A Last Kiss for Mummy (13 page)

We passed numerous groups of teenagers, who all eyed us in different ways, some incuriously, some suspiciously, some openly stopping to look and scrutinise. It wasn’t a nice place to be with a baby at approaching ten at night.

Mike was more bullish than me, and twice, when we saw groups that seemed to be of girls around Emma’s age, wound down his window to ask them if they knew of or had seen her. I wasn’t surprised to note that both groups seemed to know of both her and Tarim, but if they knew where either of them was they weren’t saying.

Eventually we found our way back to the house we’d collected Emma from the previous time, and I stayed in the car with the baby while Mike went to the door. It was a forlorn-looking place; the external plaster chipped and stained, the tiny strip of front ‘garden’ no more than a scrubby and neglected place to keep the various recycling bins.

But when Tash came to the door I remembered the neat, cosy interior and was reminded that what you saw on the outside of these places didn’t necessarily reflect what was going on inside.

Mike chatted with Tash for a minute or so, then someone else appeared at the door. It seemed to be an older woman – one of the staff whose job it was to keep an eye on the teenage mums there, probably, or an older relative – and I could tell from her arm movements that she was now directing Mike somewhere else.

He was back soon after, rubbing his hands together before gripping the wheel and starting the engine. ‘Brrr, it’s cold out there,’ he said. ‘You know, you’d never think that was a kind of hostel, would you? Be great if Emma can go to a place like that, wouldn’t it? Anyway,’ he continued, turning the ignition key, ‘I bring good news. I have an address.’

‘Thank God for that,’ I said. ‘She’s seen Emma tonight then, has she?’

‘Apparently not actually seen her. But it does seem that they’ve texted. That was the on-call social worker I was talking to, by the way,’ he added. ‘Thank goodness she was there still. Don’t know if I would have got it out of Tash otherwise. She’s obviously fiercely loyal to Emma –’

‘Which is a good thing, on balance.’

‘Exactly. Though if I was being less charitable I might be tempted to think it’s more to do with her being scared of Tarim, don’t you think?’

God, this boy – no, grown man – was really getting to me. I wasn’t exactly looking forward to meeting him exactly, but I was certainly keen to, just to put a face to his already extremely tarnished name.

We pulled out into the main road that ran through the estate again. ‘It’s going to be a bit of a doss house, by all accounts,’ Mike warned, looking at me via the rear-view mirror. ‘Bit of a meeting place, apparently – when lots of the local kids go to chill. And drink. And smoke dope. And other unsavoury things, no doubt. Sounds like our Tarim’s a real party planner, eh?’

‘Lovely,’ I said, glancing at his son.

Mike painted a pretty unappetising picture, but it paled into insignificance compared to the sight that greeted us round the next corner. We had arrived, it seemed, but not to a doss
house
– not in the bricks and mortar sense. It was actually a group of four high-rise flats, their tops reaching dizzyingly high in the night sky, most of them liberally peppered with smashed windows, no windows or boarded-up windows and graffiti liberally sprayed on most of the vertical surfaces. Around them all lay a large expanse of weedy, fractured concrete, and the whole thing was finished off with a community of various wheelie bins, accessorised by split and spewing rubbish bags.

Mike leaned forward in his seat, the better to peer upwards and take in the view.

‘I think you’d better come with me, love,’ he said, ‘and bring the baby, too. It’s up on the third floor and I’m not happy about leaving you both down here.’

Roman had just dropped off to sleep and I was loath to disturb him. ‘Go on, love, I’ll be fine,’ I told him. ‘In fact,’ I said, opening the rear door, ‘I’ll pop into the front. Leave the engine running and I’ll have the radio on. I’ll be fine.’

He looked around. ‘I don’t know, love …’

‘Mike, there’s nobody around. I’ll be fine.’

‘Nobody you can see,’ he corrected. ‘This looks like the sort of place where there could be all sorts, all lurking in the shadows.’

‘Mike, will you just get up there, please?’ I said, transferring to the front passenger seat. ‘I’ll lock myself in, and if anyone comes out and starts looking suspicious I’ll put my hand on the horn and leave it there, okay?’

