A Last Kiss for Mummy (18 page)

‘I’m sorry,’ was all I could manage. ‘I’m so sorry, sweetie, I really am. We’ll get through this, we’ll sort out contact, we’ll make it regular – and as soon as possible …’

Emma pushed me away then, though not roughly; just with a definite sense of purpose. Wiping her eyes on her sleeve she walked in a determined manner into the dining room, where Roman was sleeping in his buggy. Or rather had been. He was awake now and waving his arms at her.

‘When?’ she said, turning around. ‘When are you taking him?’

I looked at Maggie, wondering. A couple of weeks, perhaps? I hoped so. Give us time. Time with Roman, time to get everything sorted. Time, perhaps, for Emma to choose a couple of nice things to send with him. She’d always cared so much that he looked nice, after all.

‘Tomorrow,’ Maggie said. ‘I’ll come back around 9 a.m.’

‘Tomorrow?’ I gaped. I could see the colour drain from Emma’s face. I stood up, and so did Mike – I think we both thought she might faint – but she only swayed and, looking at Roman, seemed to be torn about what to do. For a moment I thought she might actually snatch him up and make a run for it. But she didn’t. She simply touched his nose tenderly with her finger, than rushed past us both and out of the room.

‘I’m so sorry,’ Maggie said to Mike and me as the air in the room resettled. ‘I know this must be difficult. I know how much you have obviously all bonded with little Roman.’

‘Difficult?’ Mike gaped at her. ‘Difficult? You have no idea. This whole thing is just awful. We’re all in bits about it – Casey in particular. And we can’t even
begin
to imagine what’s going on in that poor girl’s head up there.’

He came across to me and put his arm around my shoulder. He squeezed it hard, and I tried equally hard not to start sobbing again all over him. It would just be so unseemly in such a measured, professional, even clinical sort of gathering. Which was exactly how it felt to me – clinical.

Mike obviously thought so too. ‘Look, I’m sorry,’ he said to the two women perched so incongruously on our sofa. ‘If there’s nothing else, I think we’d like to be left alone for a bit. First thing in the morning, you say? Well, we’ll have him all ready for when you get here. No point in prolonging the agony, is there?’ He sniffed. ‘If there’s paperwork to sort, then that’s fine, just let us know what you need later – email it through. Whatever. And we’ll make sure you have it ready for when you get here.’

Hannah stood up and smoothed her top down, closely followed by Maggie. ‘Would you like me to pop up and have another word with Emma before we go?’ Hannah asked me. ‘You know, just to make sure she’s okay?’

Mike shook his head stiffly. ‘Thanks, but I don’t think so.’

‘Right, then,’ said Maggie as we showed them out. ‘See you both in the morning, then. And once again, we’re sorry.’

Well, what else
could
they say?

The day they took Roman away will remain etched in my memory for ever. Of all the difficult days I have ever experienced as a foster carer, saying goodbye to that little boy was one of the most traumatic. The whole family had come round to say farewell to him and support us. Mostly to support Emma, of course, because this was a terrible, terrible thing to happen in such a young life, and I already feared for the effect it might have on her. But also to support me, because I was an emotional wreck.

And I wasn’t the only one. Poor Kieron was so traumatised he couldn’t even bear to be a part of it, and when Maggie arrived he took himself off out into the back garden with his dog, Bob, both because he didn’t want anyone to catch him crying – which he was – but also because he just couldn’t cope. And I was so moved. Yes, I knew a part of it was related to his Asperger’s (he hated change) but it was also because, though Kieron hadn’t lived with Roman himself, Roman had become part of the family, just like all the other children who had passed through our lives – part of the ‘furniture’, part of the regular routine of Kieron and Lauren coming round to see us. As the song goes – he’d become accustomed to Roman’s face.

Riley and David had come round too and, bless her, my daughter understood. While David herded the boys into some semblance of order, she stayed close beside me, almost as if gently reminding me that there was new and greater happiness just around the corner, in the form of that new granddaughter that was on the way.

Right then, however, I was finding it difficult to keep it together. Who would have thought this would feel so much like a bereavement? Silly, because that’s exactly the conversation we’d had at the outset – that I would fall in love with this baby (I always fell in love with babies) and be desolate on the day he finally left us.

Maggie was quick and efficient. Recruiting David and little Levi, with Jackson clamouring to carry something too, she soon had all the belongings Roman would be taking with him in the car, and was passing Roman himself round for last hugs and kisses. I did mine quickly. I just couldn’t stand to prolong the pain further.

In the midst of all this was Emma, who’d dressed Roman in his newest favourite outfit: a pair of distressed jeans and sailor-style hoody that said ‘Captain’, topped off by the coolest little herringbone flat cap. And as I watched her bewildered face, amid all the bustle and activity, I tried to remember the last time I’d felt such a dull, heavy and all-embracing ache. And it truly all but finished me off when she finally took him from Maggie, hefting him high in her arms just to bring about that familiar chuckle, then crushing him tightly to her chest. ‘Come on, darling,’ she whispered, ‘just one last kiss for Mummy.’ It was so quiet then that you could hear every syllable.

