A Last Kiss for Mummy (17 page)

It was a chilling thought. She’d been drunk, perhaps very drunk – Tash had mentioned shots – and kids regularly managed to kill themselves with drugs and alcohol without even trying, didn’t they? And if you took that in tandem with another row with Tarim … I gripped the steering wheel and willed the car to eat the miles up faster. It hardly bore thinking about.

So when I got to the hospital and was taken through it was with a massive surge of relief that I heard the brisk but kindly nurse say the words I most needed to hear, namely, ‘She’s fine.’

‘What a silly girl, though,’ she added, once she’d established I was Emma’s foster mum, ‘because, of course, she was in such a to-do about the idea of us pumping out her stomach, so it’s just a blessing she’d got so inebriated that she sicked the whole lot up again. And that, thankfully, there weren’t really very many pills in her, because otherwise we would have had to insist. Boyfriend blues, I hear,’ she added, her matter-of-fact manner acting like balm on my emotionally frazzled mindset. But then she sighed. ‘Seriously though, Mrs Watson, I don’t mind telling you we’ve had
very
stern words with her. Easy to blame the hormones, I suppose, but you’ll perhaps want to keep an eye on her. An extremely silly thing to do at any time – especially for a not-quite fifteen-year-old – but a particularly stupid thing to do when pregnant. This could have had a
very
different outcome, as I’m sure you’re all too aware.’

I did a double take. Had she really just said the word
pregnant
?

‘Did you just –’ I began.

She blinked at me. ‘You mean you didn’t
know
she was pregnant?’

I shook my head.

‘No,’ I confessed, ‘I didn’t.’

She returned my look of shock with a ‘been there and done that’ expression.

‘Ah,’ she said, ‘and, well – now you do know – yes, she is. Around ten weeks or so, she reckons, give or take.’ She gestured to the furthest of a row of A&E cubicles. ‘I think you’d better go and have a chat with her, don’t you?’

My mind was a blur of a different kind as I walked the dozen or so feet to the cubicle. When had this happened, then? I counted back. Must have been immediately Tarim was released from jail, must have been. Which seemed logical. Oh, the stupid, stupid girl – how could she have been so reckless? And stupid me, for not having a conversation with her about contraception at any point either. I could have kicked myself, much good
that
would do now. And then another thought zoomed up and slapped me round the face for good measure. Was that what those rows had been about? Did Tarim already know she was pregnant? Did he do the maths and work out that it couldn’t have been his? I wished I had a calendar. It was tight – it was conceivable that it
could
have been someone else’s. What a mess.

And more to the point, what would happen now?

Emma had her back to me when I entered, lying curled up on her side, presumably sleeping. Tash was sitting in a chair, glued to her mobile. She was massively pregnant herself now and I felt a rush of both sympathy and gratitude. This was the last thing she needed to be dealing with.

She hauled herself to her feet as I parted the curtain. ‘Oh, you’re here,’ she said. ‘Great. I’ve got to get back or I’ll get into trouble.’

I didn’t comment that I imagined she was probably in trouble anyway, what with bunking off school and going to some lad’s flat. But they would go easy on her, I was sure, given her condition.

‘How will you get home?’ I asked her, shrugging off my jacket. The place was roasting. ‘Are you going to be okay? You look like you’re due any day.’

She waggled her phone at me. ‘I’ve sorted a lift, thanks. I just texted my mate. He’s going to come and get me now.’ Then she turned to Emma. ‘You okay, babes? Text me, then, yeah?’

I saw Emma nod slightly, so she obviously wasn’t asleep, just weak and sick and resting her eyes. As I came round the side of the bed I noticed there was a small cardboard bowl by her pillow. She looked impossibly tiny. Frighteningly young.

‘Well, thanks for having the presence of mind to call an ambulance, Tash,’ I said. I smiled at her. ‘You did well. You did brilliantly. Emma’s lucky to have such a wonderful friend.’