So Mike did, albeit reluctantly, and as I watched him go through the splintered front door I shuddered. I didn’t feel quite so brave now he’d disappeared from view. I ticked myself off, telling myself not to be ridiculous – out loud, too. I’d seen worse, been to worse places, dealt with some pretty frightening scenarios. There was nothing to scare me here but fear itself. Heebie jeebies. Still, I was glad, as the minutes ticked slowly by, that I didn’t actually see or hear anyone.

In fact, the next person I did see was Mike once again, coming through the doors fifteen minutes later, to my great relief. I’d been through a process – when he hadn’t come out straight away I’d been worried, and then, as the time passed, was reassured by his continued absence – she must obviously be there – and then, as more time went on, began imagining different scenarios. She wasn’t there at all. He’d been mugged, he’d been beaten up, perhaps drugged … I was just giving myself another stern talking to when he appeared – and more importantly, appeared fit and well.

It was a second or two later when I realised he wasn’t alone either – that the dim light in the hallway was silhouetting two other people, and as they emerged I realised one of them was Emma.

The other was a male and, as they become more visible, I realised I was finally seeing Tarim.

They lingered in the doorway, while Mike jogged back to the car. I wound the window down. ‘What took you so long?’ I said. ‘And what’s going on now?’

‘Sorry, love,’ he answered. ‘Just been in summit talks, that’s all. I’ve had a good talk to both of them and I think they’re seeing reason.’ He grinned then. ‘No houseful of down-and-outs – just the two of them, looking sheepish. Emma’s quite upset, to be honest. I think she’s really torn.’ He squatted by the car door. ‘Trying to do what’s best – you know? Torn between doing the right thing and also keeping me laddo here happy …’

‘So is she coming with us now?’ I asked, looking past him to where they waited.

Mike nodded. ‘Yes, she is. With one provision. He wants to see our little man here. Just for a minute or two, and, honestly, love, the lad looks genuine. I said I’d ask you. Check you were happy. See what you said.’

I was shocked, and I’m sure my expression showed it. Mike was the one who’d been the most adamant about no contact, so this was a turnaround. But should we? How did we know he wouldn’t snatch Roman and run off with him? I didn’t think he would – this was the boy who’d pointed out how easily they could replace him with a new model, after all – but, even so, contact was contact and was denied for a reason. This was a convicted drug dealer, and though that was the offence that sent him to prison, in my experience there were usually other offences involved as well. We had to be responsible.

I glanced across and could see the pair of them, watching me intently. And tried to rationalise. What could happen, really? Mike was here, and a good head taller than Emma’s errant boyfriend. Not to mention wider …

‘Okay,’ I said, ‘just for a couple of minutes. If that’s what it’s going to take, then so be it. But I’m going to have to record it – or the pair of us’ll be the ones that find themselves in trouble. Tell them to come over here, though. It’s too cold to be walking about with him.’

Mike’s smile was broad. ‘I’ll go and tell them. Two minutes and that’s that. Then at least they can’t accuse us of not being understanding, can they?’

He whistled across to them and beckoned them to join us at the car while I got out, unbuckled Roman’s car seat and lifted it out. I put it gently on the bonnet of the car. The pavement just seemed way too grim a place for it.

Emma was there first. ‘Thanks so much, Casey,’ she said in a small voice. She looked wan in the evening gloom, and, without make-up, not a day more than her age. In fact, younger.

I turned to Tarim, who shocked me – also. He was a good-looking lad, dressed in the standard uniform of his age and type – the sort of jeans that started halfway down his buttocks and puddled above his pristine trainers, and a tatty-looking leather jacket that could have either been naturally or artificially distressed. But it was his youth that struck me most – he just looked so ridiculously young. In my head I had this vision of a hardened, swarthy criminal, but, of course, he wasn’t so old himself. The age of eighteen might well mark the start of a man’s adulthood, but this lad – and he was a lad – was all bum fluff and dewy skin. He was slight, too. I tried to imagine him in the harsh, uncompromising setting of a male adult prison, and I couldn’t. I just couldn’t, at all.

‘Here,’ I said, proffering the car-seat handle. ‘Take him for a minute. He might be grumpy, mind – he’s teething. Not to mention very tired.’

Emma had the grace to look guilty, as she watched her boyfriend set the car seat down on the pavement, very gently, then squat down and look intently at his son.

