Authors: Rosen Trevithick
What? No. Judy didn’t get to say ‘He needs some sleep now’.
That was my call to make! I felt my insides begin to curdle as she took him
from my arms. Then she turned away, and I couldn’t even see him anymore.
“No!” I cried. The tears moistened my lower eyelids. “Not
yet.”
I heard Joseph whimper and I wanted to go to him.
“Shush, shush, shush,” Judy sang to my son, ignoring me.
I turned to Gerald, “He doesn’t need to go to bed
yet
!”
Judy walked out of the door, her figure shrinking into the
distance, ripping hope away from me.
I sprang up. “Not yet!” I shouted. I felt all the progress
I’d been making dissolve. I was back to ground zero once again. I felt
desperate and helpless. My breathing started to accelerate. I felt dizzy. I
started stuttering reasons why he shouldn’t be in bed yet. I cried out his
name …
When I felt Gerald’s arms on my waist, I realised that I was
hysterical.
“No!” I sobbed. “He can’t go to bed
yet
!”
“Calm yourself!” shouted Gerald, firmly.
“We agreed that you would look after him at
night
,” I
pleaded. “It’s only six fifteen!”
“This isn’t doing anybody any good,” he barked, forcing me
down onto the sofa. “It’s not helping you and it’s not helping my grandson.”
* * *
I was in bits. Spending the day with Joseph only to say
goodbye to him again had been torture. Watching Judy carry him away up the
stairs had been as painful as watching their car drive away the previous day.
Now I had to, somehow, manage a second night apart.
The little pill in my hand looked so insignificant; could it
help to lift this dreadful, dark curtain and reunite me with my son? Well, it
couldn’t make things any
worse
. I read the instructions on the packet:
‘Take with a meal’.
How could I possibly eat? No part of me was hungry. In fact,
if truth be told, I felt a little sick. Not only that, but even emptying a tin
of soup into a pan felt like it would take more effort than I could muster.
I wished that Simon were here. He wouldn’t be able to fix
whatever chemical imbalance was assaulting my brain, but he might be able to
make things a little better, and right now, any improvement would be welcome. I
pictured Joseph reaching for Simon’s hand in the hospital; it was the most
uplifting memory I’d ever kept.
Today Simon would be training in the Andes. I wondered how
it was going. I would give anything just to receive a text moaning about his
cold toes.
I looked at my phone. I knew where to find a website full of
photos from the previous year. I found comfort in enjoying pictures of the
locations where I knew Simon would soon be running, imagining the icy
landscapes painting in front of his eyes.
Would he be thinking of me as he trod that frozen ground?
Would he picture me in my house the way my mind’s palette brushed him onto
these blue and white scenes? What would he think if he knew I’d handed Joseph
over to his parents? Would he be furious?
Never mind what Simon would think, I’d done the right thing
– the hardest option, but the right one. Then I had a moment of clarity – if
I’d already done the hardest part, then I could definitely get through the
rest. What was heating up some soup compared with saying goodbye to my son,
twice
?
I made my way into the kitchen and found a saucepan. I felt
dizzy, I felt tired, I felt like going back to bed and never getting up again,
but I was going to make that soup. And then, the next morning, I would get up
and make myself some porridge. Because that was what I had to do. I had to go
through the motions, no matter how exhausting they felt, until I was ready to
be reunited with my son.
* * *
The doorbell rang. I sprang out of my seat before it had
finished chiming. I stumbled as I rushed to the door. I scanned the frosted
glass as I hurried down the hall. I threw open the front door. A rush of cold
air stung my face.
The short, but solid figure of Joseph’s grandfather blocked
the doorway – his arms empty.
“Gerald?” I uttered, my eyes hunting for my baby boy.
“Where’s Joseph?”
“Can I come in?” He looked stern.
“Where’s Joseph?” I demanded.
He repeated, “Can I come in?”
I felt panic rising up through my body, one shivering nerve
after another. “
Where is Joseph?
”
Gerald pushed past me and strode into the dining room,
looking sterner than I’d ever seen him. His eyebrows almost scraped his
eyeballs.
