A Last Kiss for Mummy (21 page)

But there was no time to dwell. There was a baby at the centre of this, and I knew that the minute she made her appearance, everything – just everything – would be fine again. I felt for Emma’s camera in my pocket, happy to wrap my hand around it. And I’d capture the moment myself.

Mercedes Shelley Tasha came into the world at 7.15 on a freezing February morning, weighing in at a respectable 7lb 3oz, kicking and screaming like a banshee, very much her mother’s daughter. As for me, well, as per the plan, I was at the pushing end, of course. While Mike patrolled the corridor and took tea with the night shift at the nurses’ station, I had the privilege of seeing her take her first gasping breath. And I was surprised to find myself crying every bit as hard as when my own precious grandsons were born. And then laughing because seeing a junior midwife munching on a banana made me realise that for the rest of my life that connection would endure. A mad dream about fruit and Shetland ponies in caravans and the birth of this gorgeous baby girl.

I praised Emma to the hilt for being so brave and strong and clever, because it really did feel as if this way-too-young mother had achieved something no other woman ever had. It was a beautiful moment and I was very, very proud of her.

‘Oh, my, Emma, she is just such a cutie,’ I told her, while, blessed with a first hold after her mum, I cradled the tiny new life in my arms. Emma, by now, was busy texting Tash to let her know she’d given Mercedes her name.

‘Does she look like me, d’you think?’ she wanted to know. ‘You know, even a bit?’

She had black hair, deep olive skin and those huge blue-black baby eyes. To a casual observer she looked very much her father’s daughter. But to me? No. Yes, he was in there, of course. But what I could also see, so clearly, was that certain unique something that’s difficult to pin down unless you know the mum really well: the tilt of the chin, the set of the mouth, the way her eyebrows arched ironically, the way her button nose sat on her face so prettily, so just
so
… Yes, I thought,
you
, little lady, are going to be your mother’s daughter. You are going to defy the odds, and make a brilliant and happy life, despite your less than auspicious start. You’re going to be just like your mum, you are, I thought – you’re going to be okay. Despite everything, you’re going to be
fine
.

I gulped back a tear, because I believed it now as well. ‘Oh, goodness,
yes
, love. She looks
just
like you,’ I said.

Emma did indeed bring Mercedes home the following day, and, right from that moment, everything really did seem different. She was as besotted as it was possible for a mother to be and, with the crucial addition of confidence in her armoury, took to the business of caring for her newborn infant like a duck to the proverbial water.

She was also strong and fit and bursting with energy, and I recall thinking more than once that while no one would ever wish two children on a girl who was still no more than a child herself, from a physical perspective she was actually in her prime. All that healthy eating that Riley had forced her to do was obviously making its presence felt. As I was able to tell John honestly when he called round a week later, I had barely had to lift a finger.

But for all the joy of those early days there was still much to be resolved. Emma still had a lot of hurdles to climb over and hoops to jump through before she would be at the place she wanted to be – independently raising both her kids. In the short term she had to once again persuade Hannah (once again on her twice-weekly visiting schedule) that she had got to grips with the responsibility she had on her young shoulders, and accept that while there were all sorts of extenuating circumstances (her inability to extricate herself from Tarim’s influence, and her deprived and difficult childhood) when it came to the welfare of her little ones excuses counted for nothing. If she wanted to keep Mercedes, she had to continue the good work she’d been doing for the later months of her pregnancy – putting the child’s welfare at the forefront of her mind at all times. There was a greater mountain to climb as far as Roman was concerned, obviously, as now he was settled with a long-term foster family it would be up to Emma to prove that she could not only cope with her infant daughter as a single mum, but that she could also provide a fit home for her little boy as well. And as every parent knows, two children are a lot more to deal with than one, particularly when one of them is a toddler.

But I had faith in her. And it wasn’t blind faith, either. I was to find out just how far Emma had come emotionally when, only a month into Mercedes’ life, a complication reared its head, in the form of contact, out of the blue, from her own mother.

It came in the form of a letter, sent to social services and passed on to John, who phoned to impart the news and sound me out on how Emma might react. And it was a shock. Emma had not heard a thing from her since receiving that cruel, distressing letter, and, if that were a measure of what the poor girl could expect, I was very glad that state of affairs had endured.

She had phoned as well, apparently following up on what she’d written, and was keen to find out if Emma would see her.

