from upstairs?’ Paula asked, also wanting to help.
‘Yes please.’
Once Harrison had finished his bottle, Adrian and Paula came with me upstairs while I changed Harrison’s nappy, and I remembered to use the disposable gloves this time. Then they followed me downstairs, where I lay Harrison in the pram to sleep while I finished making dinner. We ate eventually – over an hour later than usual – and I knew I needed to establish a new routine that incorporated Harrison’s needs as well as Adrian’s and Paula’s. I also knew it was important that Adrian and Paula felt included by helping, which would reinforce that we were working together as a team.
That night I managed to get Paula into bed and off to sleep before Harrison woke for his eight o’clock feed. I’d noticed that he seemed to want feeding every three hours, as Adrian and Paula had done as babies, rather than four-hourly as suggested by some parenting guides. Fortunately his cries didn’t wake Paula, and Adrian, who was still up, rocked the pram while I made up the bottle; then he sat beside me on the sofa, gently stroking Harrison’s tiny hand while I fed him. Adrian, like many boys his age, put on a bit of male bravado in front of Paula (and other girls), but underneath he was a very kind and sensitive lad who tended to internalize his worries.
‘Why isn’t Harry with his mother?’ Adrian asked quietly, as Harrison’s little hand curled around Adrian’s forefinger.
‘She can’t look after him?’ I said. ‘I don’t know why.’
‘That’s very sad,’ Adrian said. ‘Can’t someone help her to look after him?’
‘I hope the social services will be able to suggest something, so she’ll be able to,’ I said.
Adrian went quiet and then suddenly kissed my cheek. ‘I’m glad you can look after us,’ he said. ‘I love you so much. You’re the best mother ever.’
My eyes immediately filled. ‘Thank you, love,’ I said, returning his kiss. ‘You’re the best son ever. You and Paula mean the world to me, which I hope you both know.’
Adrian nodded and, slipping his arm around my waist, rested his head on my shoulder, while Harrison took the rest of his bottle holding Adrian’s finger.
Once Harrison had finished feeding I winded him and then I told Adrian he should get ready for bed while I settled Harrison in his cot for the night. I’d have to decide when would be the best time to incorporate a bath in Harrison’s routine, but for tonight I wiped his face and hands with a flannel and cleaned his bottom thoroughly when I changed his nappy. The stump of the umbilical cord was still attached and, using a cotton bud, I also cleaned around Harrison’s bellybutton. It was nearly nine o’clock by the time Harrison was in his cot and asleep, and Adrian was washed, changed into his pyjamas and in bed waiting for me to say goodnight.
As I entered Adrian’s room he reminded me that I needed to phone Nana and Grandpa, to return their call.
‘Thanks,’ I said, giving him a hug. ‘And thanks for all your help. I’ll phone them now. You get off to sleep now, love. School tomorrow.’
‘Only three weeks to the end of term!’ Adrian said, snuggling down and grinning. He was looking forward to the end of the school year and the long summer holidays, and although we wouldn’t be going away he knew I was planning days out, including some to the coast.
I kissed Adrian goodnight, went downstairs and then phoned my parents from the sitting room.
Mum answered. ‘How’s it going?’ she asked a little anxiously as soon as she heard it was me.
‘Good. Harrison’s feeding well and is asleep now – in the cot in my room.’ We chatted for a while and then we arranged for her and Dad to come to dinner on Sunday.
I knew Harrison would wake for feeding at least once in the night, if not more, and I wanted to be prepared. Going into the kitchen I checked I had enough sterilized bottles to see me through the night and then I took the tin of formula from the cupboard and placed it ready on the work surface. Wanting to make sure I also had everything ready for changing him at night, I went upstairs and into the spare bedroom. I would take Harrison in there to change him. The changing mat was on the bed and I put the baby wipes and nappy bags within reach. I also took a clean sleepsuit from the packet.
I went to the window to draw the curtains. The sun was just setting and the sky was clear. One lone star twinkled in the distance and I immediately thought of Michael, the little boy I’d fostered the year before (whose story I tell in The Night the Angels Came). He’d taken great comfort in looking at the night sky when his father had been very ill. Many nights we’d stood together at the window, gazing at the stars, which Michael had said made him think of heaven.
Slowly closing the curtains, I turned from the window. The trolley case, which I’d brought up earlier, stood in the corner of the room. Although I wouldn’t need the clothes Harrison’s mother had packed – I had plenty of first-size sleepsuits – I thought I should at least look in the case, if not unpack it tonight. I laid it flat on the floor. It was a good-quality case and appeared to be brand-new. Kneeling, I unzipped the top of the case and lifted the flap. I stared in amazement.
It was packed full of neatly arranged brand-new baby clothes, all taken from their packets and folded so that they wouldn’t crease. As I moved some of those at the top I saw that in addition to the first-size clothes, 0–3 months, there were clothes to fit an older baby – in fact every size up to twelve months. Vests, socks, romper suits, little trousers with matching tops, sleepsuits, first-size shoes, slippers, boots, a coat and a woolly hat with matching mittens for winter. I noticed that all the clothes were for boys, so it appeared that Rihanna had known she was expecting a boy, presumably from the scan. There was also a small cuddly teddy bear and a panda.
I stayed where I was, kneeling on the floor, and stared at the open case, puzzled. A new case, possibly bought for the purpose of carrying Harrison’s clothes, full of carefully selected and lovingly packed first-year clothes and two cuddly toys: it didn’t make sense. Surely this wasn’t the work of an abusive or negligent mother who was deemed to be unfit to parent her child? It couldn’t be. Jill had said Harrison’s mother wasn’t drink or drug dependent, which really only left two alternatives for a newborn baby coming into foster care. Either Rihanna had mental health problems that stopped her from parenting, or she was a young teenage mother, pregnant by accident, who’d decided to give up her baby and continue her education (and life). Yet the expensive and stylish trolley case with its carefully and lovingly planned first-year clothes simply didn’t fit either of these images. And why clothes for twelve months? Perhaps Harrison’s mother had put her baby into foster care temporarily – for a year – and planned to return and parent him, although this was highly unlikely, as I knew the social services wouldn’t tolerate a mother using the care service for extended babysitting. Usually I’m told why a child is brought into foster care, but all I had now was a healthy baby and a case of brand-new baby clothes.
Then I spotted a white envelope tucked into the pocket at the back of the case. I reached in and took it out. There was nothing written on the outside of the envelope but as I opened the handwritten letter I saw it began: Dear Foster Carer.
It was from Harrison’s mother. I read on:
This is a very sad time for me, as I’m sure you know. I have cried every day since I first found out I was expecting and I am crying now as I write this letter. I have prayed for a solution that would allow me to keep my son, but there is none. In my heart I always knew that would be true and I have had to be very brave and plan for my son’s future, as much as