“What is it? Has something happened?”
“We …” he began. “Why don’t you take a seat?”
I sat myself down on the sofa, too concerned about Joseph to
remind him that this was
my
house. My big turquoise eyes pleaded with
him.
What?
“I …
We
think it would be best if Joseph stays
with us from now on.”
“What?” I breathed.
What did he mean ‘from now on’? Surely, he meant for one
more night – just to make sure that I was fully recovered. He couldn’t possibly
mean …
“What do you mean?” I stammered.
“He’s going to live with us.”
What the fuck?
He said nothing, using the silence to tell me that the
decision had been made. I felt the floor rumble beneath me. His silence was
harrowing. How could the decision have been made? It wasn’t his decision to
make!
“It’s not for you to decide!” I cried.
“You know it’s in his best interests,” he said. His voice
held the same certain tones as Simon’s, but Simon had never used his to break
my heart.
“But I’m better now!” I cried, trying to sound as calm as I
possibly could. “Yes, it took me four days, but I’m ready to look after him
now.”
“And what about the next time you’re ill?”
“We’ll deal with that if it happens!” I could feel my blood
beginning to boil. I tried to calm myself down, to show how stable I was.
However, no matter how stable you are, somebody taking your baby away from you
is bound to destroy your serenity. “It’s not your decision!” I yelled. Then,
with all the will I could manage, I said, as softly as I could, “Forgive me, I
just love my son very much.”
“You haven’t seen him for two days!” derided Gerald.
“That’s because it was too hard for me.”
“Too hard to see your own son?”
“I came to see him, didn’t I?”
“Yes,
once
.”
“It hurt too much to keep saying goodbye, so I realised that
keeping away would give me the best chance of a fast recovery.”
“You couldn’t wait to get rid of him,” he sneered.
“That is ludicrous! The only thing keeping me going has been
thoughts of seeing my little boy again. Do you think, for a second, that I’d
have handed him over to you if I’d known that you’d do
this
?”
“It’s all about what’s right for
you
, isn’t it?”
“Not even in the slightest! You think being separated from
my son for four days was what
I
wanted? It broke my heart, but I did it
because I knew he was better off with you.”
“Which is why he’s staying with us.”
“Simon will be back in three days. Do you think he’ll just
happily let you do this?”
“Simon doesn’t want to raise a baby. He’s got a career.”
“Simon loves Joseph! And he wants me to raise him.”
“He won’t when he hears what’s been going on.”
I leapt up from the sofa and yelled in his face, “You just
don’t want to get it, do you?” My face grew red with fury and I found myself
shaking all over. “I’m healthy ninety-nine percent of the time, and when I’m
not, I ask for help. How am I any threat to my child now?”
“If you could see yourself, you’d understand,” he said, with
intolerable serenity.
“You think I’m angry because I’m
ill
? I’m angry
because you’re using my health to take away my son, the only thing in my life
that I love enough to guide me swiftly out of depression. Show me a woman who
wouldn’t be beside herself to have her son taken away from her, and then I’ll
show you a bad mother.”
Chapter 12
After Gerald left, I lay on the living room floor staring up
at the ceiling. It drifted in and out of focus as tears came and went. The room
itself felt like an illusion – I was somewhere else, in the chilling depths of
torment. I recognised this place – it was that dark, faraway pit that
depression took me to. Only this time, I wasn’t depressed. This wasn’t the
temporary effect of a chemical imbalance – this was real pain of the foulest
kind. I’d had my baby taken away from me. It was the only experience that had
ever even rivalled clinical depression, and now I found myself bartering with
the universe – please, I’d rather be ill than going through
this.
How long I was there, lying on the floor, I cannot tell you.
Eventually, somehow, I managed to collect the shards of my shattered core and
regain awareness of the world around me. I moved my body into a sitting
position. I caught sight of one of Joseph’s little boots on the sofa. Suddenly,
I felt energised. I couldn’t waste a second here on the carpet. I had to get
moving. I had to get Joseph back.
