Where Women are Kings (18 page)

Paula scribbled in her book as Chioma spoke. This wasn’t entirely true. While Obi had made time to get to the meetings with Chioma, he wasn’t often able to play at home. But he was certainly trying. Elijah had said that seeing those bats the other night was one of the best things he’d ever done.

Chioma turned to Elijah. ‘What games do you enjoy the most?’

‘I like mums and dads. They’re really good at it. Obi’s always moaning about work like a real dad and Nikki always rolls her eyes like a real mum and it’s really funny – but she doesn’t know about babies. When a baby cries, you have to give it a bottle.’

Nikki’s eyes opened wide. Elijah was smiling, but Obi frowned. ‘But you’re a big boy, Elijah; you don’t need a bottle!’ He laughed.

‘It’s only a game,’ said Elijah.

Paula stopped writing. ‘That’s right. And, anyway, is that such a bad idea?’

Nikki looked at Obi and Ricardo. Ricardo shrugged. ‘He didn’t have any time with you as a baby,’ he said. ‘Maybe he needs to make up lost ground.’

‘Children take what they need,’ said Chioma. ‘If Elijah wants to play mums and dads and have a bottle, then I’d let him,’ she said.

Nikki felt her face get hot. She imagined holding Elijah like he was a baby. There was a sudden pain in her stomach and an emptiness afterwards. She felt Chioma’s eyes on her.

‘Sometimes we even recommend this kind of thing for much older children.’ She smiled at Elijah. ‘Now. Let’s you and me go for a walk and let Mum and Dad talk for a while, OK? I really want an ice cream.’

Elijah looked at Nikki.

‘In this cold?’ Nikki said, laughing. ‘It’s nearly November! But I think an ice cream would be a good idea. Elijah knows the way to the best ice-cream shop.’

Chioma held Elijah’s hand on the way out, and Nikki heard his chatter fade as they left the house.

‘Right, the first thing to say is thank you for letting us know about what happened when you first saw Elijah’s scars. And, also, it’s good to talk about these things openly with Elijah. I’d say you dealt with it really well, before it escalated into something further,’ said Paula.

‘Also thanks for telling us about the Bible quotes.’ Ricardo sat up in his chair. ‘Deborah’s psychiatrist has been trying to get her to talk about her religion, but she’s so far been too ill to respond coherently. Mostly she talks about her family in Nigeria, but we’ve been unable to contact them.’

Paula stopped writing and looked up. ‘Has Elijah had any more nightmares?’

Nikki shook her head. ‘Not recently. There were a few before school began, but not since then.’

‘He’s been great,’ said Obi.

‘There are bound to be little problems, but Elijah is more settled with you than anywhere I’ve ever seen him.’ Ricardo beamed. ‘Perfect for each other.’

‘He adores Obi’s dad,’ said Nikki. ‘If he’s around, we don’t get a look in.’

Obi laughed. ‘He may as well live here, he’s been popping in so often. He’s had a key cut for Elijah, so that when he’s
old enough he can let himself into Granddad’s house any time!’

‘That’s wonderful,’ said Paula. ‘I think that’s it for today. The only other point is this wizard business that you mentioned, Ricardo.’ She tapped her pen on the list written in the notebook in front of her. ‘Has he mentioned anything about it?’

Nikki frowned. She looked up at Ricardo.

‘It’s probably nothing,’ he said. ‘I thought I was Batman until I was eleven.’

‘He hasn’t mentioned anything to us. What do you mean, “wizard”?’

‘Well, a while ago, Elijah asked me if I knew how to kill wizards. I didn’t think anything of it at the time, but then at our meeting he said something again, that “the wizard has gone”. That sounds positive, whatever he means, but with his extremely religious upbringing, and those Bible quotations, it’s something to be aware of – maybe ask him about.’

Paula let her pen drop to the notebook. ‘I don’t think we need to be adding worries. At this stage, jumping to conclusions, especially culturally sensitive ones, is likely to be damaging.’

Nikki nodded. ‘Do you mean a belief in witchcraft? I saw a documentary on Channel Four about children being branded as witches.’ She was appalled.

Paula raised her shoulders. ‘Well, possibly, but we really don’t know enough and what we do know doesn’t point to—’

Ricardo cut in, ‘We’re certain that the physical abuse Elijah suffered came from the birth mother, and that would be very unusual. And, as we said, the birth mother is much more focused on her home and family than she is on the church.’

