Grace, page 4
It was a building that Michelle realised she’d passed multiple times while on the bus or in a car, but she’d never consciously seen. There were so many buildings like that, she now realised; loads of places which your brain happily passed over, filling in the gaps, unless fate found a reason to steer you towards them. This one was double-fronted with large sash windows and elegant, black wrought-iron downpipes. It would have been a very nice house for a very rich someone, once, she thought.
Laura walked up to the front door and pressed the buzzer. Michelle followed.
‘Laura King and Michelle Jenkins,’ she announced into the microphone. There was a click, and she pushed the door open. They walked down a dark corridor and turned left into a small room, in which a middle-aged, despondent-looking woman sat behind a desk.
‘Laura King and Michelle Jenkins,’ she repeated, and the woman looked up at her.
‘Ah yes. Of course. The foster parents brought baby in just now. Just give me a moment.’
Michelle took a seat on a stained blue seat, which was exactly like every other stained blue seat she’d sat on in government-funded offices over the years. Laura sat down next to her.
‘Grace has been with emergency foster carers since the day of the court case,’ she said. ‘Not the couple who want to adopt. They will meet her soon, though.’
‘Oh.’ It was the only thing that Michelle’s exhausted, hormonal brain could think of to say.
‘Look, Michelle. What I was saying earlier… it isn’t a foregone conclusion that the foster to adopt parents will get to adopt Grace in the end. There’s still a chance… a small one, but still a chance… that you could keep her. If you make changes. The judge said as much, didn’t she?’
Michelle chewed her cheek.
‘Yeah, but the thing is…’ she began to say, before being interrupted by the receptionist, who’d re-entered the room.
‘We’re ready,’ said the receptionist, sounding as if she was a circus master announcing a high trapeze act. She obviously lived for these moments, Michelle thought. Bully for her.
Laura stood up and Michelle followed, her breathing rapid and shallow and her palms beginning to sweat. The receptionist led them into the room opposite. It had large bay windows overlooking a small garden, and was full of toys, bean bags, soft mats and a brightly upholstered sofa. It was as close to being homely as social services could manage, she thought. In the corner sat a woman Michelle hadn’t met before, and next to her was a car seat. And in it, a sleeping baby covered in a pink blanket. Michelle froze.
Laura walked over to the woman and went to shake her hand. ‘Hi, Gloria,’ she said, before turning around. ‘Michelle, this is Gloria, Grace’s social worker.’
Michelle tried very hard to hate the woman who was sitting down next to Grace. After all, it was her job to take children away from their parents, wasn’t it? But she seemed to have a kind face, and she was smiling.
‘Hello, Michelle,’ she said. ‘We were hoping you’d come.’
Michelle felt like she was supposed to smile back at her, but she couldn’t do it. And she also couldn’t move closer. She stayed rooted to the spot.
‘Shall I bring her to you?’ Gloria said, exchanging glances with Laura, who nodded encouragingly.
Gloria picked up the handle of the car seat, lifted it up slowly and began to walk towards her. Michelle could now actually hear her own heartbeat and her legs began to tremble.
When Gloria was close enough, she looked down into the car seat. Yes, she thought, that’s her. Grace had her head turned to the left, and her arms, clad in little pink mittens, were resting on top of her chest, which was rising and falling with her tiny, shallow breaths. She could just make out wisps of dark brown hair beneath the pink cap she was wearing. Her nose was small and straight, and her lips full and pink. And she seemed to be smiling, even while sleeping. Yes, that was the little body she’d clung to when they’d put her on her chest, seconds after the agony had subsided, and before the other agony had begun. She would remember that moment forever.
‘She’s due a feed,’ Gloria said, looking at Michelle. ‘We need to wake her up for it. Would you like to…’
Michelle thought of her boobs, which, after all of the pain, mess and discomfort, were now dried up and useless. ‘I can’t…’
‘I have a bottle here,’ Gloria continued. ‘I’ll just go and make it up.’
Gloria put the car seat down by Michelle’s feet, walked over to her chair, picked up a large bag and walked in the direction of the door. ‘There’s a kitchen down the corridor,’ she said. ‘Back in a sec.’