Hurriedly, I kicked on my shoes, grabbed my phone and
hurried out the front door.
I took long, purposeful strides towards the bus stop,
spluttering the facts to the emergency services as I went. “My baby son has
been kidnapped by his grandparents! Well, I asked them to look after him but I
didn’t know they’d do
this
! They’re saying I can’t have him back! Emma.
Emma Hatcher. He’s only eighteen days old. Yes, but he’s in Antarctica. Simon.
Yes, his name is on the birth certificate, I can’t reach him.
He’s in
Antarctica!
”
The bus arrived and I leapt on without even thinking to pay.
“I’m going around there now. Fourteen, St Luke’s Street. Yes. No, I can’t! How
can I wait at home when they have taken my baby? Gerald and Judy Moran. No, you
listen …”
“Madam?” called the driver.
“Why do you need my date of … I’m going to have to
go. But look, I gave you the address. Tell the police I’ll see them there.”
“Madam?”
“I really have to go. I’ve told you everything you need to
know!”
“Madam?”
“Yes!” I threw some coins at the driver. God knows how many
there were, but they seemed to cover the cost of the ticket, because he stopped
shouting at me.
I sat on the bus in a state of shock. My mind was a cauldron
of slush. Nothing really made sense any more. I just knew I had to get to that
house, and any other thoughts were just slurry.
Finally, I stumbled off the bus and began ploughing down the
street. I threw a foot out in front of me, and then another. I literally ran
faster than my legs could carry me; I stumbled and crumbled as I ran. I thought
of Simon and the very different races we were running.
Last night he would have flown from Chile, by private jet,
to the Union Glacier, ready for the big race tonight – a race he would complete
with style and control. Here I was, flinging my legs forward in a desperate,
haphazard fashion, willing myself to find stamina I didn’t have.
He had trained for the occasion – practising for months. Is
there any experience in the world that could prepare a woman for a journey like
this?
Simon would be wearing a specialised running outfit,
designed for the task and climate. I was still wearing the turquoise dress I’d
chosen to welcome my son home in. It didn’t look elegant now, the skirt
flailing around as I scuttled forward.
I knew there would be no reasoning with Gerald, but I may
have been able to talk some sense into Judy. She was a mother herself. She must
know how it feels to be separated from a son – presumably not as viciously as
this, but she must surely understand a mother’s bond with her child.
Perhaps the police would be there already. A kidnapping was
bound to inspire a fast response.
My foot skidded on a frosty slab. I tripped, scattering
limbs all over the pavement. I barely noticed my bleeding palms as I picked
myself up and continued running toward the fancy Victorian terrace where I knew
the Morans lived.
Finally, I approached the road. I turned into St Luke’s
Street, half expecting to find a series of squad cars illuminating each other
with flashing blue lights.
If there were any police cars, I couldn’t see them from
here. I felt let down. How could they not have arrived yet? I had managed to
get here and I was using public transport.
Relatively few houses here wore premature Christmas lights,
and those that did were tasteful and discreet. The whole street reeked of
self-superiority.
I hurried toward the Morans’ house. I couldn’t see Gerald’s
black Audi. Was he not home yet? Had he come and gone? Was my little boy not
here after all?
The garden gate grew on my retinas. I could see the house
peering out from behind its veil of trees.
Not much further now.
I
slowed my pace, not through complacency, but through necessity to open the
gate.
Suddenly, I felt a hand on my shoulder.
I turned and saw a police officer there. It was a man –
average looking, I think. To be honest, if the officer had had three heads I
wouldn’t have noticed. I was so focussed on getting to my son.
“Where is he?” I asked, trying to see behind the well-built
man.
“There was nobody here when we arrived.”
What?
“Are you sure?”
“Quite sure.”
“Well you’ve got to find him, now!”
“We need to ask you a few questions. It’s cold; shall we go
and sit in the car?”
“You’ve got to find him!”
“Do you think your son might be in danger?”
“Yes! They’ve kidnapped him.”
“Do you think they could harm him?”
“Oh God, I hope not. I don’t know. I hardly know these
people.”