Time with Dad

Iwarned Sonya Gillings, Tayo’s teacher, that he might be a little excitable at school on Tuesday. She understood when I explained why and was delighted that the reunion with Tayo’s father had gone so well.

‘He has contact with his mother today, though,’ I said, ‘and it might cause him to feel a bit up in the air emotionally.’

‘Understandable,’ smiled Mrs Gillings. ‘I’ll keep a special eye on him.’

As it turned out I needn’t have worried about Tayo being unsettled, for when I collected him that afternoon Sonya said he had been fine, if just very excited. When we arrived at Headline for contact, though, Minty wasn’t there. James said she had just phoned through to say she couldn’t make it as she had an appointment with her solicitor.

As we trudged back to the car, I felt disappointed in her and very dubious about her excuse. She’d used it a few months previously, and nothing had ever come of it.

Tayo clearly thought the same. ‘Solicitor! My arse!’ he muttered as we headed for home.

‘Tayo,’ I admonished. ‘Please don’t use that word.’

‘Well, she didn’t see a solicitor,’ he said. ‘It’s an excuse. She’s worried my father might have turned up, then she’d be in for it.’

That sounded the most likely scenario to me, even if I didn’t say it, for Minty would have a lot of explaining to do when or if she met Tayo’s father again.

Mr Ondura phoned at seven and wanted to speak to me first. He told me that he’d had a meeting with the Guardian Ad Litum that afternoon and he’d felt it had gone well, although she hadn’t said much. I told him at this stage he was unlikely to get much feedback from the Guardian as she was still compiling her report. Mr Ondura said he had also used the day to see a solicitor here, one appointed by his solicitor in Nigeria. ‘I’m due to see him again on Friday,’ he said. ‘Then the rest will be taken care of after my return.’

I told him that Minty hadn’t attended contact, to which Mr Ondura simply said, ‘I see.’ I thought it said a lot about him that he had made no attempt to condemn or criticize Minty in any way and hadn’t done so to Tayo.

I passed the phone over to Tayo and left them discussing all the things they would do and places they would visit over the next two days. His father would come to the house at nine the next morning to collect him.

Tayo went to sleep early, saying that it would make the morning come that much quicker, and he was up early, very early indeed. By seven-thirty, he was washed and dressed and waiting for his father.

After breakfast I persuaded him to read a book for a while, to save the strain on his nerves and those of the rest of the household as the girls prepared for school and college, and Adrian left for work.

Tayo wasn’t the only one who was early; Mr Ondura was on the doorstep at eight forty-five. Tayo wanted to show his father his bedroom so we invited him in. Although he had a cab waiting outside, he spent a good half an hour looking at Tayo’s (very neat) shelf displays, the clothes hanging and folded in his wardrobe, and his half-completed homework lying open on his desk. I saw them off at the door and told them to have a lovely day, which was completely redundant for the day was guaranteed. But it was strange not having Tayo around, and we all missed him at dinner time. It made me realize just how much of a family member he had so easily become, and I knew the girls and Adrian felt the same. When the doorbell rang at just gone eight, I leapt to answer it and Tayo and his father came into the hall.

‘I won’t stay,’ Mr Ondura said. ‘I know you’re busy and we’re both exhausted.’ They looked it.

‘Can Dad just meet our family?’ Tayo said.

‘Of course.’ I was touched that Tayo had said ‘our family’, and I felt that he was including his father in it, so that we’d all become part of the same extended family.

I called Adrian, Lucy and Paula down and introduced them. They all shook hands with Mr Ondura and he asked them how they were and they replied a little formally that they were fine. After some polite chat, Mr Ondura bid us all a good evening and, confirming he would be collecting Tayo again as arranged at nine the following morning, returned to the cab waiting again outside.

‘Did you have a taxi with you all day?’ I asked Tayo.

‘Yes, Dad’s got the same one booked for tomorrow and the weekend.’

Struth, I thought, he really wasn’t short of money. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d used a cab but I knew they didn’t come cheap.

When I went up to say goodnight to Tayo he was already fast asleep.

‘Night night,’ I whispered, as I closed the curtains, then added, ‘Sleep tight and don’t let the bed bugs bite.’

Well, I couldn’t let the ritual lapse even if he was asleep.

The following morning Tayo was so exhausted from the day before, he slept until eight and I had to wake him. Over breakfast he told me about the day before: their visit to the castle and accompanying museum, their walk in the botanical gardens, the cinema, and dinner at a very expensive restaurant.

‘The only thing is,’ Tayo said, ‘Dad forgot my presents.’

‘Don’t worry,’ I said. ‘He’s got rather a lot on his mind. I’m sure he’ll remember them soon.’

Tayo told me the plans for the day ahead, which included Tayo seeing the hotel where his father was staying. He asked if he could take his swimming trunks as there was a pool there. ‘I don’t need a towel,’ he said rather haughtily, ‘the hotel provides them.’

His father arrived at nine and I watched them get into the cab and waved them off. Sandra phoned during the morning to ask how it was going and to tell me that her manager had identified a social worker who could visit Mr Ondura and his mother in Nigeria, possibly at the end of July, although the date hadn’t yet been finalized. The social worker was Nigerian herself and would stay in a hotel near to Mr Ondura’s house and make a number of visits over a two-week period, and then file her report in August.

‘So we could still make the October hearing?’ I asked.

‘It’s looking good,’ Sandra confirmed. ‘But I’m concerned that Minty didn’t turn up for contact on Tuesday. She also phoned the duty social worker at midnight, very distressed and threatening suicide. I’ve called her lots of times but her mobile’s always switched off. It still is now. I just hope she’s all right and calm enough to make Friday’s contact.’