‘Hello, baby boy,’ he said, grinning. ‘How you doing?’ His teeth were bright white against his olive skin.

To my complete surprise, Roman grinned right back at him.

‘I’m sorry, mate,’ Tarim said quietly, making me feel almost embarrassed to be intruding. ‘I’m sorry I haven’t been there. I really, really wish I could’ve. But I will be. I will be now, mate. We’ll make it work.’

If it had been scripted for a movie, it couldn’t have moved me more. I felt a lump grow in my throat and glanced at Mike, who seemed to feel the same. What shocked me most was that I didn’t expect to feel this way at all. I expected to feel angry on Emma’s behalf, judgemental about Tarim – even though that wasn’t normally like me. I expected to feel nothing but negative about this stupid boy who’d contributed to messing up all their lives.

But I didn’t, and when Tarim stood and said, ‘Oh, Ems, he’s beautiful. He’s just beautiful,’ all thoughts of telling him what a crappy boyfriend he’d been, and how he should leave them both alone and get the hell out of their lives, disappeared in a flash. Instead I felt moved, and very heavy of heart. Because all I could think was what a shame this all was and just how slim were the chances of them ever making it work. Because that was the problem with real life, wasn’t it? That it just wasn’t scripted like a movie.

Sleep didn’t come easily that night. I just couldn’t seem to shift the image of Tarim looking down so tenderly at his baby. It just didn’t fit, that was the problem. Didn’t fit with my pre-formed image of a teenage ne’er-do-well and jailbird, and I was struggling to reconcile the two.

Emma had cried as we left Tarim, and cried on the journey home. But it had been a different kind of crying; it was soft, quiet, defeated. As if in that one tender exchange between her baby and his father she’d seen the same things as I had – that it was all hopeless, that it shouldn’t have worked out like this.

I tried to feel hopeful as I chewed everything over, sleep eluding me. Perhaps there
was
hope now for a happy ending. Nothing was settled yet, after all. But there was this feeling gnawing at me, from deep in the pit of my stomach, a heavy sense that it was probably all too little too late. Much as I hated to confront the idea, the fact was that, behind the scenes, maybe Emma was right – that plans were already being made to remove Roman from her care. I really hoped not, and tossed and turned, trying to fathom a way to stop that happening. Not an easy task. That was my last thought before I eventually fell asleep.

I felt no less gloomy the next morning. I stared out of the kitchen window, barely registering the prettiness of the garden or the bright, penetrating sunshine, focusing only on the spoon stirring my coffee as I waited for the rest of the house to wake up. It wasn’t very often that I got up before Mike, so I decided to treat him – popping eggs in a pan and bread in the toaster, so I could prepare his breakfast before his alarm went off. And as I looked out again, I saw a couple of late miniature daffodils poking out from the dingy undergrowth beneath my rose bushes. There was a metaphor right there, I thought, in those robust little flowers. A hopeful metaphor for what might transpire later. Something nice coming out of what on the surface looks dark. Well, I decided, there was no harm in hoping, was there?

Mike was predictably stunned and delighted by his surprise of boiled eggs and soldiers, and his happy mood as he left for work gave me another welcome injection of positivity. No, I wasn’t about to be economical with the truth when I made the phone calls that needed making, but neither was I going to pre-judge what the outcome might be.

‘Morning, love, morning, baby!’ I said brightly, tickling Roman under the chin, as he and Emma came down and joined me at around nine. ‘There’s some fresh toast and jam there,’ I went on, ‘and some coffee in the jug, too. Oh, and Roman’s bottle’s warmed, if you want to settle him with it before you eat.’

Emma looked wan – like she’d had even less sleep than I had – and I felt sorry for her. She wasn’t due in to her unit till lunchtime today, which was a blessing. ‘Love,’ I said, ‘I’ve got to phone Maggie Cunliffe now, like I told you. You know I have to do that, don’t you?’ Emma nodded as she transferred Roman to her other hip. ‘It’s the only way,’ I said. ‘The only way we’re going to straighten all this mess up. And don’t worry – I haven’t forgotten this is your lives we’re talking about, not just Roman’s. So I’ll be telling her about your and Tarim’s wishes, too.’

She nodded again, looking tearful, and I put a hand on her arm. ‘It’ll be okay, love,’ I said. ‘Let’s just see what they have to say, eh?’