‘Says she’s made great progress,’ John told me. ‘Hang on, let me read the letter to you. Right, here we are … finished my programme – that’ll be some sort of rehab, then, I’m guessing – let me see … lots of meetings … been clean for four months now … got my life together … blah blah blah, blah blah blah – ah, yes, here it is. “So though I know it’s a big ask, I was wondering if you could speak to Emma on my behalf and pass on the enclosed letter. I realise that last time I communicated with her I was in a bad place – and a terrible state – and said lots of hurtful, cruel, unforgivable things, but I am really trying this time – trying to change my life, truly. And it hurts so much that I have hurt and alienated the only thing that was precious to me. I know it’s a long shot but I really do want to make amends to my daughter and I would also love to meet my new granddaughter.” So that’s about the size of it,’ John finished. ‘So, what do you think? How d’you think she’ll take it?’

I was shocked – I hadn’t given Emma’s mum a thought in so long. Well, except in as much as she passed though my mind as a negative factor in Emma’s life. And my first reaction was, I’ll admit, that she’d be better off having nothing more to do with her – after all, this getting clean and then falling off the wagon again cycle had been one that had been repeated many times.

But two things altered my view. The first was that I examined my own feelings. I recalled how sad I’d been when my own beloved daughter had lost her baby, and how much it had meant to me – someone with no familial connection to Emma – to have been there to watch that very grandchild come into the world. The second was Emma herself. Who was I to try and influence her about her mother? And it was a lesson I was to learn at first hand.

When I told Emma about the letter John would be delivering from her mother, she rolled her eyes. ‘Well, we’ll wait and see,’ she said, sounding every inch the mother in the equation, with her own mother the unreliable child. And when it came, and she sat there and read it – which she did right in front of me as soon as it was given to her – she read through silently, thoughtfully, re-reading sections here and there, and only then, when she was done, did she look up or comment.

‘You might think it’s mad,’ she said, ‘but you know what, she actually wants to come and see us –’

‘What’s mad about that?’ I said. ‘If I were her I’d definitely want to see you both.’

‘That’s not the mad bit,’ she said, giving me a sheepish little grin. ‘The mad bit is that I’d really, really like that.’

I was a bit taken aback that she thought I’d feel anything but joy that she should say that, but then, once I thought about it, I realised that she must have had years of people banging on to her about not wasting her energy and hopes and time on a mother who let her down so much – perhaps so much that she actually felt reluctant to confess the obvious: that she still loved her mother, because that’s what children were programmed from birth to do. God knew, I’d seen enough of it – kids who’d been abused and mistreated in ways that were barely even thinkable, let alone printable, and yet they doggedly went on loving them just the same.

‘I think that’s absolutely lovely,’ I said to her, hugging her. ‘And very generous of you to be so forgiving – that you’re willing to give her another chance after everything that’s gone before.’

And then I learned the first lesson. ‘How could I not, Casey?’ she said quietly. ‘I’ve been thinking lots. About how much time I’ve felt being just so bloody hurt and miserable – and angry. I’ve been
so
angry. I think about it so much – and I sometimes wonder if the whole reason I stayed with Tarim was just to get back at my mum because I was just so, so
angry
with her about everything.

‘And then there’s Roman. And I keep thinking just how much I messed things up for him, and how much I want him back with me and Mercedes and how wrong it all is. And I think how he might feel about me and what a shit mother I’ve been to him –’

‘That’s not true, love,’ I said gently.

‘Yes it is – to
him
it is, Casey. He should be with me. I should be taking care of him, and I’m not. He’s been taken off to strangers. That’s not right, is it? However good they are at taking care of him. And just imagine if he was older and, like, thought about how I’d messed up things with him. And decided he would give me a second chance?
That’s
why I have to.’

So Emma’s mum Shelley came and visited, and she was almost exactly as I’d imagined her: slight, and if a little worn down by the life she’d led, a lot like Emma. Perhaps older than I expected – I recalled the grandparents being elderly, so that figured – but mostly just a sad woman trying to make everything better. Well, as much as she could under the circumstances, anyway.

And Emma handled everything brilliantly. She told her mum that she intended to fight to get Roman back, and when Shelley told her that she’d be happy to do anything she could to help that happen Emma merely smiled politely and said, ‘That’s kind, Mum, but I can do this one on my own, thanks.’ And when she left and I put my arms around Emma and told her she’d done really well, making things up with her mum, she just grinned and said, ‘Yeah, but you can see what she’s like now, can’t you?’

‘In what way?’ I’d asked her, not quite understanding where this was leading.

She pulled a face. ‘Casey, she’s a flake! You could surely see that, couldn’t you? So don’t you worry that I’m going to bomb off and set up home with her. No chance of that happening. Don’t worry.’

