Natasha Had Long Planned to Do This – Adopt a Child from the Care Home

Evelyn Harper had long been mulling over a single, stubborn notionto adopt a child from a childrens home. Her sixyear marriage had ended when her husband, longing for a younger, more prosperous partner, walked out. The marriage had left her drained, bereft of both the strength and the desire to try once more to build a family, to find someone who would stand by her in sorrow and in joy. No, she thought, enough was enough. If she was to spend the remnants of her energy and warmth, it would not be on a new companion but on a soul truly in need of that warmth.

And so she set her plan in motion. She learned the ins and outs of the local socialcare office, gathered the required paperwork, and then faced the only remaining hurdle: finding the boy who would become her son, the continuation of herself, and to give him the love she had stored up over thirtyeight years.

She did not want a newborn; she feared she would be unable to cope with a tiny infant now that she had passed the age when a woman, unknowingly, yearns to stay up nights, swaddle, rock and coo. Hence she headed for the childrens home, hoping to meet a three or fouryearold tot who could become her own flesh and blood.

Riding the old red tram through the streets of Manchester, she felt the flutter of nerves as though she were on a first date, and she paid little heed to the spring that was finally unfurling over the citysoft, chilled, yet bright with an impossible sun. The tram clattered over the bends, and Evelyns thoughts swirled around the child she imagined, a child already born into the world yet still unaware that fate had earmarked him for her.

Outside the tram, the city bustled: motorcars glimmered in the early light, people hurried to unknown destinations. None of them knew that Evelyn was on her way to meet her own happiness. She turned her gaze toward the window, but even the view beyond escaped her; she was already smiling at the future son she would soon meet.

The stop was aptly named Childrens Home. She stepped out and was met by a weathered manor, its oncewhite columns now flaking and painted in a drab camouflage, as if to hide it from an invisible foe. Inside, a guard directed her to the matrons office.

The matron was an elderly woman, draped in a threadbare cardigan, her hair a grey halo. Though unkempt, her eyes betrayed a life wellspent in this place. Their conversation was brief; they had spoken the night before on the telephone.

Shall we go choose? the matron asked, rising from her seat.

Obediently, Evelyn followed. Down a long corridor lined with darkblue panels, the matron called over her shoulder, The younger group is out playing, so well go there. She pushed open the door and they stepped inside together.

About fifteen childrenboys and girlsfrolicked on a carpeted floor beside rows of toy cupboards. A caretaker sat at a window table, occasionally looking up to keep watch. As soon as the adults entered, the youngsters swarmed them, clutching at ankles, lifting faces, and shouting in unison:

This is my mum! Over here!
No, I know my mum! I dreamed of her last night!
Take me! Im your daughter!

The matron absentmindedly patted the childrens heads, whispering short notes about each one to Evelyn, who found herself bewilderedshe needed a child, any child.

All eyes eventually fell on a quiet boy perched on a little stool by the window. He had not approached the adults; instead, he turned his head and stared out at the familiar street scene. Something about him drew Evelyn forward. She knelt and placed a gentle hand upon his head.

From beneath her palm peered small, slightly slanted eyes of an indeterminate hue, set in a cheeky face with a broad nose and faint, light eyebrows. He was nothing like the picture Evelyn had painted in her mind. As if confirming her doubts, the child said, You wont pick me anyway.

He stared hungrily at the unfamiliar woman, as though pleading for something else.

Why say that, lad? Evelyn asked, keeping her hand there.

Because Im always a bit runnynosed and I get sick a lot, he replied. And I have a little sister, Nell, in the baby group. Every day I run to her and rub her head so she remembers Im her older brother. My names Victor, and I wont go anywhere without Nell.

At that moment, a thin stream of snot escaped his nose, the result of the tension hed just spoken of.

Evelyn realized then that she had spent her whole life waiting for a snotty Victor, a boy who often fell ill, and for his sister Nella child she had never met yet already loved. The poundstrewn streets of Manchester seemed to echo that quiet revelation, and she knew that, after all these years, the warmth she had saved was finally finding its home.