A Last Kiss for Mummy (14 page)

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, not 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!’

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 had 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?’

It was a joy to watch them, and even if they did look a bit like two kids playing at being mummy and daddy, that was as much about me as it was about them. Once you were my age everyone under about twenty-five looked a bit kid-like, I supposed. But whatever my thoughts about their youth, things were falling into place now; things were just so much calmer, in all respects, too – Tarim seemed to have a really positive influence on Emma’s state of mind. Roman was happy too, as kids always are when their mums are happy. Life was drama-free, and that was just the way I liked it.

But what you like isn’t always what you get. On the Friday after Tarim’s visit, just before heading off for school, Emma asked if she could meet up with him after school. ‘Only he’s been and got a cot and a mobile and everything, ready for when we’re allowed to go for a sleepover. And they’ve been decorating and everything, him and his dad … And it’ll only be for a bit – I’ll be back by five-thirty, promise.’

I had no problem with Emma and Tarim meeting by now, obviously, just as long as it suited me – I was always the babysitter, after all – and as long as she didn’t push the boundaries. So far she hadn’t, so there was no reason to object. Though what I didn’t say was that Roman would more likely need a bed than a cot by the time Emma and he were allowed to stay over at Tarim’s. And no longer be in my care, for that matter, as until she was sixteen there was no way social services would sanction it.

‘Go on, then,’ I said, pleased that he was evidently planning for their futures. ‘I’m sure you’re dying to see it, aren’t you? And you can have till six, but not a minute longer, because by then you’ll have to take over. I’ll have had Roman all day by then and will need to start preparing Mike’s tea. Okay?’

She threw her skinny arms around me, her ponytail swinging as she embraced me. ‘Oh, thank you, thank you!’ she said, skipping off to start her day. And me mine. I pushed my sleeves up and began my daily clock watch. If I’d forgotten how much you have to plan your day when you’ve got a baby to look after, I had remembered now, all too well –
lots
!

I had just put Roman down for his afternoon nap when Riley walked in; come to visit for a catch-up and a coffee and a sit-down, before picking Levi and Jackson up from school. ‘Oh,’ she said, casting around and finding Roman absent from downstairs, ‘is he asleep? I should have left it till a bit later, shouldn’t I?’

‘Charming!’ I scolded her. ‘I thought it was me you’d come to visit! We’re both so flipping busy these days and when you do show up to see me I find it’s not even me you’ve come to see!’

Riley pulled me in for a hug. ‘Of course it’s you I’ve come to see,’ she reassured me. ‘I was just after a bit of baby-cuddling practice. It’s been a while now …’

‘Oh, you’ll be getting plenty of that soon enough,’ I said. ‘Though have you told the agency?’ I asked her. ‘I was thinking about that the other day. No sooner have you been passed than you can’t actually do it! And you’ve only just got under way!’

She shook her head. ‘Not yet. It’s a bit early to start doing that stuff. But we’ve talked – David and I, that is – and we’re not really bothered. With being respite carers it’s not like the pregnancy will affect too much – not till the end, at least – so we thought we’d crack on for the time being and see how it goes.’

Riley and David were now the proud veterans of their first respite foster placement, having looked after a twelve-year-old girl a few months earlier, just for the weekend, and found the whole experience nothing but positive. And there was no reason why they couldn’t continue for the time being – it would all be great experience under their belts.

Before I knew it, it was time for Roman to be brought down from his nap and, once Riley had gone – the cuddle completed – and I’d given him a snack and got him changed, there was only an hour or so before Emma was due back home. I filled it with a little more housework while Roman sat and watched me, swapping places with Mike when he came in at five-thirty.

Even though I’d said six, when it got to ten to I could feel myself counting the minutes off. Silly, given the past few weeks, but even so I couldn’t shake it – it was just too important, I supposed, for me not to. So when the door went at five to I mentally exhaled. Good girl. And good Tarim, as well. But even as I turned on a tap to rinse my hands so I could go out into the hall to greet her, I heard the door slam, followed by footsteps thundering straight up the stairs.

That felt odd; if she needed the loo, she’d use the one in the hall, surely? Mike wasn’t in there. He was on the living-room floor, playing trains with Roman – I could hear him. I came out into the hall at the same time as he did, baby in arms. ‘Was that Emma?’ he asked me.

‘I think so,’ I said, the slam of the door fresh in my ears. ‘You stay with Roman. I’ll nip up and see what’s wrong.’

When I got to the top of the stairs I could hear water running and was relieved to see the bathroom door was open. I went in to find Emma splashing water on her face, holding her hair back as she did so, head bent close to the sink.

‘Are you all right, love?’ I asked her, as she continued to cup her hand and keep refilling it. She wasn’t answering. ‘Emma?’ I said. ‘Emma, what is it, love?’

Now she did turn, and what I saw made me catch my breath. She’d obviously been crying, but that was the least of it. Her lip was bleeding and swollen and it looked like one of her eyes was swelling so rapidly it was starting to be sealed shut. It was livid, and it looked like it was grazed as well.

‘Oh my God!’ I exclaimed, covering the two strides between us. ‘What’s happened to you?’

She twisted away from me slightly as I tried to place my hands on her shoulders so I could get a better look at her face. ‘Oh, Casey, I’m
fine
,’ she rebuked me, as if I was a child, and she was an adult – and that I was making a big fuss over nothing. Perhaps her vision was impaired – could she see how bad she looked?

‘Fine?’ I gaped.

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘It was just a little fight –’

‘Little fight?’ I said. ‘With who exactly?’

I spent a millisecond allowing for the hopeful possibility that this was some spat with a girl at the unit. Which would still be bad, but not half as bad as my next thought. ‘Was this Tarim?’ I asked her, horrified. ‘Did Tarim do this to you?’

‘Yes, of course it was Tarim,’ she said irritably, cutting off the hope before it even had a chance to root.

She turned back to the sink then and returned to bathing her swollen eye with water. ‘I just need to keep putting cold water on it,’ she said matter-of-factly. Then she looked at herself closely in the bathroom cabinet mirror. ‘Fucking men,’ she said quietly, more in sorrow than in anger as she gingerly prodded at it. ‘They’re all the fucking same, Casey, aren’t they?’