today?’ I queried again.

‘No. I’ll explain tomorrow. Oh, yes, and Cathy, Harrison has dual heritage. Mum is British Asian, I’m not sure about Dad, but there are no cultural or religious needs, so just look after Harrison as you would any baby.’

‘Yes, Jill. All right.’

It was now 10.30 a.m. and my nervous anticipation was starting to build. I would leave the house in two hours – at 12.30 p.m. – to arrive at the hospital for 1.00. I went upstairs to the spare bedroom and double-checked I had everything I needed. I decided to make up a bag of essential items to take with me to the hospital. Although the hospital was only a twenty-minute drive away I wouldn’t know when Harrison had last been fed or changed, so it made sense to be prepared. Taking a couple of nappies, nappy bags and a packet of baby wipes I went downstairs and found a small holdall in the cupboard under the stairs. Tucking these items into the holdall I went through to the kitchen and took a carton of ready-made formula from the cupboard – I’d bought a few cartons for emergency use, as they could be used at room temperature anywhere. The powder formula was in the cupboard and the bottles I’d sterilized that morning were in the sterilizing unit, ready. I remembered I’d fed Adrian and Paula more or less ‘on demand’ rather than following a strict feeding routine, and I anticipated doing the same with Harry, although of course it would be formula not breast milk.