Laura said nothing, and the silence was overwhelming. Michelle could just hear small snuffles coming from the car seat, and the distant rumble of passing traffic.
Michelle came to a decision. She dropped to her knees next to Grace and stared at her, trying to soak up every detail of her face, of her long eyelashes, of the tiny bump she had on each earlobe, of the dimples in her cheeks. She leaned down, right next to her face, and lingered there, listening to her inhale and exhale, smelling the sweetness of her breath. Then she kissed her, softly, just once.
‘You can pick her up if you like,’ Laura said, walking towards them both.
Michelle considered this for a moment. She had only held her once, just after she’d been born. Would it be so bad if she did it once more?
‘Okay,’ she said, almost whispering.
Laura knelt down next to her and began to unbuckle the car seat. ‘There, there, little one,’ she said, when Grace grimaced at being woken. Then she lifted her up as if she was a priceless antique and draped her onto her chest, Grace’s head resting on her shoulder, and her legs curled up underneath her, like a frog.
‘I’ve got your mummy here, little sweetie. Your mummy,’ she said, moving towards Michelle, preparing to hand her to her.
Mummy. Mother. Mum. No, she thought. No. I can’t do this. This will make things worse.
Michelle shot up and bolted towards the door.
‘Michelle!’ Laura shouted, as soon as she’d registered what had happened. ‘Come back!’
Michelle knew that Laura wouldn’t risk running after her, not with a baby, so she stopped running when she reached the gate and walked slowly up the road, panting, trying to work out how she was going to get back to Rob’s.
Because she was never going back in there. Never. Because Grace was much, much better off without her.
5
October 12th
Amelia
20 weeks until the final hearing
Amelia and Piers turned off the main road into a cul-de-sac cluttered with new-build houses. When they reached No.22, they found its sole designated space taken up by a black Vauxhall Astra.
‘I’ll just pull up here,’ Piers said, pulling up on the pavement in front of No.22’s tiny garden, blocking half of the small access road and all of the pavement as he did so. ‘Not much choice, really. Right,’ he said, pulling the handbrake, removing the keys and opening the car door. ‘Let’s go.’
Amelia opened her own door and stepped out, clutching the fancy chocolate biscuits they had detoured to buy. She looked around her. The sound of traffic thundering past echoed off the walls of the relentlessly rectangular homes. Each house was constructed from the same orange brick, had four matching uPVC windows facing the street, a postage stamp of turf out front and a tiny wooden porch hanging over a front door, which seemed to come in three different colours: red, black or grey. Perhaps the only distinguishing feature the purchaser was allowed to choose, she thought.
When she turned around, Piers was already at the front door, ringing the bell. She hurried to join him, and he grasped her hand. A few seconds passed before they heard voices, and a figure appeared behind the door’s obscure glass. Then the door clicked open, and they were greeted by a smiling woman with a short brown bob. Amelia judged her to be in her early fifties.
‘Hello, you must be Piers and Amelia,’ she said, still smiling. ‘I’m Gloria. I’m baby Grace’s social worker.’
‘Lovely to meet you,’ said Amelia, holding out the biscuits. ‘These are for you.’
‘Oh, how wonderful, thank you,’ Gloria replied, smiling. ‘Come on in.’
Gloria led them down a small corridor and turned right into the front room, where two other women were seated on two large cream armchairs. One of them, a woman Amelia judged to be in her sixties, with frizzy grey hair and reading glasses perched on her nose, was sitting on a chair clutching a notebook and pen. The other woman, probably in her forties, Amelia thought, was cradling an infant.
She took a sharp intake of breath at the sight of her, and felt tears begin to form.
‘Oh lovey, I know,’ said Gloria, noticing her emotional state. ‘Isn’t she… gorgeous.’
But it wasn’t her beauty that had made Amelia gasp. It was simply her existence. Yesterday, there was no baby. There was never going to be another baby. And today, there she was. Like… magic.
‘May I hold her?’ asked Piers. Startled by his voice, Amelia turned to look at him. She had almost forgotten he was there.