At which Tash blushed to the roots of her hair, bless her.

Emma rolled onto her back and groaned as soon as Tash left us. And almost immediately sat up instead, retching. I grabbed the bowl and passed it to her, then scooped her hair up and held it, while she threw up a cupful of what mostly looked like water.

She sat back again, spent, looking a fetching shade of green. ‘I’ve really done it this time, haven’t I, Casey?’

I reached for the jug beside her and poured her half a glass of water. ‘Just sips,’ I said. ‘Don’t gulp it or you’ll set your stomach off again.’ Then I pulled the chair closer and sat on it. ‘So,’ I said, ‘how long have you known?’

She sniffed. ‘That I was pregnant? Pretty much since I missed the first period. And then when I didn’t come on again.’ She groaned. ‘God, I feel so
ill
.’

‘So you told the nurse …’

‘I thought I’d better. In case, you know – because of the pills and that and everything. And if they wanted to pump my stomach …’

Which wouldn’t have mattered, I knew that much, but there was no point in telling Emma that. In fact, her thinking it might had been a blessing, in some ways. Had she not been worried, when
would
I have known? Not till it was too late to do anything about it? ‘And it’s definitely Tarim’s?’ I asked.

She looked aghast. ‘Of
course
it’s Tarim’s – who else’s would it be?’

‘Love, after the things you’ve been saying to me – and that shiner he gave you … Not to mention his mad drunken rant outside our house – well, you can’t blame me for asking the question, can you?’

Emma shook her head. Her hair looked like strands of oily spaghetti, and her clothes – a grimy T-shirt and pastel skinny jeans – looked like they’d been dunked in the pasta water, too. What the hell had she been doing all day? And with her pregnant, as well. Drowning her sorrows? I decided this wasn’t the time to ask her about the latest spat with Tarim. There was a bigger thing at stake now – a potentially equally grim situation. She was a few weeks shy of fifteen, that was all. Still a child. She’d have two kids before she hit sixteen – it was unthinkable.

‘Love,’ I said quietly, ‘have you thought about what you’re going to do now? I mean, you don’t have to have another baby – you know that, don’t you?’

Emma turned towards me, her expression one of shock.

‘I’m not getting rid of it,’ she said. ‘I don’t believe in abortions. I’m keeping it.’

I opened my mouth to speak and then shut it again, quickly. Much as my knee-jerk reaction was to start up a dialogue to try and convince her otherwise, it wasn’t my place to. Or my professional remit. I had no right. Young as she was, it was her body, her baby, her absolute right to choose, and it wouldn’t be me who tried to interfere with that. If other people – other professionals – wanted to say something about it, then well and good. But it wouldn’t be me who’d be imposing any belief system on her. There was an option and I had mentioned it, as was my duty. But there it stopped. What happened now was out of my hands.

They decided to keep Emma in overnight. So I travelled home alone, to find a concerned Mike and Riley at home waiting for me, anxious for more detail than that which I’d already texted, the gist of which was just
on way back now, Emma recovering, but also pregnant
, followed up with a sincerely felt
arrgghh!

Not that any of us felt the breeziness the exclamation points might have suggested.

‘How on earth will she cope, mum?’ Riley wanted to know, shaking her head. ‘She struggles to cope with the responsibility of looking after one baby, so how the hell is she ever going to manage two?’

‘Especially with that waste of space for a boyfriend,’ Mike added. And he wasn’t even up to speed with the latest development. He might have an even stronger description in mind once he was. Though, if it was true that Tarim had dumped her, so much the better for her, as far as I was concerned.

I shook my head. ‘I don’t think it will come to that now, do you?’

‘What?’ said Mike. ‘Is she talking about having a termination or something?’

‘Not at all,’ I said, sitting down wearily. ‘Quite the opposite. She says there’s no way she’s doing that and I’m pretty sure she won’t be shifted. But think about it.’ I raised a finger and thumb and held the tips together. ‘Social services are
this
close to taking Roman out of her care, I’m sure of it. And with all that’s happened – bloody overdoses, domestic violence, another pregnancy … I think we have to face it. It’s odds on they’re going to put him into care now.’

