Hidden Page 27

  ‘I don’t think he’s likely to do that,’ I said. ‘And I’m pretty sceptical that Minty’s managed to sort herself out, if it comes to that.’

  ‘I know. I understand your frustration but Minty must be given a fair chance. I think we need to tell Tayo the situation before Minty does tonight at contact. She assures me she will be there. Can you tell him when you pick him up?’

  A blanket of depression settled on me. ‘Yes. I will.’

  I put the phone down, unable to believe that all of Tayo’s hopes and desires had been put in jeopardy. If Minty was telling the truth about her new circumstances, then there was no way he would be able to go to Nigeria in October. Was she really sorting herself out? I couldn’t believe it, after everything we’d seen so far. While I didn’t wish Minty any ill, I couldn’t help feeling that everyone would be a lot better off if she’d continued as she was, and let Tayo go.

  I couldn’t bear to think about his anguish when I told him the news.

  There was no point in procrastinating so as soon as I collected Tayo from school and we were in the car heading towards the family centre I explained, as tactfully as I could, what had happened.

  Tayo said absolutely nothing, though in the rear-view mirror, I could see his face had set hard and defiant. I asked him if he was OK and he said, ‘Yes.’ Then he was silent until we were in Headline and had entered Yellow Room, where Minty was already waiting. She was sitting on the sofa and although her hair was very dishevelled, she’d managed to cover up most of her breasts and midriff with a slightly more appropriate top.

  As soon as he saw her, Tayo stormed forward, shouting, ‘What the fuck do you think you’re playing at, you useless cow! I’m going back to my dad and you can’t stop me!’

  Minty stood up in alarm. Tayo advanced at her with such anger that I thought he was going to hit her. Minty looked scared – she must have had the same thought. He didn’t, but his face seethed with anger and hatred as he yelled at her. ‘I’m not staying with you! I don’t believe you’ve got a job or a flat! You’re just a waster!’

  ‘Tayo!’ I said, trying to intervene. I’d never seen him so angry and, I guessed, neither had Minty. She opened and closed her mouth and then collected her wits, and started screaming abuse at him, most of which was unintelligible.

  Aisha pushed the panic button and James arrived, just at the point where Minty slapped Tayo hard across the face. James rushed over and stood between them.

  ‘I’m going! Waster!’ Tayo yelled. ‘Take me home, Cathy! Please!’

  ‘Go, you little runt!’ Minty screamed back. ‘You’re just like your fucking father!’ She had worked herself up to a fever pitch and was now completely out of control. James put his hands on her shoulders to stop her attacking Tayo and possibly Aisha and myself, while Tayo came to my side.

  ‘Can we go now please?’ he said in a more even voice.

  I looked at James who was still restraining Minty by the shoulders. ‘Take him,’ James said. ‘Aisha, you stay, please.’ I knew he needed Aisha present as a witness in case Minty made an allegation or complaint about the restraint.

  Tayo and I left the room and quickly walked along the corridor with the sound of his mother screaming abuse at James. ‘Let go of me, you cunt! Fucking arsehole!’

  We continued out through reception and got into the car. I pressed the internal locks, started the car and drove away. I wasn’t sure which of us was more shocked, Tayo, who sat pale and withdrawn in the back, or me. I could feel my heart racing and my hands trembled on the wheel. Tayo didn’t say anything on the drive home and I was silent too, though my thoughts were racing.

  When we got home I tried to talk to Tayo but he didn’t want to know, retreating back into the shell I thought he’d put away for good.

  I briefly explained to Lucy and Paula what had happened; they’d realized as soon as we walked in that something was wrong. Tayo remained silent and withdrawn over dinner and we had a very sombre meal. When Adrian came in, I heard Tayo telling him that his mother was trying to stop him going home and how angry he’d been and that she’d slapped him. Adrian, bless him, said exactly what I would have said: that although he could understand why Tayo had been upset he shouldn’t have spoken to his mother like that, and she certainly shouldn’t have hit him.