I hoped so too. Minty’s threat of suicide coupled with her absence were a real worry; given her fragile mental state, exacerbated by drink and possibly drug abuse, and now with the added trauma of Tayo’s father’s arrival, she could easily have been tipped over the edge.

I obviously said nothing about this to Tayo when he returned in the evening after another fun-packed day and clutching a bag of presents. Mr Ondura didn’t come in this time but said that he would see Tayo at nine on Saturday morning, when they were planning on going into London.

‘By cab?’ I asked, unable to hide my astonishment. ‘All the way into London?’

‘Yes, why? Is there a problem?’ Mr Ondura asked.

‘Er, no, I was just thinking of the cost.’

He gave a little laugh. ‘Don’t worry, the cab won’t be on meter. I’ve done a deal with the driver – two hundred pounds for the day.’

I supposed that wasn’t too bad, considering the journey, but it still caused me a hiccup when set alongside the £23 rail fare they could have paid.

Minty didn’t arrive at contact on Friday, or leave any message. Telephone contact hadn’t taken place during the week because Tayo had been out with his father until late in the evening, so I didn’t know if Minty would have answered or not.

Tayo was too full of the weekend ahead to be angry with her for not showing but I knew that if she failed to attend contact on Tuesday without a word, there would be serious concerns for her safety. Not only that, but there was a good chance that future contact would be suspended. It would be deemed unfair for Tayo to keep turning up, only to be disappointed.

While Tayo was out with his father on Saturday, Paula spent a couple of hours downloading music from the Internet on to Tayo’s MP3 player for him. It was one of the presents his father had given him, together with a hand-held gameboy with games, a book on Nigeria and T-shirts with the names of countries Mr Ondura had visited emblazoned across the front. There were a dozen or more T-shirts in various sizes and I guessed Mr Ondura had been collecting them for some time in the hope that one day he would be able to give them to his son.

* * *

It was nearly ten by the time they returned but Mr Ondura had phoned from his mobile at eight so that I wouldn’t be worried. He saw Tayo into the hall, saying that he was going back to his hotel to confirm a few details before his flight back early on Monday morning. At the mention of his father leaving, Tayo’s face dropped. He’d already calculated that tomorrow was their last day together for sixteen weeks. Fortunately he was so tired from seeing the sights of London that he didn’t have time to dwell on his father going, and was in bed and asleep in no time.

The next morning Mr Ondura collected Tayo at nine and took him away for a relaxing day together.

‘I’ll bring him back by eight,’ he confirmed, ‘as I know that he has school tomorrow.’

I dreaded to think what state Tayo would be in when he returned from his last day with his father. It was going to be very hard for him, especially with six weeks of summer holiday approaching and no school to distract him. I was relieved that I had booked a place on the play scheme, which would help to occupy him and keep his mind off the wait until the court hearing in October. I wished I could have afforded to take us all away again, but there was no way we could manage it so soon.

When I heard a taxi pull up outside the house at seven forty-five that evening, I steeled myself, expecting Tayo to be more or less in tears at having to say goodbye to his father. As it was, he seemed quite positive.

‘Tayo and I have done a lot of talking,’ said Mr Ondura, his arm round his son’s shoulders. ‘We’ve put things in perspective, haven’t we, son?’ Tayo grinned and nodded. ‘After all, he’s already waited five years, so what is a few more weeks? It will pass in no time and he has plenty to keep himself busy until then.’

A man with a philosophy after my own heart, I thought.

Tayo presented me with a large box of chocolates from him and his father. I asked Mr Ondura if he’d like to come in for a while, but he declined politely and I guessed that he thought it wise to keep the parting short.

‘Right, son,’ he said, opening his arms for a hug. ‘Be good.’

Tayo hugged him for all he was worth. After a minute Mr Ondura gently released Tayo’s arms. ‘I’ll phone as soon as I’m home, son.’

Mr Ondura then warmly shook my hand and kissed my cheek. ‘Thank you again, and please say goodbye to your family. I hope to meet them again in October.’

‘I will,’ I said. ‘Have a safe trip.’

He gave Tayo a last brief hug and then went out, down the path, and into the taxi. I held Tayo’s hand as we waved him off, and then I closed the door.

I looked at Tayo. ‘Are you OK?’ I asked gently. His bottom lip trembled and he threw himself into my arms and sobbed against my chest. ‘It’s all right,’ I soothed. ‘He’ll soon be back again.’

Having been so strong for his father, he was now able to release all his pent-up emotion, and he held on to me and cried for some time. I suspected that Mr Ondura wasn’t completely dry-eyed either as he sat in the back of his cab.

When he was calmer, Tayo came with me to the sofa and we sat down.

‘Look what my dad gave me,’ he said, producing an envelope. It was full of photographs. There were some of Tayo as a baby, a toddler, a boy of three, and on his first day at school. There were also head-and-shoulders portrait photos of his father and gran. She was just as I imagined her, with a round open face smiling warmly. I suggested to Tayo that I buy some frames for the photos of his dad and gran so that he could put them on his shelf.

‘And I should have one of my mum as well,’ he said.

‘Good idea. I’ll buy one of those disposable cameras so the next time your mum comes to contact you can take some pictures?’

He smiled and gave me a big kiss on the cheek. ‘I hope my mum comes to contact on Tuesday. I want to tell her that I love her too, as well as my dad.’

‘I know, sweet. I hope so, too.’