‘Of course,’ the younger woman said. ‘I’m Leonora, by the way. I’m an emergency foster carer. I’ve just had her for a couple of days.’ Leonora stood up with the baby, and held her out for Piers, who walked over to her and proffered his arms. ‘Support her head,’ Leonora advised Piers, refusing to relinquish control of Grace’s body until she could be certain that Piers had a solid hold of her.
‘It’s okay, I’ve done this before,’ Piers said.
And just like that, Sebastian, Piers’ nine-year-old son with his first wife, entered Amelia’s mind, unbidden. And why shouldn’t he, she thought? It wasn’t his fault that his existence was an embolism in her heart. Social services knew about him – they’d asked about him a lot during the application process, naturally – but she had hoped that they wouldn’t have to talk about him here, not now. Not when she was finally being given a chance to be a mother in her own right.
‘Ah yes, they did tell me,’ Leonora said quickly, ignoring the pregnant pause. ‘Sorry, I’m so forgetful. I blame the kids. As I say, I’ve had her a couple of days. She’s been good as gold. Really, no trouble. She’s a lovely little lass.’
‘Shall we all sit back down?’ Gloria asked, smiling at Amelia. She directed them to sit on a large three-seater leather sofa – Gloria to the left, Amelia in the middle and Piers to her right, still cradling Grace. Leonora took a seat in an armchair opposite, next to the older woman who had not yet introduced herself.
‘So, as you know,’ Gloria continued, ‘the judge has made a care order for Grace, with the intention that she should be adopted.’ Amelia looked to her right, and saw that Grace was now gripping Piers’ finger. Of course she was, she thought. Everyone was seduced by Piers as soon as they met him. His charm was irresistible.
‘As you said that you were happy to foster to adopt, and you were very near the top of our list, we decided that you were the right couple for her. You’ve been waiting quite a long time, we know, but hopefully… she’s worth the wait?’
‘Without doubt,’ Piers replied, smiling down at Grace, who was now sleeping. Amelia leaned over, pushed Grace’s little cap upwards and began to stroke her hair, which reminded her so much of Leila’s. She still had a little snippet of that hair. She’d put it in an envelope in her box of keepsakes in the loft. It was too painful to look at every day, but it was comforting to know it was there.
‘Not too hard, darling, or you’ll wake her,’ Piers said. ‘She’s just dropped off.’ Amelia sprang back, embarrassed by her lack of experience with babies.
‘Oh, I shouldn’t worry,’ said Gloria. ‘Babies sleep for most of the time at this stage. If you wake her, she’ll soon drop off again. We fed her just before you came, so she’ll be out for the count for a bit.’
‘It’s all very overwhelming at the beginning,’ said the older woman, who had laid her notebook down on her lap. She was smiling, and Amelia thought she seemed kind.
‘Oh I’m sorry, I should have introduced you,’ said Gloria. ‘This is Marion Stone. She’s the children’s guardian – that’s the independent social worker appointed by the court to act in Grace’s interests. She’ll be attending meetings and coming to visit you occasionally, so that she can build up a full picture.’
‘I’ll try not to get in your way,’ Marion said. ‘I know it can be strange, being observed and assessed.’
‘No, that’s fine. You have to do what’s best for her,’ said Amelia, looking down at her, spellbound. She reached out to stroke her arm, encouraged by Gloria’s advice.
‘Babies take a while to get used to,’ said Gloria, smiling. ‘But you’ll get there. Everybody does.’
‘And I’ll help her,’ Piers said, grinning. ‘Admittedly it’s been a bit of a while, but I’ll pick it up again I’m sure. Like riding a bike.’
‘Yes,’ said Gloria.
An awkward silence followed. They don’t want to have to talk about Leila or Sebastian, do they, Amelia thought. We Brits always try to avoid talking about difficult things. Anything, frankly, to avoid exposing how we really feel.
‘But every baby is different, you know,’ Gloria continued, to Amelia’s relief. ‘They all have their personalities, even this young.’
‘What sort of personality does she have, then?’ asked Amelia, desperate for just a small piece, any piece, of the infant sleeping next to her.
‘Oh, she’s an easy baby,’ said Leonora. ‘Calm. She sleeps well. And she reacts well to cuddles – I’ve been lying her on my chest, and she just drops off.’