‘Yeah,’ she said. Just ‘yeah’. No ‘whatever’.

I went out and sat in the garden to call Maggie. Perhaps the proximity to those unexpected blooms would bring good luck. Not that I should see Maggie as an adversary, because she wasn’t, but having met Tarim now, and feeling so unexpectedly ambivalent about what should happen next for these two kids, I couldn’t help but feel slightly gladiatorial.

‘Oh dear,’ said Maggie, once I’d outlined the events of the last few days and alerted her to the email already in her inbox. ‘I hadn’t realised things were heading in this direction, Casey. And I certainly didn’t realise that Tarim had been making waves as far as Roman is concerned. And you say they’ve been seeing each other. Did you and Mike agree to this?’

I bristled at this. ‘Hardly,’ I said. ‘It certainly wasn’t on our agenda. Maggie, it’s not been easy, this. If Emma goes out Mike and I don’t follow her. We didn’t know Tarim was out and about to
be
seen by Emma, did I? Anyway, the point is that we
have
made clear that he can’t have contact till it’s been authorised, but last night when we picked her up we both made the decision that no harm could come of allowing him to come over and at least see him. It’s so obvious he’s Tarim’s, Maggie. Whatever Emma’s said in the past.’

‘So where do we go from here?’ Maggie asked.

‘I think you should meet him. I think the best way forward would be if you and Hannah came here and we all had a meeting. Emma and Tarim included. Discuss things properly. The thing is that Mike and I were talking and it seems to us that if these two plan on staying together – and the baby’s going to be a part of that, obviously – then it makes sense to think of all three of them as a package, and work with them accordingly.’

‘Let me speak with my manager,’ Maggie said. ‘I do see what you mean, absolutely. But it’s a question of whether we’re in a position to be able to do that. All we know about Tarim is what we’ve heard from Emma, obviously, and, as you know, none of that’s terribly good, unfortunately. I tell you what, I’ll call Hannah now, relate what you’ve told me – save you having to do it – and see if we can fix a time for us both to come to you together. Then I’ll speak to my manager. Give me a couple of hours and I’ll get back to you.’

‘Okay,’ I said. ‘Anything positive I can tell Emma in the meantime? She’s obviously anxious …’

‘Not yet, Casey. Let’s just see what transpires first.’

I wasn’t thrilled that I wouldn’t be speaking to Hannah myself. I could imagine her and Maggie’s conversation all too well. That and the thought process that would follow for Hannah. Baby in care. Her responsibility. Tarim out of prison. Emma flouncing off to see him against our wishes. Seeing Roman. Jailbird. Drug dealer. Jailbird. Drug dealer. Does-not-compute.

But much as I would have liked to frame things in language that wouldn’t sound quite so damning, I didn’t want to push it. And who knew, perhaps if Hannah actually met Tarim she might feel differently, just as I had. She might at least feel more inclined to give the pair of them a smidgen of a chance to prove they could be responsible parents. Well, I could only live in hope, couldn’t I? I went back into the living room, plastering an optimistic smile on my face as I did so.

Emma looked up from where she was sitting, cross-legged on the floor. She’d been multi-tasking, clearly – texting someone one handed, while the other tickled Roman’s tummy as he played on his play mat at her side.

I assumed the someone might be Tarim, but I was wrong. It was Tash.

‘What did she say?’ Emma asked me, once again without any attitude. No eye-rolling, scowling or other similar indicators that whatever anyone at social services said would be bad.

‘She’s going to have a chat with her manager, and we’re going to set up a meeting,’ I told her. ‘All of us – you, me and Hannah –’

But Emma was only half listening as a new text came in. ‘What day?’ she wanted to know. ‘Because I was wondering if I could text Tash back – tell her I can take Roman into town with her on Saturday. She’s taking her little cousin and we thought we could all meet up. Her baby’s due soon, too, so I said I’d help her choose some baby stuff. And I promise, Casey – we won’t be going anywhere near Tarim …’

‘I didn’t imagine you
would
be,’ I said, smiling. ‘Not after last night’s malarkey, missy. No, I don’t imagine it will be on Saturday. Probably next week some time.’

I sat down on the sofa. Since she’d brought Tarim up, I thought I might too.

