baby. Also Harrison’s mother will need a postpartum check-up – between four to six weeks after the birth – and very likely emotional support. It’s not good enough. I’ll ask my manager to look into it.’
I doubted it was a computer error that had led to Harrison’s mother not appearing on the health-care system. But if I told Grace what I knew – that Smith probably wasn’t Rihanna’s real name, and her pregnancy and indeed Harrison’s existence were a closely guarded secret and had to remain so – it would have sparked Grace’s curiosity and led to more questions. I didn’t want to be the one to send Grace on a hunt that might find Rihanna, even though she had the best of intentions.
‘I suppose it’s just one of those computer errors,’ I said vaguely.
Grace shook her head, clearly worried. ‘I’ll look into it,’ she said.
Setting the red book to one side, Grace took a set of portable scales from her large nurse’s bag and assembled them. I remembered Adrian and Paula being weighed on similar scales and I gently lifted Harrison into the scales. Grace made a note of his weight on a form and also in the red book. ‘He’s the same as his birth weight,’ Grace said. ‘Which is good. That means he’s already made up the weight he lost after the birth.’ I also knew from having Adrian and Paula that babies often lose weight immediately after birth and can take a week or longer to regain it. Grace then measured Harrison from head to toe, and tested his reflexes and responses to light and sound. Reassuring me he was perfectly normal, she made a note of the results on her form and also in the red book.
‘We carry out further developmental checks at eight weeks, six months, and then eighteen months,’ Grace said. ‘But obviously if you have any concerns about Harrison’s development contact us or your GP straightaway.’
‘I will,’ I said.
‘I’ll send a copy of all my notes to the social services for their files,’ Grace said. ‘What’s the care plan for Harrison? Rehab home?’ Grace was referring to the care plan the social services would have drawn up for Harrison’s long-term future; ‘rehab home’ was the term used for preparing a child to return home.
‘I believe he’s going to be adopted,’ I said.
A look of pain and concern flickered across Grace’s face. ‘Oh dear. Is he really? And he’s such a lovely baby. Oh well, I suppose it’s for the best. At least he’s young enough to have a fresh start.’ I nodded. As a health visitor Grace would go into homes where babies and young children didn’t have a very good start in life and one of her roles would be to monitor those children and alert the social services about her concerns. ‘Why can’t his mother look after him?’ she asked after a moment.
‘I don’t know,’ I said, which was the truth.
Grace then asked if I would like her to visit Harrison and me at home again or if I could take him to the clinic or GP to be weighed in future. I said I would go to the clinic and she made a note of this in her file. She then handed me the red book, which I knew I had to keep safe and take with me each time I went to the clinic, when the nurse would enter Harrison’s weight, dates of vaccinations and also the results of the developmental checks.
‘Well, if you haven’t any questions I’ll be off now,’ Grace said, dismantling the scales and putting them in her nurse’s bag together with her record sheets.
‘I can’t think of anything,’ I said. ‘I’ll phone the clinic if I need advice.’
‘You’re doing a good job,’ she said, smiling. ‘I’ll see you next week at the clinic, when you bring Harrison to be weighed.’
‘Yes.’ I thanked Grace and, leaving Harrison in his bouncing cradle for a minute, I saw her out.
Returning to the sitting room I lifted Harrison out of the bouncing cradle and carried him upstairs, where I changed his nappy. It was now 2.30 and time to be thinking about
I doubted it was a computer error that had led to Harrison’s mother not appearing on the health-care system. But if I told Grace what I knew – that Smith probably wasn’t Rihanna’s real name, and her pregnancy and indeed Harrison’s existence were a closely guarded secret and had to remain so – it would have sparked Grace’s curiosity and led to more questions. I didn’t want to be the one to send Grace on a hunt that might find Rihanna, even though she had the best of intentions.
‘I suppose it’s just one of those computer errors,’ I said vaguely.
Grace shook her head, clearly worried. ‘I’ll look into it,’ she said.
Setting the red book to one side, Grace took a set of portable scales from her large nurse’s bag and assembled them. I remembered Adrian and Paula being weighed on similar scales and I gently lifted Harrison into the scales. Grace made a note of his weight on a form and also in the red book. ‘He’s the same as his birth weight,’ Grace said. ‘Which is good. That means he’s already made up the weight he lost after the birth.’ I also knew from having Adrian and Paula that babies often lose weight immediately after birth and can take a week or longer to regain it. Grace then measured Harrison from head to toe, and tested his reflexes and responses to light and sound. Reassuring me he was perfectly normal, she made a note of the results on her form and also in the red book.
‘We carry out further developmental checks at eight weeks, six months, and then eighteen months,’ Grace said. ‘But obviously if you have any concerns about Harrison’s development contact us or your GP straightaway.’
‘I will,’ I said.
‘I’ll send a copy of all my notes to the social services for their files,’ Grace said. ‘What’s the care plan for Harrison? Rehab home?’ Grace was referring to the care plan the social services would have drawn up for Harrison’s long-term future; ‘rehab home’ was the term used for preparing a child to return home.
‘I believe he’s going to be adopted,’ I said.
A look of pain and concern flickered across Grace’s face. ‘Oh dear. Is he really? And he’s such a lovely baby. Oh well, I suppose it’s for the best. At least he’s young enough to have a fresh start.’ I nodded. As a health visitor Grace would go into homes where babies and young children didn’t have a very good start in life and one of her roles would be to monitor those children and alert the social services about her concerns. ‘Why can’t his mother look after him?’ she asked after a moment.
‘I don’t know,’ I said, which was the truth.
Grace then asked if I would like her to visit Harrison and me at home again or if I could take him to the clinic or GP to be weighed in future. I said I would go to the clinic and she made a note of this in her file. She then handed me the red book, which I knew I had to keep safe and take with me each time I went to the clinic, when the nurse would enter Harrison’s weight, dates of vaccinations and also the results of the developmental checks.
‘Well, if you haven’t any questions I’ll be off now,’ Grace said, dismantling the scales and putting them in her nurse’s bag together with her record sheets.
‘I can’t think of anything,’ I said. ‘I’ll phone the clinic if I need advice.’
‘You’re doing a good job,’ she said, smiling. ‘I’ll see you next week at the clinic, when you bring Harrison to be weighed.’
‘Yes.’ I thanked Grace and, leaving Harrison in his bouncing cradle for a minute, I saw her out.
Returning to the sitting room I lifted Harrison out of the bouncing cradle and carried him upstairs, where I changed his nappy. It was now 2.30 and time to be thinking about
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