Taken. Rosie Lewis
her symptoms of withdrawal that I hadn’t taken much notice of anything else. I knew that children with neonatal abstinence syndrome could suffer a range of health, behavioural and learning difficulties, and my heart squeezed at the possibility of little Megan having so much to contend with. I felt a sudden stab of fury towards her birth mother.
Angie must have noticed the unease on my face because she was looking at me when she said: ‘Just because we failed to get a clear response from the first hearing test doesn’t mean we won’t at the next one. It’s difficult to test hearing in a baby as young as Megan and the results are certainly not conclusive. We find that, for most, their hearing improves when their cleft is corrected.’
I nodded my thanks to Angie and at John’s invitation I summarised Megan’s first week at home. I told them that she had been prescribed an antacid and that her sickness had eased a little. ‘She’s coping well, bless her. I’m beginning to see light at the end of the tunnel.’
Angie tilted her head to one side and gave me a warm smile. After updating them on Megan’s routines and general well-being it was Peggy’s turn to address the meeting, and what she had to say took us all by surprise. ‘Christina was arrested yesterday for shoplifting,’ she said, looking at each of us in turn. ‘Her probation officer has been in touch with our legal team to say that she’s been bailed and was released this morning. Heaven knows where she is now.’ The social worker sighed and then looked at Angie. ‘I have to say, any suggestion of disability isn’t going to help us in tying things up quickly this end. Most adopters run a mile at the mention of health problems.’
Angie held up her hands. ‘It’s a consideration at this stage, that’s all. Megan’s head circumference is on the small side but we’d expect that with NAS babies and, as I said, newborn hearing tests aren’t conclusive. Megan will need a repeat test in a few weeks to see if the results are the same. If they are, she’ll be referred to an audiologist.’
Peggy nodded decisively and then moved on to discuss Megan’s care plan. Usually, when a baby is removed from its mother, an assessment is undertaken to establish their ability to parent, but since Christina’s drug-dependence problems were so severe, Peggy was almost certain that she would relinquish her parental rights of her own accord.
It was unusual for parents to give up their rights to their children without a fight, in my experience, although it sometimes happened, particularly when they knew in their hearts that they weren’t able to care for them. If Christina contested the local authority’s plans to permanently remove Megan from her care though, a lengthy legal process would follow, with lots of toing and froing between Christina’s representation and the local authority legal team. It wasn’t unusual for cases to take anything up to two years or more to resolve, so I was happy to hear Peggy reiterating that she was confident of a speedy resolution.
‘We’re making efforts to trace Megan’s birth father at the moment, which is proving to be more complex than you might think,’ Peggy said with a coded glance. ‘Christina is insistent that’ – she glanced down, consulting her notes – ‘Briz Clark, her most recent partner, the one she fled from, isn’t Megan’s father, although as you probably know, we need to demonstrate to the court that we’ve exhausted all avenues of enquiry in finding him, whoever he may be, before we rule the option out. Of course, if he’s found he may want to be considered to care for Megan, but my guess is that Christina is simply plucking names out of the air and hoping she’ll come up trumps. She isn’t at all sure who he is.’
Angie inclined her eyebrows meaningfully and blew out some air. After establishing that no one had anything further to add, John proposed a date for the next review and closed the meeting. Angie gathered her belongings and gave me a quick hug. Peggy inclined her head. ‘Thank you, Angie,’ she said, as the midwife shuffled herself back over the table. ‘You too, John.’ The chairman shook our hands. I grabbed my bag ready to follow them out but Peggy lifted her hand. ‘Rosie, would you stay a moment? I’d like a word if I may –’
John held the door open for Angie and when it was just the two of us left, Peggy asked how Zadie was coping after the shock confirmation of her pregnancy. I had just finished updating her when the door swung open and crashed into the back of Peggy’s chair. The social worker’s jaw dropped, one of her habitual habits, and she turned around.
Both of us stared at the young woman standing in the doorway.
‘Fuck, what you doing sitting in a cupboard?’ Christina demanded of Peggy in the rich, husky tone I remembered from the hospital. I hadn’t noticed it then, but Megan’s birth mother was clearly from the Newcastle area; her Geordie accent unmistakable in the confined space.
‘I wanted somewhere small enough to contain you in case you flew off the handle again,’ Peggy retorted, standing up with a groan and rubbing the small of her back. She tilted the back of her chair and ushered Christina in, the vague twinkle in her eyes the only clue that she wasn’t completely serious.
Christina was wearing a short denim skirt, black ankle boots and a closely fitted, low-cut top. She looked so slender that I never would have guessed she’d recently given birth if I hadn’t known already. ‘What d’you expect?!’ she cried, though without the venom I might have expected. There was a degree of warmth in their rapport, suggesting that Peggy and Christina knew each other of old. After slamming the carrier bag she was holding and a mobile phone with a large glossy screen onto the table, Christina slumped heavily into the nearest seat, sideways on, one elbow hooked over the back. She ran her eyes around the pokey room and sniffed. ‘Well, ain’t this the dog’s bollocks?’
Peggy returned to her own seat. ‘Strictly speaking, Christina, this meeting is over.’
Christina scowled and shifted herself around. ‘Christ almighty, this chair’s hard! Where’s the cushions?’
Peggy shook her head and sighed. ‘Fucking government,’ Christina continued, oblivious to the social worker’s stern glare. ‘Snatch your kid before the nurse’s even stitched up your oo-jah, then can’t be arsed to give you proper chairs. Bloody arseholes!’ She twisted her legs around, rested her elbows on the top of the carrier bag and fell into conversation with me. ‘They took her off me the minute I dropped,’ she said in a nasally tone, the skin around her nostrils red and sore, as if she’d blown her nose too much. ‘Plain. Fucking. Rude.’ Each word was stated with a noisy slap on the table. ‘I’m sick to the back teeth of it all, to be honest.’
Peggy’s mouth twitched at the corner. She breathed out so that her nostrils flared, and then composed herself. ‘Megan needed immediate medical care, Christina. You were told that was likely after your 20-week scan. You jolly well knew what was going to happen and don’t pretend otherwise.’ I was surprised to see how easily Peggy confronted her and how naturally relaxed she seemed; I guessed that, in her job, being able to construct a dialogue with all sorts of people while challenging them as well was a valuable asset.
‘Yeah well, you know you’re gonna croak one day, don’t mean you’re fucking happy about it,’ Christina snapped, unfolding her arms and banging her hands down on the table, the rings she wore on each finger jangling against the grey melamine top.
‘Christina,’ Peggy said with a warning note.
‘What? I’m telling it like it is, that’s all.’ She sniffed again and let her eyes roam the room. Her gaze finally settled on me. ‘Who’s she anyway?’ she asked in a tone that was suddenly perfectly reasonable and serene. She jerked her head in my direction.
‘This is Rosie Lewis, Megan’s foster carer.’
‘Oh right,’ she said, looking at me from the corner of her eye now she knew who I was. ‘Beautiful, ain’t she?’ she asked and there was a note of aggression in her tone, as if daring me to disagree. I was used to that and knew better than to expect instant trust when caring for someone else’s baby. It was something that grew slowly; each