‘I want to go through with the adoption,’ I told her.
They tried to stop me. I had endless meetings and consultations; even the other mothers tried to talk me out of it. But the bottom line was this: I wanted Charlie to be safe. I wanted him to have a good life – a great life, even – and he couldn’t have that with me.
I lay awake at night with the guitar riff that had started when Janice caught me, reverberating over and over like a scream. No drug they tried me on made anything bearable, and all I could do with Charlie was cry, and tell him I was sorry.
My heart burned with self-loathing. It shrunk to a small hard mass, and, when the staff finally accepted I was giving Charlie to Janice and Jeremy, it shattered.
I suspected then that it would never heal, and it didn’t.
Chapter Forty-Three
DIARY OF JANICE ROTHSCHILD
December 7th,
2000 Our baby boy’s here! He’s home!
No curtain call comes close to this feeling. I’m mad with love and joy and excitement and terror and exhaustion and adrenalin – even if Charlie sleeps tonight, there’s no way I will. WE HAVE A BABY! Our perfect boy!
David of course v happy about ‘this little plan’， already signed the foster papers. Was anxious about what might happen when he met C, but he popped round earlier and although obviously thought C was cute, I didn’t see so much as a second of recognition, or uncertainty – nothing. Just drank champagne, talked bollocks and left. Classic D.
God, though. The handover = awful. I wasn’t expecting to see E but she handed him over herself. I suppose there isn’t a rulebook for a situation as unusual as this, but still – was harrowing. She couldn’t catch her breath. Kept kissing his head, smelling his hair, trying to breathe. Was sobbing by the time she made it to the door. Just dreadful. So much guilt, and E’s nurse Shazia was super shitty with us, which didn’t help. Not sure why. E begged us to take him, what were we supposed to do?
Right until the end, kept expecting her to run out screaming that she’d changed her mind. Didn’t happen, of course, but we did get papped.
Fuckers. J says no paper could print the pics because Charlie’s a minor, but I’m worried. If they do get printed, they’ll ask me about postnatal psychiatric illness in press interviews for EVER. What would I say?
So many variables. So much guilt. Keep thinking about E. Beyond limits of my imagination to envision how she must be feeling. Feeling unable to bring him up. Handing him over to someone else. But then I remember that awful, awful day, and I know she’s done the right thing. For all of us.
4am
Haven’t slept. I’m frightened now. I keep checking my phone in case she rings to say she wants him back. Nothing to stop her doing that. The law is on her side right up until the court order is signed, and that could be more than a year away.
Not sure I can do this. Live with this much fear.
December 12th
A female ‘journalist’ called me today. Told me they had photos of me leaving a mother and baby unit and were planning to run a story. Would I like to talk?
Was another moment I’ll never forget. The moment a woman blackmailed another woman over her postnatal mental health.
J’s been trying to shut them down all afternoon but the paper and its shitty little lawyers were ready for us – they’re adamant that they’re going to print.
December 15th
The ‘story’ is no more than a photo of us leaving the unit, with a caption that reads, ‘Jeremy and Janice Rothschild leaving a mother and baby unit, for mothers suffering perinatal psychiatric disorders, earlier this month.’ The photo is so big it takes up most of the page.