‘As you told us when we talked about this the first time,’
said Paula, ‘it’s not unusual for kids to pick up phrases they’ve heard, and I think it’s important not to overreact. Keep an eye out, but don’t push it. As long as Elijah’s making progress, we can get to the bottom of things naturally, rather than unsettling him.’

‘All young kids believe in magic and superheroes,’ said Obi.

‘Exactly.’ Paula snapped her notebook shut. ‘You’re doing a wonderful job.’ She smiled at Nikki and Obi. ‘Wonderful. Do contact us if there are any issues. Our manager is on sick leave and I’ll be away on annual leave until the sixth, but there’s always someone on duty if it’s an emergency.’

Nikki gave a tiny smile to Obi. He opened his eyes slightly wider.

*

The following morning, Ricardo was back. Nikki spotted him through the bedroom window, carrying a briefcase and wearing a business suit and proper shoes that clicked on the pavement. She ran down the stairs, only to find a letter on the doormat. She opened the door but he was already walking back down the path.

‘Ricardo! Ricardo!’

He turned quickly and walked back. ‘Sorry. I’m so pushed today, I just wanted to drop off the L.A.C. report from yesterday. I can’t stop – I have to be in court in fifteen minutes and I’m on duty as well – three of my colleagues are off sick today, would you believe.’

If Ricardo hadn’t been carrying the briefcase and a stack of papers, Nikki imagined he would have been waving his arms with every word. ‘OK,’ she smiled. ‘Poor you! But I did want to talk to you about the meeting yesterday. So if you can make some time …’

‘I know, I know. It’s ridiculous, the pressure we’re under. Awful when you feel like you can’t do your job properly because you’re stretched so thin.’ He shrugged. ‘But at least you, my lovely family, are doing so well that I don’t need to worry about you.’ He turned and walked away. ‘I’ll be in touch,’ he called, before opening his car door and climbing in, a flurry of papers landing all around him.

Nikki watched him drive away. She knew she shouldn’t worry, that if Elijah’s team was happy to let things unfold naturally, then she should be happy too. But occasionally she caught Elijah looking sad, and every time she saw his scars her heart broke. There was so much she didn’t know about her own son.

1. The review supports Obi and Nikki’s wish to submit an application to adopt Elijah. They have completed the paperwork and will send this week.
   
2. Social worker visits will become monthly. Ricardo will visit at an agreed date.
   
3. Chioma will continue therapeutic-play work. This has been identified as enormously beneficial for Elijah.
   
4. Life-Story work will not start until Elijah is completely settled, as it has triggered so many behaviours in the past. This work will be done in conjunction with therapy.
   
5. Contact agreements will remain, though face-to-face contact is looking less likely as Deborah has remained unable to fulfil these agreements for a significant period of time. The letters are being kept by Ricardo. Deborah’s art / writing, intended for Elijah, is inappropriate for him at this age and she is refusing to modify them to make them
   suitable. There is an agreement that the pieces are being kept by the team.
   

*

‘Can we play mums and dads?’ Elijah asked at bedtime. Nikki looked at the clock. It was already eight. ‘OK,’ she said.

In the lamplight she looked around at the shadows in his bedroom. Once, long ago, it was going to be a nursery. They had a cot, which Obi had spent hours fitting together, only to find he had one screw left over and no idea where it should go. He’d sworn so loudly she’d come rushing up the stairs. They’d had curtains, pink and white gingham, and a changing table with a matching pink and white gingham changing mat.

But the memory was already fading, and here in front of her Elijah’s face was shining and real. Now she was a mum with a son who liked animals and playing games and was perfect. For the first time in so long, the present mattered much more than the past. Elijah looked up at her with perfectly clear eyes.

He was making crying noises and closing his eyes, curling into a ball, making his voice babyish. ‘Pretend I’ve just been born,’ he whispered. ‘Pretend you’re my mama.’

Nikki stroked his face. ‘We don’t need to pretend,’ she whispered. ‘I am your mum.’

My little son,

This will be a difficult letter. I have to tell you some awfulness now because, as I’ve told you many times, there should be no secrets between a mother and her son. But this will be hard for you to read, so I pray this finds you with a family who love you well.

Elijah, sometimes things shift in the universe and everything moves backwards or turns inside out. God likes to remind us, now and then, of his wrath. In the Book of Kings, your own namesake, Elijah, controlled fire from the sky and flew up to Heaven in a whirlwind. If you, my little son, can control fire and fly, well, imagine then what God himself can do. And if God can do such things for the greater good then the devil can surely match him.

