The Lost Son

I’m not sure who was more nervous on Monday morning as Tayo and I changed into our smart clothes ready to meet his father.

Tayo wanted to leave at eleven o’clock, and it had taken some doing to persuade him that the twenty-minute journey to the Headline Family Centre was not going to take an hour and a half, even if the traffic was heavy.

‘But supposing there’s been an accident,’ he persisted. ‘The high street might be blocked then we’d have to go the long way round on the by-pass.’

‘Yes, and there might be a hurricane and earthquake, but thirty minutes is plenty of time to get there.’

And it was.

We drew up outside the family centre at twelve-twenty. My stomach was churning and my heart fluttered as we walked up the path. Of all the reunions of all the children I’d looked after in all the years I’d been fostering, no meeting had ever caused either me or the child so much nervous anticipation and excitement.

At the door Tayo straightened his trousers and brushed his hands over his hair.

‘You look fine,’ I said. ‘I’m proud of you and I know your dad will be too.’

I heard him take a deep breath and I could almost hear his heart thudding as mine was doing. We went in and James met us in reception with a broad smile. He put his hand on Tayo’s shoulder. ‘You dad’s here with Sandra,’ he said. ‘In Blue Room.’

We followed him down the short corridor. I could feel Tayo’s nervousness; his breath was coming fast and shallow, and he kept licking his bottom lip. Before we turned the corner into Blue Room Tayo grabbed my arm. I put my hand on top of his and gave it a reassuring squeeze. We went in.

Sandra was standing in the middle of the room and next to her stood Tayo’s father. He was well over six feet tall, in his mid-thirties, broad shouldered, handsome, and incredibly smart in a light grey suit and open neck white shirt. He looked at his son and his eyes filled with tears as he held out his arms to him. There was a second’s hesitation before Tayo let go of my arm and rushed into his father’s waiting embrace. He was so tall and broad that he seemed to engulf Tayo completely. Hugging him close, he cried openly. ‘My son. Dear God, thank you. My son,’ was all he could say.

Tayo began to cry. I was weeping and the tears were pouring down Sandra’s face. Behind me, James left discreetly.

‘My son,’ Tayo’s father repeated, his cheek pressing against the top of Tayo’s head. ‘My son, my lost son. I never thought I’d see you again.’ Tayo sobbed louder. I reached into my pocket for tissues and passed one to Sandra, who sniffed and smiled gratefully.

After a few moments Mr Ondura looked up, his eyes and cheeks wet. Tayo still had his arms tightly around his father’s waist with his head buried into his chest. Slowly straightening, Mr Ondura gently eased Tayo from him. With one arm around his son’s shoulders, he took the few steps across the room to me, and struggling to compose himself, he offered his hand for shaking.

‘I can’t ever thank you enough,’ he said, his voice breaking again.

I looked into the dark eyes that were an older version of Tayo’s and smiled. ‘You’re welcome,’ I said. ‘I’m so pleased to meet you at last. Tayo’s a lovely boy. We’ll have time to talk later but for now I’ll leave you two to get to know each other.’

I would have loved to have stayed and watched them get to know each other but this was their time, an intimate, emotional occasion for themselves alone. I had been privileged to see their first reunion and that would have to be enough for me.

‘I’ll see you later,’ I said to Tayo, then to Sandra, ‘Shall I collect Tayo at two-thirty?’

‘Yes, please.’

Mr Ondura thanked me again, and as I left he was walking towards the sofa with an arm round Tayo’s shoulder, father and son together.