I couldn’t bear to wave him off, so, though I knew my place was really beside Emma, I chickened out, and let Riley step in and console her. I needed to escape for a few minutes, so while everyone gathered on the doorstep I fled into the garden to be with Kieron. I shouldn’t have really, because – there was one thing that upset Kieron that
was
under my control, and that was him seeing
me
upset.

He took one look at me and I could see his features changing and crumpling. ‘Why do you still do this, Mum?’ he wanted to know. ‘How can you stand it? I don’t think I can cope with it again.’

I threw my arms around him, all six foot three of masculine angles and reassuring bulk, and felt moved beyond words at the simplicity of his logic. Why would you do something that made you periodically feel so empty? So sad? To Kieron’s mind, that made no sense.

‘You will cope, we all will. We’ll start to feel better. It’s part of the job. You know that saying? You have to be brave to love? Well, it’s true. It’s not for the fainthearted because it
does
hurt when things like this happen. But there’s a balance, and on balance it’s a job that makes me happy. Makes us all happy in our own way, don’t you think?’

Kieron nodded, though I could see he still wasn’t convinced.

‘And there’s another thing,’ I said. ‘We’ve got to remember Emma. It’s sad for us, but we’ve got to remember that Roman isn’t ours. It felt like he belonged to us, but, actually, he didn’t. He’s Emma’s and we have to be strong for her now. Hey,’ I said, ‘just think, if we feel like this, just imagine how
she
must be feeling.’

Kieron snorted bitterly. ‘It’s her fault, Mum! She could have done the right thing. But she didn’t and I’ll never forgive her for that.’

I was glad we were in the garden, well out of earshot of anyone. Kieron dealt in absolutes and right then that was how he felt, I knew.

I shook my head. ‘It’s not her fault, babes. She has lots and lots of problems. The odds were stacked against her from the start. What with her mother, and then Tarim, and look where she is now? Back in a bad place and it’s up to us to support her. We can’t turn away from her now, love. We have to help make sure she gets it right this time. Or else what’s the point? We
have
to help her.’

It was to prove easier said than done. Forget the histrionics and the ‘cry for help’ ‘overdoses’, now it seemed Emma really had lost the will to live. It was a good thing school had broken up, because it was all she could do to get out of bed at some point during the day, though at the same time the lack of a routine wasn’t helping – it would have been better if there had been something to distract her.

Other than Tarim, that was. He was still on the scene. Well, trying to be. But even Tarim couldn’t divert Emma’s attention from the pain she was so clearly feeling. They spoke often on the phone – I sometimes even heard them – but it seemed to be Tarim calling Emma, rather than Emma calling him, and on those occasions when I overheard any of their conversations, they seemed short, blunt, directionless, pointless-seeming phone calls, and a part of me at least hoped that whatever feelings she’d had for him would soon be extinguished – as they must surely be as the reality of what had happened began to sink in, including how much his behaviour had brought it about.

Tash was wonderful and even though she was a brand new mum herself now – she, too, had had a baby boy – she still stopped by frequently in the days that followed, leaving her baby with her auntie, and seemed dauntless in the face of Emma’s lassitude. She was a great girl, so giving, and I hoped their relationship would deepen; she had a maturity about her and a spontaneous warmth – whatever the details of her own difficult upbringing, someone along the way had clearly done something right.

My main concern, however, was for Emma’s health. She was carrying a new baby now, and with the weight dropping off her – weight she couldn’t afford to lose in the first place – I began to fret about making sure she was fit enough. I tried to bring it up more than once, to gently encourage her to think about the new life inside her, but, perhaps understandably, it fell on deaf ears. For all her insistence that she didn’t believe in terminations, it was as if the human inside her – whose right to life she had so championed – was no longer of any consequence whatever.

And I could understand that, because she ached so much for Roman. The silence was deafening, as was the absence of baby mess, the absence of that distinctive baby smell. It hurt me enough, so God only knew what it was doing to Emma. It would be a physical, visceral pain. She had been to see him once, and it had clearly been a traumatising experience. She came back ashen and silent and would not talk about it. So I didn’t press her, realising it would do more harm than good. She was depressed, plain and simple, and, with medication a complete no-no, I knew time, and the hope that she could one day have him back with her, were the only routes that would help her find her way out. I was all for keeping positive about the likelihood of the latter, however doubtful Maggie and Hannah might be, but time was something, in terms of the baby growing inside her, that we didn’t have an unending supply of. She needed to think about the here and now, and get into pregnancy mode. She needed to be seen by the local GP – our ever-reliable Dr Shakelton – and have antenatal appointments and scans arranged.

I gave it three weeks, then I knew I needed to put wheels in motion, and when Riley was round one day with the boys – we were going on a picnic – I had a brainwave. ‘You know, I’ve been thinking,’ I told her. ‘You two must be the same amount gone, give or take. Do you think – assuming you’re willing – that we might be able to organise it so she can go for hers with you?’

