me your paperwork now, please,’ Dr Ciobanu said. ‘You have brought the originals?’
‘Yes,’ Ian said. Unclipping his briefcase, he handed the file to the doctor. In it was their Home Study report compiled over eight months by their social worker, Certificate of Eligibility to adopt, medical reports, references, bank and mortgage statements (showing they could afford to look after a child) and police checks. All of which had been notarized and translated. Ian had another complete set in his briefcase in case any went missing. Photocopies of the documents had already been sent, but the court required the originals.
They waited patiently as Dr Ciobanu turned the pages, checking everything was there. ‘Good,’ he said, flicking through the last few. ‘It seems to be in order. Now you need to sign these forms so I can process them.’ He opened the second file and placed various forms in front of them, which they both signed. They weren’t translated but Ian and Elaine knew what they were and had been expecting them. ‘Your request to adopt Anastasia,’ Dr Ciobanu confirmed, ‘and in this one you appoint me to represent you and act on your behalf.’ The last form was a donation to the orphanage and an amount equivalent to £500 had been entered. Again, this was standard and they’d been expecting it.
‘Do you want the donation now?’ Elaine asked. The doctor nodded. She opened her handbag and took out an envelope containing the local currency and passed it to him.
‘And the second payment for you arrived in your account?’ Ian asked.
‘I haven’t checked but I am sure it has,’ the doctor said. They’d had to send an initial payment for the doctor’s services when they’d first instructed him and then a second payment to cover the court fees before they arrived. But these fees were small compared to what they’d already spent at home on their Home Study, Certificate of Eligibility, notarization, medicals, etc. All in all, including accommodation and travel, they estimated they would spend in the region of £25,000 for the adoption. A lot of money to them, but obviously worth every penny.
‘So now you have time with Anastasia,’ Dr Ciobanu said. Standing, he tucked the envelope into his inside jacket pocket. ‘I will bank this later and give you a receipt. Come this way. Anastasia is in the playroom.’
Their hopes rose at the mention of a playroom, but fell again as soon as they entered the room. It was very small and mostly empty. The only furniture was a beanbag in one corner, on which Anastasia sat waiting. Beside her were a few old and broken toys.
‘Hello, love,’ Elaine said, going over and sitting beside her on the floor. Anastasia was wearing the same dress as the day before.
‘I’ll leave you to it then,’ Dr Ciobanu said. ‘Let someone know when it is time for you to go.’
‘Thank you,’ Ian said. Dr Ciobanu closed the door behind them.
‘How are you, love?’ Elaine asked gently. Ian joined them on the floor, setting his briefcase to one side.
Anastasia stared at them and then tugged at the carrier bag looped over Elaine’s arm.
‘Oh, you’d like to see what I have in here, would you?’ Elaine asked, pleased. ‘Of course. These are for you.’ She took out the doll and placed it in Anastasia’s lap. ‘Doll,’ Elaine said. ‘For Anastasia. Can you say doll? Doll.’ She knew that children learned language through imitation and repetition, but Anastasia was more interested in what else was in the carrier bag.
‘Crayons,’ Elaine said, handing her the packet of wax crayons. ‘And a colouring book.’ She set it on the floor and stuffed the empty carrier bag into her pocket. Although Anastasia was only two and a quarter, Elaine and Ian had friends with children of a similar age who managed to hold a crayon and make large swirls of different colours. But Anastasia had never seen a crayon close up before, let alone used one. She spent some moments examining the packet and then, selecting the red crayon, put it in her mouth.
‘No, love,’ Elaine said, stopping her. ‘It’s not to eat. It’s a crayon, we use it for colouring in. I’ll show you.’ She took another crayon from the packet and passed one to Ian, and together they began colouring in the first picture in the book, which was of a teddy bear wearing a spotted hat and scarf.
Anastasia watched intently for a while, then lost interest and, dropping the crayon, picked up the doll. ‘Doll,’ Elaine said. ‘You like the doll?’ Anastasia stared at them as though wondering who on earth these strangers were and why they were here.
‘It must be so difficult for her,’ Ian said. ‘I hope Dr Ciobanu has tried to explain to her what is happening.’
‘I would think he has,’ Elaine said, concentrating on Anastasia.
Suddenly Anastasia jumped up and, still holding the doll, ran to the window. Ian and Elaine followed her. The only redemptive feature of the room was a large window that looked out to the woods at the back of the orphanage. There were bars at the window and the glass was dirty, but it gave more natural light than the small grids in the nursery rooms and the view was encouraging. Anastasia reached one hand through the bars and banged on the glass with her little fist, then looked up at them imploringly. She didn’t need language to make herself understood.
‘We can’t go outside,’ Elaine said gently. ‘One day we will after we’ve been to court.’ Anastasia banged on the glass again and then held up the doll so she could have a glimpse of the outside. It was touching and upsetting. Anastasia hadn’t spent all her life in the orphanage as many of the other children had – some of it had been with her mother – so she knew a very different world lay out there. ‘Come on, let’s do some colouring,’ Elaine encouraged, but Anastasia remained glued to the window.
‘I don’t think she has been in this room before,’ Ian said. ‘She’s fascinated by the window.’
‘No,’ Elaine agreed. ‘I get the feeling she spends most of her time in that cot or helping in those so-called nurseries.’ Elaine’s eyes filled. Although they’d been aware of the conditions at these orphanages, it still hurt and angered them to see it for themselves.
‘But we mustn’t say anything,’ Ian reminded her. ‘They don’t like criticism.’ Which was one of the reasons change in social care had been slow.
Elaine bent down to Anastasia’s height. ‘We’ll take you out as soon as we can, love. We are going to visit lots and lots of places when we go home. Parks, the seaside, the zoo, activity centres and, when you are older, museums and castles. But for now we have to stay here. Let’s play with the doll.’ Elaine gently drew Anastasia from the window and to the beanbag, where she sat beside her.
It was a very basic, cheap-looking doll, but it was all the store had. Its dress was held on by Velcro and Elaine now showed Anastasia how to dress and undress the doll. Anastasia liked the tearing noise the Velcro made and spent some time sticking and unsticking it. Then she spotted Ian’s briefcase and made a grab for that.
‘Do you want to see inside?’ he asked, smiling. Anastasia tugged at the flap. ‘OK, I’ll show you, but you can’t have what’s in it. They are very important papers, about you.’
Ian unfastened the clip and allowed Anastasia to peer in, but he needn’t have worried about her wanting the papers and files – they were of no interest to a two-year-old, regardless of how important they might be. Anastasia was up again and at the window.
‘Come on and we’ll do some crayoning,’ Elaine said, going over.