  We spent a miserable weekend trying to forget about what had happened. Tayo went to football but didn’t want to do anything else and I couldn’t really summon up the enthusiasm to persuade him. He didn’t want to phone his mother on Saturday, which was understandable. I made a note in my log about how he had been over the weekend and emailed a copy to Sandra so that she would have it first thing on Monday.

  When Tayo’s father phoned on Sunday Tayo told him what had happened and when they’d finished, Mr Ondura spoke to me. He knew that Minty was contesting the case because Sandra had emailed him and his solicitor when she’d found out.

  ‘I wouldn’t have wished that awful scene with his mother on Tayo in a million years,’ he said sadly. ‘But perhaps it will have one positive outcome. She has shown her true colours now, and that might help to swing things in my favour.’

  I’d been thinking exactly the same thing.

  On Monday, Sandra phoned me, having received my email and also the report from Headline about Friday’s contact.

  ‘The good news is that we’ve decided to keep the October court date for now, although it might have to be postponed later.’

  ‘Does Minty’s behaviour rule out her being able to contest the case?’ I asked hopefully.

  ‘No, I’m afraid not. She’s still part of the proceedings and if she wants to be assessed, then the hearing will have to be deferred. Everyone’s interests have to be protected, to make sure they get a fair hearing.’

  ‘I know,’ I said, ‘but it’s still frustrating.’

  Tayo was once again in a state of limbo and there was nothing I could do about it. He became sullen and withdrawn again, and who could blame him? Just when he thought his life was sorted, it had again been thrown into disarray. A six-month postponement would seem an eternity to him.

  Meanwhile, Minty didn’t attend the next two contacts although she had been in touch with her solicitor who passed on a message: she wouldn’t attend contact because it had a bad effect on Tayo and also she’d moved and it was too far to travel. Sandra said that Minty still hadn’t given her solicitor the address of her flat or her employment details, although she insisted she could provide a stable environment for Tayo and would be in court to fight for custody.

  This situation continued for the rest of September. Tayo and I arrived at Headline every Tuesday and Friday but now I brought Tayo straight home if Minty wasn’t there, as it had been decided that he didn’t need to wait on the off chance she would turn up. And she never did.

  Tayo didn’t want to phone her either, although I asked him every Wednesday and Saturday, then made a note in my log. His dad and gran continued to phone on Mondays and Sundays but even their conversations were subdued.

  At the beginning of October, when Minty hadn’t attended a single contact session in two months, or produced her address or details of her employment, Sandra and her manager decided definitely to go ahead with the October hearing. Minty would not be assessed. She couldn’t be, for no one knew where she lived or how to contact her.

  Tayo brightened up a little at this news, and so did the rest of us. Here was a small glimmer of hope, but it was far from over yet. If Minty arrived in court with a good barrister and contested the case, then the judge might be persuaded to adjourn the hearing so she could be assessed. But as time went by, I felt this was becoming less likely.

  Then Sandra called with more bad news. ‘I’ve received a letter from Minty’s solicitor confirming that she’ll be in court with a barrister.’

  ‘How can she afford one?’ I asked, and dearly wished that for once Minty could put Tayo first and simply let go.

  ‘It will be covered by legal aid,’ Sandra replied. />
  ‘Even though she’s here as an illegal immigrant?’

  ‘Yes. She still has a right to representation.’

  ‘I see.’ I didn’t comment further, but when I’d put the phone down, I fumed with frustration. I couldn’t believe that Minty was really prepared to try and take away Tayo’s chance of happiness. And now she had a barrister there was a chance she could succeed.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  The Verdict

  Tayo’s spirits lifted as Monday 18th October drew closer, bringing with it the longed-for return of his father. I also felt more positive. Surely one look at Mr Ondura would convince anyone that he was by far the best parent for Tayo to live with. But I knew that there were no guarantees. Until the judge had all the evidence before him and had made his decision, we could not be sure of anything.

  ‘Don’t tell Tayo,’ Mr Ondura confided to me in his last phone call before he flew to England, ‘but when I booked my return ticket to Nigeria for the twenty-fifth of October, I booked one for Tayo too. I just pray he will be able to use it.’

