Page 67 of The Cost of Love

“Great.” Sitting up eagerly, my hands loosen.

“I have to say, you’re a lot younger than I thought you would be.”

I’m not surprised by her observation. Every time I meet one of the children’s teachers for the first time, they think I’m playing at being a guardian, or ask what my skin routine is.

“I got the kids when I was nineteen and have had them for four years. I know I’m young, but I’m capable.”

She looks down at a paper and smiles before meeting my eyes again. “You are supporting them with two jobs and child benefit, right?” I nod. “Typically, when kids are removed from the home, it’s with the intention of eventually reuniting them with the parents.” I go to speak, and she holds up a hand. “However, you were granted guardianship, and you are family, so this will work in your favor.”

“So I have a chance?” Hope sings in my voice. Too hesitant to smile, I feel a sense of relief that this isn’t a lost cause.

“It would have been better if your mother hadn’t shown that she is, in their definition, competent, but she did pass their action plan.”

Still unsure how that is possible, the part of me that is scared that I will lose them hopes that she is actually better now. No matter what, though, I know I’m what’s best for my siblings.

“I don’t get how she did this.”

“She reached out months ago asking how she could regain custody, and they provided her with steps. She was already clean, so they asked her to take parenting classes, secure a place to live, and get a job.”

The fact that I can’t find a place but she did astonishes me. Then again, no one is more resourceful than someone who has been able to fund their addiction all while having no job. I have seen my mother scrounge her way through life with her manipulation and scheming since I was five. She learned how to work the system to her advantage and is still doing it to this day.

I’m at least grateful that our phone call isn’t what set this event into motion. She clearly had been planning this long before she reached out to me. If only I could understand why she is so determined to have them back. We have always been more work than we’re worth to her. Much like with Alex’s parents, love is not in her vocabulary.

“What you will need to do is show that you have a stable home, both financially and emotionally. It’s better if you can support them on one income and aren’t working as many hours. They need to see that you have both the means and the time to be there for them.”

Yet all she needed to show was that she had gotten a good grade in the basics of having children.

I secured us a place to live, but I can’t support them without my two jobs. Even with the help we get from the government, we are scraping by. I deflate in my chair, my hands shaking. The bar is so high for me, and I have been jumping for years to get over it. One conversation with her and they lower it enough that she can just take a step.

“Will me testifying about my own childhood help? She is my mother, too.”

Telling Alex my stories has brought up so many memories I have tried to repress. Things that have pushed me to do everything in my power to get them. I was her first child, and on top of every mistake normal parents make, she made a million more. What I went through has to count for something.

“That will help. You aren’t a stranger speaking to her character. I will try to get the records from your childhood as well. Maybe if we show this is a continued pattern, they will be less likely to repeat it.”

I already know that those papers won’t show everything, yet I feel ashamed that I have to show other people my past. Alex didn’t pity me when I told him, or look at me differently, since that day. But the questions they may ask will bring up stuff I have even kept from the kids.

I’ll bear it all if it means they stay with me.

“That’s all I have to discuss with you today, but we will meet a few more times before we go to court.” She gets up and shakes my hand before escorting me out of the office.

I try to hold myself together until I get to my apartment, but find myself fighting tears on the tube. All of this feels so hopeless, and this is just the beginning. It’s only uphill from here, and I need to carry them on my shoulders. At least now I’m not alone.

I let myself wallow for a few days before I jump back into action. With a checklist of things I need to accomplish, it starts by getting just one job. Which is why I have spent my last sixty quid on ingredients meant to change Chef Tomas’s mind.

Slapping the container in front of him now, I can’t hold back my excitement about what I have accomplished.

“What’s this?” He lifts the lid and sniffs the steam still billowing up from the heat of it.

“Cajun smoked salmon pasta with handmade noodles.” I hand him a fork and lean back, crossing my arms.

Hesitantly looking between me and the dish, he shrugs before taking a bite. Watching him chew slowly has to be in the top ten of my most nerve-racking moments. Time slows to a snail’s pace, and I hold my breath the whole time.

Not saying a word, he scoops up more food and takes a second bite. When he smiles, I finally inhale.

“Grab a hairnet. I’m interviewing you right now.” He passes the container back to Jorge, his sous chef, before grabbing a chopping board.

“Bruv, this is good,” Jorge says as I run to go and put my stuff away.