‘That’s the heartbeat,’ replied Gloria. ‘Babies listen to their mother’s heartbeat while they’re in the womb, you know, and when they’re new-born, it comforts them. It reminds them of being safe, warm and secure.’ She smiled kindly. ‘Come on, let’s see how Grace reacts to yours, Amelia.’
Amelia took a deep breath in an attempt to slow down her own heartbeat. It had been hammering through her chest since they had received the phone call yesterday. ‘Open your cardigan,’ she instructed. Amelia did as she was asked, fumbling with her buttons as she did so. ‘Good. Okay,’ Gloria said, retrieving Grace from a reluctant Piers’ grasp, and lowering her gently onto Amelia’s chest. ‘There you go.’
The baby did not wake. Her sleeping form seemed to mould into her; Amelia had expected her to feel like a weight, but in fact, she felt as light as air. Grace’s eyes were still closed, her breathing quick and shallow. Amelia found it impossible to stop her own breathing from synchronising with hers.
Somewhere, there was another woman who must be desperate to be doing this right now, she thought. One whose own heart had lulled this baby to sleep throughout her pregnancy.
‘Does she miss her mother, do you think?’ she asked Gloria. She had been so focused on her own need – her deep, desperate need for a child – but she could not forget that for Grace to be hers, she had to no longer be someone else’s.
‘Babies this young don’t know who’s who, really,’ Gloria replied. ‘They can’t really see.’
‘Oh,’ replied Amelia. ‘But the mother… she must…’
‘We can’t tell you too much about her,’ she replied. ‘But to be honest… I’m not sure if she misses her, or not. She hasn’t had much to do with her since she was born. She doesn’t seem to want to. It’s sad. Very sad.’
Amelia looked down at the brand-new human being sleeping on her chest and found it hard to imagine how a mother could possibly behave in that way. What reason could she have? What had driven her to it?
‘Are there drugs involved?’ she asked.
‘No, not that we can tell,’ Gloria answered. ‘Grace seems unaffected by any drugs, at any rate. All her tests are normal. And the mother’s social worker says that she seemed to be clean throughout the pregnancy, despite significant drug use beforehand.’
‘That’s good,’ said Piers. ‘Is that rare, amongst mothers who give their children up?’
‘I’ll just go and make the tea,’ said Leonora, standing up. ‘And then we can crack open those lovely biscuits you brought. How do you take it?’
‘Strong, just a bit of milk,’ replied Piers. ‘For both of us.’
‘Children are put up for adoption for all sorts of reasons, Mr Howard,’ Gloria said, as Leonora left the room to make the drinks. ‘Drug addiction is just one among many.’
‘Of course,’ he replied. ‘Of course.’
Just then, the baby began to snuffle.
‘Oh, I think she might be waking up,’ said Amelia, stroking her back. Grace’s eyes opened as she did so, and then Amelia found herself exchanging a stare with the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. She had a button nose, luscious eyelashes and piercing blue eyes. Amelia was transfixed.
‘So do you have all the things you need?’ Gloria asked.
‘We have a list,’ said Piers. ‘You gave us one. We popped into John Lewis this morning and bought it all. It’s being delivered tomorrow.’
‘Goodness,’ replied Gloria, laughing. ‘Most of our parents buy a lot of things second hand. There are good markets for this sort of thing…’
‘Nothing but the best,’ said Piers, ‘for our girl.’
Amelia saw then that Marion had taken up her notebook and begun to write. Was she writing positive things, she wondered? Amelia was used to people reacting to Piers’ accent in particular, quite often negatively. It wasn’t his fault, though; his parents had sent him to private school. She’d met his friends – they all sounded like that. And the fact was, simply, that Piers enjoyed spending money. He loved his car, doted on it, and he lavished presents upon her at birthdays and at Christmas. She just felt embarrassed when people noticed and wrote them off as posh idiots, which she was worried Marion might be doing right now.
‘Ah well, that’s great then,’ said Gloria, her face a practised picture of non-judgement. ‘We plan to start the phased introduction tomorrow. I will come over at about ten a.m. with Grace, and you can spend some time getting to know each other then. I’ll show you the tricks of the trade, so to speak. Nappies, and so on.’