  ‘So do I,’ I said fervently. ‘So do I.’

  The doorbell rang just after six-thirty on October 18th, as I was serving up dinner. Tayo flew down the hall to answer it, and opened the door to his father, jumping into his arms with whoops of pure joy.

  I welcomed him in and then left them alone in the front room for a while, before asking Mr Ondura if he would like to join us for dinner. He accepted and told the cab driver to get himself something to eat and he’d phone him when he was ready to leave.

  That cab driver must welcome Mr Ondura back as much as we do! I thought.

  The five of us sat down to eat and, while it was very pleasant and we all made a big effort to appear at ease, there was a feeling of doom in the air. Forty-eight hours later Tayo’s future would be decided, and I could tell that Mr Ondura felt the strain. He looked very tired and drawn. Just before nine o’clock he thanked us all for our hospitality and left. Tayo would not be attending the hearing, so the next time he would see his father would be after the court case and it was a strange farewell for them. Neither could guess what the circumstances would be the next time they were together.

  It was a tough time for Tayo, but he behaved admirably. He went to school without complaint on the Tuesday and, despite Minty not having turned up for weeks, we went to Headline afterwards. She didn’t show up, so we went home, both trying to remain positive. What Minty was playing at I’d no idea but the uncertainty was agonizing.

  The following day, the final court hearing began. It had been allocated three days, at the end of which the judge would make his decision.

  Mr Ondura had told me on the phone that he already had a replacement Nigerian passport for Tayo, so that they could leave immediately if that was what the judge decided. There would be plenty of other paperwork if he got legal custody, but that would follow on. Everything was prepared for Tayo’s return, but for now we had three days of nail-biting uncertainty while the lawyers battled it out. In court, apart from the judge and court staff, there would be Mr Ondura and his solicitor and barrister; Minty and her solicitor and barrister; Sandra with the Social Services solicitor and barrister; and the Guardian Ad Litum. It was a relatively small case compared to some child-care hearings.

  At the end of the first day, Sandra phoned me after she’d left court and said she’d spent four hours in the witness box giving her evidence and being cross-examined by Minty’s barrister. Minty had arrived late and the judge had delayed the start of the case at her barrister’s request, while making it clear he would not do so the following day. Mr Ondura had tried to talk to Minty when the court had adjourned for lunch but she’d spat at him and walked away.

  ‘Did the judge see it?’ I asked.

  ‘No, but her barrister did and he wasn’t too impressed.’

  Mr Ondura phoned Tayo in the evening but didn’t talk about the case. Tayo asked if he had seen his mother and he said, ‘Yes.’

  ‘Which is a bloody sight more than me,’ Tayo said. In answer to that, he got a good ticking off from both his father and me for swearing.

  But of course Tayo had a point – how ridiculous that Minty could attend court to fight for her son but couldn’t attend contact to actually see him. The only consolation was that the judge would be aware of these anomalies because details of contact were included in Sandra’s and the Guardian’s reports.

  Tayo went to school as usual on Thursday, trudging off with the burden of the long wait on his shoulders. We could expect no news until Friday afternoon. Then, at lunchtime, Sandra phoned me to say that the judge was going to give his ruling that afternoon.

  ‘Why?’ I said, unsure if this was good or bad news. ‘How can he deliver his verdict a whole day early?’

  ‘He’s heard from all the parties now – except for Minty. She was an hour late this morning,’ Sandra explained, ‘and she was so drunk she could barely stay upright. The usher had to fetch her a glass of water, and the judge asked her to sit quietly because she kept singing a sea shanty, whereupon she told the judge to fuck off. She was far too drunk to take the stand.’

  I could have laughed but I didn’t, and neither did Sandra. It was sad really. Minty had gone to all the trouble of going to court and then blown her chances in a way that looked almost wilful. She’d never been able to look after Tayo since he had been a baby but had clung to him almost as a right. Her drink and drug-fuelled lifestyle had doubtless contributed to her inability to parent Tayo or even to look after herself properly. I didn’t doubt that in her own way she loved Tayo, and despite everything my heart went out to her.