Riley laughed. She had been such a tonic since Roman had left us. It was such a comfort to know she knew how I felt. ‘You mean “be dragged along with me, kicking and screaming”, don’t you, Mum?’

‘Well, kind of.’ I smiled ruefully. She’d hit the nail on the head there. In her current state, left to her own devices, Emma would be giving birth behind a bush. ‘I just think it would help her to focus,’ I said. ‘Have some of your enthusiasm and energy rub off on her, too.’

‘Energy?’ Riley scoffed. ‘I’m not so sure about the energy bit, given that I now have a whole summer ahead running around after the boys. I’ll be nodding off on her shoulder, no doubt.’

It seemed such a simple plan that I knew, due to sod’s law, that there would be some reason it wouldn’t happen, but Riley didn’t see why it couldn’t. ‘And you’re right. It
will
be good for her,’ she mused. ‘And nice for me as well. Someone to keep me company during those long tedious hours in the waiting room, with nothing but a sugar-coated “what to expect” video running on a sick-making loop.’

She was lying, of course. Riley was a very social animal. She would probably pitch up in the antenatal clinic at 2 p.m. and by 5 have made three brand-new friends. So I was particularly touched that she was enthused by my idea. She’d made a good choice when she’d decided to go into fostering. She had the biggest heart imaginable, and I loved her for it.

And she was as good as her word. Over the next few weeks it was as if she had quietly appointed herself as Emma’s guardian angel. It was a huge relief and I was so grateful. David was his usual reliable self, looking after the boys more than usual – quite often when he was knackered after a long, long day working – just so Riley could linger at ours and bond with Emma. And, slowly, it seemed to be working. Riley was just such a good counsellor, alternately pretending not to notice Emma’s long face and lack of interest – jabbering on endlessly about baby things and new pregnancy tips and any other trivia that popped into her head – and then sometimes, with her acuity, sensing the time was right for it, gently coaxing Emma to open up more. Best of all she listened. She never tried to foist opinions or offer solutions. She just listened. I couldn’t have been more proud of her.

And it seemed their blossoming relationship was helping in one particularly important way: helping Emma work through her feelings about Tarim. It was almost teatime one afternoon and I was in the kitchen, peeling potatoes, and the girls were sitting half-watching a music channel on TV while Levi and Jackson were kicking a ball around in the garden.

My children seem to think I share their taste in popular music. I don’t, but I like to humour them so I still smiled and nodded when Riley popped her head in to tell me she’d leave the door open so I could hear too and wouldn’t feel left out. Yes, it was a bit drony, but I didn’t much mind – like any mum or gran, I guess, even if I was getting on with something else, I liked the background hum of family being around.

It also meant I could hear the pair of them chatting, and on this occasion my ears immediately pricked up. I don’t know what had prompted it but I realised they were talking about the day Emma had bunked off and taken those pills.

‘What made you do it, Ems?’ I could hear Riley asking. ‘You know, what actually triggered it? Something he said?’

‘It was
insane
,’ she said with feeling. ‘It’s like a blur now, the whole thing. I’d got so drunk – you know what it’s like. Someone’s like “Down it! Down it!” and you do –’ There was a pause and I could imagine Riley nodding sagely, picturing this. ‘And I just got it in my head to phone him – I don’t know what for. It was the stupidest thing to do, ever – specially considering he knew I was pregnant. And he went mad about it – like he always did. He’s such a piss-head’ – she laughed – ‘an’ yet he always gives me so much grief about
me
drinking. And of course he did his usual thing of telling me he was on his way over and was going to kill me …’

‘Kill you? A bit harsh …’

‘Oh, that’s what he always says. Thinks it makes him seem so hard – but it
so
doesn’t. And of course I made the huge mistake of telling him not to bother doing that ’cos I was round Brett’s house, and there were like half a dozen lads round, and that was it. And then the next thing is he’s off on one about that boy I told you about – the one that fancied me? He’s a mate of Brett’s, of course, but there’s never been
anything
going on,
ever
– and he’s like, “Actually, you know what, slag, you can fuck off out of my life. Cos neither of your sprogs are mine, bottom line” – and then spouted all that DNA crap – and that’s when it hit me. And I wanted to get him back, and I thought, sod it, I’ll show you …’ She tailed off then, and I could imagine Riley comforting her.

‘And, like you say, Ems, you were pretty drunk.’

‘Exactly.’ I heard her sigh and sniff. ‘God, I was
such
a twat.’

There was a pause. ‘So, how about now?’ Riley said eventually. ‘Do you still think Taz loves you like he says he does?’

There was another pause. ‘You know,’ Emma said eventually, ‘I just don’t know. He says he does. Keeps calling. Sends me, like, a
zillion
texts a day. But it’s like I only speak to him because I want to punish him – can you get that? I hate him. I think I hate him now. I know it sounds strange, but I almost wish he was still in prison. It was better then. When he was there for me, an’ he loved me and that, but I could still have my own thoughts? Whenever he’s around it’s like I can’t be me – like I’m on edge. Like I don’t know what to think unless he tells me. It’s like I’m actually better when he’s
not
around. Does that sound completely mad?’