Harrison’s background, confidentiality forbade me from sharing these with anyone apart from the other professionals involved in his case.
As soon as Paula came out she grinned and rushed over. ‘Can I see him?’ she said, edging her way in between two mothers who were still leaning over the pram.
‘Hi, Harry,’ Paula said, and gave a little wave.
Harry replied by opening his mouth wide and giving a big yawn.
An affectionate chorus of ‘Aaahhh’ went up from the two mothers before they went off to collect their own children.
‘Can I push the pram?’ Paula asked, passing me her reading folder to carry and taking hold of the handlebar.
Adrian appeared with Josh, a boy from his class. ‘That’s him,’ Adrian said to Josh, pointing at the pram.
‘I’ve got one at home,’ Josh said, pulling a face. ‘They’re very smelly. Poo!’ he said, holding his nose for emphasis. Both boys dissolved into laughter.
‘Sshh, you’ll wake him,’ Paula cautioned, assuming a maternal role.
‘Mine cries and poos all day and night,’ Josh said happily, pulling another face, before running over to his mother, who was also pushing a pram.
‘Have you had a good day at school?’ I finally got to ask.
‘Yes. I got ten out of ten in the spelling test,’ Adrian said. ‘And Andrew’s asked me to his football party. Can I go?’
‘I’m sure you can. When is it?’
‘He’s giving out the invitations tomorrow. An ex-Liverpool player’s going to coach us.’
‘Sounds good,’ I said.
We began across the playground, with Adrian still chatting excitedly about the forthcoming football party, and Paula proudly pushing the pram and shushing Adrian not to disturb Harrison, while Harrison was trying to open his eyes and see what all the fuss was about. I wondered if Harrison’s mother had fully appreciated the joy of being with children when she’d made the decision not to see her son; or perhaps she had and, unable to keep Harrison, had decided that no contact would be less painful than seeing him and having to say goodbye.
I was nearer the truth than I realized.
Chapter Five
The Case
Normally when we arrive home from school we fall into an easy routine. The children play while I make dinner; then after dinner Adrian does his homework while I hear Paula read. After that the children play or watch television until it’s time for a bath and bed. But today with a baby now part of our family the old routine vanished and organized chaos reigned. It began on the driveway before we’d even entered the house.
I’d parked the car, got out and opened the rear doors of the car, which had child locks on so couldn’t be opened from inside. Paula said she wanted to carry Harrison in his car seat into the house but I said it would be too heavy for her, so she sulked. Then Adrian opened the boot and began lifting out the chassis of the pram, which was helpful, except he accidentally caught Paula’s shoulder with his elbow and she, not having recovered from her pique, hollered – out of all proportion to the small bump she’d received. Adrian apologized but added that Paula shouldn’t have been standing in his way, so Paula retaliated by saying she hadn’t been in his way and he should be more careful. Harrison, whom I was holding in the carry car seat and who until now had been asleep, clearly felt it was time he joined in the fray and, opening his mouth wide, began to cry.
The situation didn’t improve indoors. I lay Harrison in the pram in the hall and began gently rocking him but without effect.
‘Perhaps he’s hungry,’ Paula suggested, still rubbing her shoulder.
‘I don’t think so,’ I said. ‘I fed him just before I came to school.’
‘Perhaps he’s done a poo,’ Adrian said. ‘Josh says his brother poos all the time and it’s runny and smells horrid.’
‘It’s possible,’ I said. I undid a couple of buttons on Harrison’s sleepsuit and checked his nappy but it was clean.
I continued rocking the pram but Harrison’s cries grew and he became quite angry and red in the face. Adrian and Paula offered more suggestions, trying to outdo each other: Harrison was too hot, too cold, not tired or ‘He wants his proper mummy,’ which didn’t help. Then they looked at me as though I should have known what was making Harrison cry and I started to feel inadequate that I didn’t. Instinctively I picked him up and as I did he let out a large burp and his body relaxed.
‘It’s wind,’ I said, as relieved as Harrison, and able to reclaim some of my parenting kudos. ‘I should have thought of that sooner.’
‘Yes,’ Adrian and Paula agreed, as I massaged Harrison’s back.
Once he was completely comfortable I returned him to the pram. ‘We’ll leave him to sleep,’ I said.
Adrian and Paula went off to play – separately – while I began to make dinner, but fifteen minutes later the phone rang, which startled Harrison and he began to cry again. ‘I’ll answer it,’ Adrian offered, seizing the opportunity. I didn’t normally allow the children to answer the phone in case it was a nuisance call or a stranger but on this occasion I gratefully agreed.
‘It’s Nana,’ Adrian called from the sitting room as I rocked the pram in the hall. ‘She wants to know if you’re coping all right.’
I thought she could probably hear the answer in Harrison’s cries. ‘Tell Nana I’ll phone her back later,’ I called, and Adrian relayed this to my mother.
A few minutes later Harrison went back to sleep. I returned to the kitchen to make dinner, and Adrian and Paula followed me, complaining they were hungry. I gave them an apple each and told them to play in the garden, as it was a nice day. Then twenty minutes later Harrison woke again and screamed with a vengeance. This time I thought he was probably hungry, as it had been nearly three hours since he’d last been fed. Hearing his cries Adrian and Paula dashed in from the garden and I asked them to gently rock the pram while I made up a bottle, emphasizing the ‘gently’, which they did. Once I’d made up the bottle, remembering the bib, I carried Harrison into the sitting room, where I sat on the sofa, with Adrian and Paula either side of me, and gave him his bottle. I think the children were a little bit impressed that I knew how to make up a bottle and feed a baby, as they’d never seen me do it before: how to tilt the bottle at the right angle so that Harrison didn’t take in air, and stopping every so often to sit him forward and wind him when he obligingly burped.
Then suddenly Adrian exclaimed: ‘Mum, you are silly! It’s not Monday!’
I looked at him. ‘I know, love. It’s Wednesday.’
‘So why have you put Harrison in that bib with Monday on it?’ Adrian said, laughing; Paula laughed too. The bibs I’d bought were embroidered with days of the week and I’d taken the wrong one from the packet.
‘I’ve been busy,’ I said. And I think they began to realize I wasn’t as organized as I usually was and needed their help and cooperation.
‘I’ll