‘But he’s
already
in care, Mum,’ Riley pointed out. ‘
You’re
his carers! Don’t say that. Don’t say they’d do that – surely they’d let us keep him, wouldn’t they? Just transfer him over to you officially – wouldn’t that be how they’d work it? Just change it so that it’s you, and not Emma, who’s in charge of him.’

I shrugged. ‘I suppose they might, but I can’t quite see it. Can you, Mike? After all, we’re talking a whole different situation than the one we have with Emma. He’s a baby, remember – which means we really are talking long term. Who knows how long?’

We all fell silent, as we each contemplated the possible scenarios. None of which, frankly, I wanted. Oh, God, I thought, trying to imagine being Emma. Imagine the thought of that happening – ‘Sorry, love, but we’re taking your baby from you. That’s it. You failed. Say goodbye.’

I couldn’t begin to imagine where you’d start telling a girl that was going to happen. Whatever she’d said before about losing him and just ‘trying for another one’ I knew losing Roman would break Emma’s heart. And, thinking that, I realised something else, with a start: that this was the first time I’d properly addressed the possibility of giving Roman up myself. And it upset me. Upset me even more than I’d ever thought it would. And I knew why, too. Because all along I’d had this private sense of certainty that when Emma left us they would still have that connection with the family. That she’d stay in touch, that perhaps we’d see him – at the very least know how he was doing. Still feel connected to him. This was different. This was facing the very real possibility that Hannah would come and pick him up one day, we’d say our goodbyes, and that would be that; we’d never see him again.

It made me want to burst into tears. I cleared my throat. ‘Let’s not pre-judge,’ I said. ‘Let’s wait and see what happens. They know we’d be happy to keep him, and more importantly we’re also now cleared for babies. Which means … No, let’s wait. Let’s just wait and see.’

We didn’t have to wait very long. The very next day, before we’d even gone to collect Emma from hospital, Maggie was on the phone saying they’d made their decision. With the events of recent weeks, and in particular the events of yesterday, they had no choice. They were indeed taking Roman into care.

‘So we’ll come round to explain things later this afternoon, if that’s okay? Will you have got her home by then, do you think?’

I told her I would. ‘But, listen,’ I said. ‘Mike and I have been talking about this possibility arising and, you know, we really would like to foster him ourselves – honestly, Maggie, we’d be happy to. He’s settled here, he knows us, he has his routines and everything …’

Her voice cut across me like a gust of freezing air. ‘I don’t think that’s possible,’ she said. ‘In fact, I know it isn’t, because we’ve already discussed it. We feel it’s in Roman’s best interests if we remove him from Emma completely, and as you’re fostering Emma we can’t achieve that if we entrust him to you, can we?’ She sighed. ‘Look, I know you don’t want to hear it, Casey, but I’m afraid we don’t see this as a short-term arrangement – not a temporary thing … look, I’m sorry to cut you short, but I have to go into a meeting now. Have a chat with John, why don’t you? He’s up to speed with things. I’m sure he’d be happy to answer your questions …’

I gripped the chair back as I disconnected, thinking I was going to have a panic attack or something. My questions? Answer my
questions
? I could hardly catch my breath, let alone formulate questions, like this was some sort of administrative issue. What about feelings in all this? What about hearts?

I looked across at Roman, obliviously playing with his plastic bricks on the floor, and in that instant I knew I’d made the worst mistake ever in allowing this beautiful little boy to come into my life. I should have heeded Mike, should have heeded that inner voice that was so insistent.
You’ll get too involved
, it had kept saying to me.
Don’t do it. You’ll get way too emotionally involved
. And then have my heart broken. It was breaking now, as I watched him crawl excitedly towards me, with his chubby cheeks and his two front teeth and his powerful little fingers, clutching at the fabric of my jeans, gripping as he hauled himself up.