Akpan was gone for a long time. He was studying Estate Management at the University of East London and working evenings in a security job to fund our family, but he always came home on time, always. I watched the clock at dinner time, the pan of stew bubbling away in a large pot, you on my back as I moved around in the flat, tidying things and folding clothes. I could sense that you were awake, even though I couldn’t see your face, but you were happy, breathing softly and quiet, curled high up against me like a small question
mark. Night fell and the clock ticked. You began to cry, not because you were upset or hungry, but you sensed the change in me – the worry. We were still tied by that cord between us, visible or not.

‘Where can he be?’ I said. ‘Where is your baba?’

I turned off the stew and turned off the light and we stood in darkness for a few seconds. Something awful was biting my insides. Panic filled me up and I began to cry, and then we heard it. The siren. I wrapped the blanket around us and we ran out of the flat, pressing the lift button again and again and listening to more sirens. Different sirens. The sound of screaming and shouting. By the time the lift took us down to the ground and we had run out of the building, there was a crowd gathered, two ambulances, a police car. I remember it so clearly: a woman in a blue anorak, the shape of her eyes, a man next to her talking loudly on his mobile telephone and others too, forming a circle around something. You cried and shook; I felt your little heart drumming quick-quick. The moon was covered by half a cloud and there were no stars at all, not a single one. I walked slowly towards the crowd. The ambulance drivers were rushing around with giant forest-green backpacks and luminous yellow jackets, brighter than the half-moon. I couldn’t see anything yet as the thick crowd were gathering close together, shouting, and the air sped through my ears, your cry. Then the moon went out. By the light of those jackets I could see a black shoe. Your baba’s shoe.

Elijah, your baba was rushing home to us when that car hit him. He died in the street outside our flat. He died instantly with his head facing up towards our window, imagining you and me, me and you, us three together. Akpan loved me like no man has ever loved a woman. He loved you like no father has ever loved a son.

After it happened, everything changed. I fell into such a hole of depression that I thought I’d never get up. But I had to. There was a funeral to organise. My pain was too big for me to speak it to Akpan’s people, to my family, and so I had a funeral with no singing, and only a handful of people, and I didn’t shed a single tear. The Bishop put his arms around my shoulders and told me Akpan was a good man, and all good men go to Heaven. He told me Heaven was a better place. But I didn’t want Akpan in Heaven. I wanted him there with me and with you, our future lying before us. I stood in front of your baba, my insides made of ice. That was how I knew something had broken inside me. And I didn’t tell anyone in Nigeria that he was dead. I knew I was protecting them. I wanted them to continue believing that he was happy and successful living in London with a family. I wanted to believe that myself. I had a plan, though. I would allow a month for my sadness to eat me and then, as soon as I had money and strength for the journey, we would take a plane home for good. But that plan never happened.

The month came and went and I stopped eating, stopped washing or combing out my hair. I could hear you cry a lot, but I couldn’t do anything to help you. You didn’t feed properly and I had to start you on bottles, but the effort of making a bottle was sometimes so hard. Such a simple thing, making a bottle. You cried and cried and I did nothing but feel dizzy and disconnected from my body. Some days I simply wanted to die and see Akpan’s face once more, hear his voice tell me he loved me. But every day the sun managed to rise. Somehow. The only thing that stopped me was you in my arms. I did what I could, Elijah, and it was probably not good enough, but I did what I could. You looked at me with such sad eyes. I prayed and prayed. But every day I became
more lost, deep in a dark place and I didn’t know my way back.

I was so alone, Elijah, that I almost jumped when I recognised someone. It was on the walk home from getting some nappies that he walked past. ‘Hello,’ I said, without even realising I’d spoken.

He turned, raised one eyebrow.

‘You weren’t in church.’

As he turned, I noticed the man was wearing jeans halfway down his legs. I looked at his face. Was it the man from church? I did know a man from church who was friendly and had known Akpan well. Where was his waistcoat? My head was confused, back and forth, round and round. Everything had been so clear while I was praying but now, in the street, on the side of the busy road with traffic rushing and rain and grey, I felt unsure who I was, Elijah, suddenly unsure of anything, which is a terrifying thing when you are as certain a woman as me. Where was I? Who was he?