  ‘Will you call me when you hear anything?’ I asked Sandra.

  ‘Of course.’

  When I collected Tayo from school at three-fifteen that afternoon, there was still no news. Tayo wasn’t expecting to hear anything until the following day so he was no more anxious than usual.

  We’d been at home for half an hour when the phone rang. It was Sandra.

  ‘Cathy,’ she said breathlessly, ‘you can tell Tayo the judge has made his decision and he will be going back with his dad on Monday.’

  There was a pause while it sank in. ‘Thank God,’ I whispered, my eyes immediately brimming. Then I found my voice again. ‘Thank God! Hurray!’

  I could hear the emotion in Sandra’s voice too, utter relief mingled with excitement. ‘Tell Tayo his father already has his passport and ticket and Tayo will spend the weekend with him at his hotel before going back.’

  ‘I’d be delighted to,’ I said. ‘And what about tomorrow?’

  ‘It’s up to you, Cathy, but I suggest you take Tayo into school to say goodbye in the morning, then pack. Tayo can either go with his dad tomorrow evening or Saturday morning. I’ll leave it up to you and Mr Ondura to decide. I’ll come round to say goodbye to Tayo tomorrow about midday if that’s OK.’

  ‘Yes, fine,’ I said quickly. ‘See you tomorrow then. I’m off to tell Tayo. And well done, Sandra.’

  ‘And well done you,’ she said.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Goodbyes

  Tayo was in his bedroom watching television when I told him. I simply went in and repeated what Sandra had said: ‘The judge has made his decision and you’ll be going back with your father on Monday.’

  Tayo gasped, then shouted, screamed and yelped for joy, jumping up and down so hard that I thought he might go through the floorboards. Lucy and Paula heard the commotion and came out of their rooms – it said something about the noise that Tayo was making that he could be heard above their music.

  We all congratulated Tayo, hugged and kissed him, and hugged and kissed each other. Then I told Tayo of the arrangements for Friday and the weekend.

  ‘It’s important we go to school tomorrow to say goodbye,’ I said. ‘Particularly to Sam. Then when your dad phones later today we’ll decide whether you leave here Friday evening or Saturday morning.’

  ‘No offence, Cathy,’ Tayo sai
d, ‘I love you all but I’d really like to go as soon as possible. It will be the start of my journey home.’

  I smiled. ‘Of course, love, I understand. As long as it suits your dad.’

  Mr Ondura phoned ten minutes later and after speaking to Tayo (more shouts and yelps of joy this end) he asked for me. He said he’d managed to bring the return tickets forward to Saturday’s flight so he would like to collect Tayo on Friday, at about five o’clock.

  ‘Of course,’ I said. ‘That will be fine. We’ll see you tomorrow at five.’

  That meant some hasty packing and quick goodbyes, but it was definitely what Tayo wanted. When children move from us, we usually give them a small farewell party and a present. There wasn’t time to arrange a party but I’d bought Tayo a present in anticipation. I’d wrapped it and we had all signed the farewell card (I’d added Adrian’s signature). After dinner we gave it to Tayo. It was a camera and came with the proviso that he sent us lots of photographs of himself in Nigeria. He was tremendously pleased and insisted on taking photos of us, the house, his bedroom and the garden. He said it was a pity he couldn’t have a photo of Adrian and I promised I’d take one and send it to him.

  Aware we’d be busy the following day, we began Tayo’s packing after dinner. Lucy and Paula helped. Tayo had arrived with what he’d stood up in and now his belongings filled three suitcases (which I’d also bought in anticipation), plus a large piece of hand luggage. It was sure to go over the airline’s baggage allowance.

  It was after ten by the time we’d finished and all that was left out was Tayo’s pyjamas, a change of clothes for Saturday, and his washbag. He climbed into bed tired but happy, and I kissed his forehead and said for the last time, ‘Night, night, sleep tight.’