‘Meemaw,’ he was saying to me, grinning. ‘Meemaw! Meemaw!’ I scooped him up and held him close to me, my tears wetting his face. ‘Oh, baby,’ I said, ‘I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry.’

I was crying when I phoned Mike and asked him if he could come home for a bit, and still crying when he phoned John Fulshaw – I simply couldn’t face it – and asked him if it was possible for Maggie or Hannah to go and pick Emma up tomorrow instead, because I simply couldn’t face doing any more of this on my own. They spoke for what seemed like ages, and I didn’t like the sound of any of it. And I’d been right.

‘It’s pretty straightforward, love,’ Mike said finally. ‘I’m sorry. As we’ve committed to keeping Emma then Roman really
does
have to go elsewhere. Clean break.’

‘Clean break?’ I sobbed. ‘There’s nothing “clean” about any of this!’

‘Love,’ he said softly, ‘they’ve already got a placement in mind for him. I get the feeling this was already done and dusted a couple of weeks ago. That they were just hanging on for the inevitable.’

‘Exactly. Just waiting for her to fail!’

Mike sat down beside me on the sofa. Roman was flat out asleep now, at the other end of it, one foot sticking out from the little cot blanket. ‘No, love, not that,’ Mike said. ‘Waiting and hoping that it didn’t have to come to that. Look, the bottom line is that we can choose if we want to. John didn’t say so in so many words. But the truth is that we can keep one of them – just not both of them. One or the other. If we weren’t committed to Emma then of course we’d be in with a shout at fostering Roman, but, as John said, it never came up, because they knew we wouldn’t do that.’

For a split second my brain went into a fast and furious overdrive. What if we did just that? Gave Emma up and concentrated our efforts on little Roman? And for a split second the idea felt so seductive. Swap this difficult teenager who wouldn’t listen to me, who couldn’t – wouldn’t – see reason. And particularly in relation to Tarim. This teenager who pigheadedly refused to listen to
any
of the advice I gave her, who let me down, abused my trust and gave me grief at every turn.

But even as the thoughts rose in my mind, the bile rose alongside them. What was
I thinking
? That wasn’t me. That wasn’t what I was here for. It was precisely for the reasons I’d just grabbed at to try and justify my selfish thinking that Emma needed me – needed all of us – so much more.

A zillion times more. She was damaged and she was hurting, and she’d already been rejected. What had I been
thinking
? It was utterly insane. That beautiful baby would most likely settle anywhere. Settle, and be happy, and forget. He would have no memory of the first complicated year of his life, and that would be a blessing. He might wonder later where he came from, try to establish his family tree. But having been so small, he would not remember any of it. And without memories to haunt him, he would not hurt. Not so much. Not in the way his poor, poor mother would, anyway.

No, we were committed, and we were right to be committed. Emma needed us. There was no going back now.

It was done swiftly and brutally, but then, was there any other way? No one meant to be brutal. They were just saying words. But Emma’s howl, as she sank to her knees in the middle of the living room, was like that of a mortally wounded animal. ‘Oh, please, no,’ she pleaded. ‘Oh, please, please don’t do this. I’m begging you, please don’t take my baby from me!’

‘I’m so sorry, Emma,’ Maggie said, ‘but it’s out of our hands now. And he’s going to the loveliest couple, who will take such good care of him, I promise. And you can have contact, once it’s all sorted out, at the family centre, just like before, and you can take photographs, and so can they, and pass on letters and pictures and little presents and so on –’

But I could see that every word she said in an effort to make things better was just making it so, so much worse. ‘Please,’ Emma begged, ‘
please
. I’ll be a good mum, I promise. Casey,
tell
them – tell them what a good mum I am, please!’ She was on all fours now, rocking slightly, and clutching at my leg. I sank down next to her and pulled her close to me, feeling the thump of her heart in her skinny ribcage. I was crying too now. I didn’t have a clue what to say.