‘So,’ I said, ‘what’s Tarim up to now he’s out? Does he have some work lined up? A plan? What’s he doing with himself?’

She finished her text, threw the phone down, then pulled Roman to his feet. He loved her doing that now; letting him bounce on his chubby legs, loved to feel the weight of them. Before we knew it he’d be crawling and, soon after that, walking. And all hell would break loose once
that
happened.

‘Right now?’ Emma said. ‘Sorting his flat out. He’s going to the auctions with his dad Saturday, see if they can sort out some decent furniture.’

‘He’s staying there then, is he?’ I asked her. ‘From what I could see those flats looked almost derelict. Half of them didn’t even seem to have windows.’

Emma pulled a face. She clearly agreed. ‘It’s horrible. I hate going there. It’s really ropey. And he has to use tokens to get electricity. And he’s got no money most of the time now so it’s always dark, and there’s no heating either. But only one of the windows is broken, and at least he has a sofa bed,’ she added.

I shook my head, wondering quite how the place she described could ever be considered a suitable place for a baby to come visit. I was no snob – I’d been brought up on a council estate myself – but the thought of having to live in one of those flats made me shudder. Talk about grim sixties concrete jungle. They were like going back in time fifty years.

Still, I thought, as I chivvied Emma to get showered and dressed and ready, at least he had somewhere to live. And he was getting furniture with his dad, which meant his dad was engaged, which was a positive. He was at least trying.

When the phone rang a couple of hours later, I naturally assumed it would be Maggie. But it wasn’t. It was John Fulshaw. Had Maggie been in overdrive? Was he already in the picture too?

‘I’ve been speaking to Maggie,’ he confirmed, answering my unspoken question. ‘And Hannah Greenwood,’ he added, ‘and my manager.’

‘That sounds promising,’ I said, gauging from his tone that things looked positive. ‘Do we have a verdict on things, then?’

‘Not quite that,’ he said. ‘But it looks like we do have a trial of sorts, planned. To which end, we need to organise a full planning meeting. I know it’s short notice, but we’d like both you and Mike to attend, and if it’s in any way possible, for it to happen on Monday.’

‘Wow, that
is
fast,’ I said.

‘And Emma and Tarim as well. Obviously. And Tarim’s father, too.’

‘His father?’ This was particularly good news. Though Tarim was an adult, social services wouldn’t consider him a responsible adult, not with him just having come out of prison for a drug-related offence.

‘Yes,’ John confirmed, ‘they’ve already tracked him down too. Which isn’t too surprising …’ he chuckled. ‘Tarim’s already in the system, of course, due to other misdemeanours – been dealing a while, this kiddo – and he knows he hasn’t a cat in hell’s chance of being allowed contact unless dad steps up to the plate and gets involved as well. Which he is apparently prepared to do. I don’t think they’re a bad family, particularly. Dad’s all right, I’m told. Just got a bit of a handful in the case of this particular son. But, yes, they’re both agreeable and, well, all credit to the lad now at least he seems engaged with the process. So that’s a positive, isn’t it?’

One of many, I hoped. And I was glad to hear that Tarim came from an okay sort of a family – that he wasn’t part of some dreadful criminal gang. ‘It sure is,’ I agreed. ‘And that’s a coincidence, as well. I was only talking to Emma about Tarim’s dad earlier. Sounds like they’re taking all this seriously, then, yes?’

‘Oh, without a doubt,’ John agreed. ‘So you think Mike will be able to do Monday?’

‘Oh, I’m sure he can. It’ll only be a half day off. They’ll be fine. So, when and where? Here as usual?’

‘No, not this time. Given the circumstances we thought it best to opt for a neutral location. We don’t really know enough about Tarim or his dad to have them invading your and Mike’s privacy. So here at the office, we thought, if that works for you. Hannah’s going to liaise with Tarim and his dad.’

‘Brilliant,’ I said. The day was shaping up better than I’d expected. ‘But, off the record, do you have any idea what might happen next? What the plan actually is?’

‘Not exactly,’ John said, chuckling. ‘So you’ll have to hold your horses. But I think we’re all of a mind where Tarim is concerned. If he’s going to be on the scene now – and it seems he is, doesn’t it? – then better that we’re all involved in what happens in regard to Roman than his having free rein and keeping us all at arm’s length.’

‘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.