But the love was there, and however breezy Emma’s demeanour following the meeting I still felt the need to counsel caution where her heart and hopes were concerned. And it was at that point that I
knew
that Emma would manage to break the cycle, because when I tried to do just that – counsel her about not getting her hopes up about her mother’s sobriety – she had so much wisdom, in her small way, to impart.

There would be no past or future where Emma’s mother was concerned, clearly. No promises of happy ever afters that both knew one of them would have difficulty coming good on, and no days ruined by admonishments about past misdemeanours either.

‘I’m just going to take it for what it is,’ she told me. ‘Forgive and forget and see what happens. If she’s there she’s there, if she isn’t she isn’t. I have my own kids to concentrate on now.’

And concentrate she did. As soon as it became clear to Hannah and Maggie that Emma’s desire to get Roman back was serious, the whole assessment process was ramped up once again. There had been no further contact from Tarim (for which I, at least, was very thankful) so it was now a question of Emma being encouraged to think about what could be done in order to make a case for Roman’s care order being revoked. And it was a process that Mike and I weren’t involved in. We’d agreed to keep Emma till she was sixteen, but that had been before realising she was pregnant, and it was clear to me that the prospect of going through the same process with Mercedes as we had with Roman simply wasn’t going to work. Much as I wanted to be there for this fledgling little family – we all did – I knew that it had to be under a different sort of arrangement. We had to move towards Emma getting her own place with Mercedes, getting settled, thinking about her studies and, most importantly, work. In short, if she was to get Roman home she first had to prove beyond doubt that she had created a home for him to go to.

And that suited me. The thought of falling in love with another baby that wasn’t mine was something I knew I couldn’t even think about right now. And, luckily, Emma had already made some decisions in that regard. While she could, in the short term, go on to another mother and baby placement, she was much more keen on the idea of getting on with her life, and moving into a small supported unit of the kind Tash had been in since day one.

Social services found one quickly, as well. It was a perfect set-up, too – she’d be one of four young mums, all with their babies. And all independent, in that they each had their own little flat, but with the support of a manager 24/7.

‘And they all have just one,’ Hannah told her, passing Emma the leaflet. ‘So you’d have the biggest flat, since you’ll be the only one with two.’

Emma’s eyes became saucers. ‘Does that mean –’ she began.

Maggie exchanged a look with Hannah, but her eyes were still twinkling. ‘Not
just
yet,’ she said. ‘Hold your horses. But we thought we’d better plan ahead, didn’t we, Hannah, and, well, if things continue as they are, when you move in you’ll be able to have Roman over for visits, and then for sleepovers and, well, we can go from there, can’t we?’

You could almost taste the joy in the room.

So that’s what happened. On a warm early summer’s day, four months after Mercedes’ birth, the little family, not quite complete yet, but well on the way to being so, left our home to take their first steps towards a new and better life. And with everything in place to ensure they had the best chance of making it, as well. They’d have Maggie and Hannah on hand, a specialist key worker as well, fellow mums to provide companionship and round-the-clock support. And with all that in place Emma could and would return to education, working to get qualifications in both English and Maths. After that, it was her hope to get on that hairdressing course at college, so she could one day provide for her little ones without help.

And with us in the background, a phone call or a visit away, as needed, and with the firm arrangement that while Emma went back to school I’d be the one who looked after Mercedes. And, in time, I’m so pleased to report, Roman too. And, no, he hadn’t quite forgotten who I was.

Another year on, and Emma’s life has changed beyond all recognition. She got her GCSEs in English and Maths and did manage to secure a place in a further education college, where she met a nice boy called Jordan. And as well as a fledgling new relationship, she also managed to get a job, the salon where she did day release offering her a full apprenticeship just a short while after her sixteenth birthday. She and Jordan now have their own flat, complete with Roman and little Mercedes and, periodically, whenever she’s on form enough to come and see them, Shelley – who always visits laden down with presents.

Jordan is a sweetheart; two years older than Emma, and very sensible and grounded, he works in a local engineering factory. They both work incredibly hard, so we’re always happy to play foster nan and granddad to Roman and Mercedes, so they can enjoy the odd well-deserved night out. As far as the future goes, well, who knows what will happen? That’s the thing about the future, isn’t it? No one can say. All
I
can say is that, for the moment, they’re all well and happy, and if you can say anything in life, that’s probably the most important.

As for me, I’m happy too. And a gran again, to boot, Riley having become pregnant again shortly after Emma moved into her unit. And, yes, to her delight, she had a ‘pink’ one.