Copyright

Certain details in this story, including names, places and dates, have been changed to protect the family’s privacy.

HarperElement

An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

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London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published by HarperElement 2018

FIRST EDITION

© Cathy Glass 2018

Cover layout design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2018

Cover photograph © Elly De Vries/Arcangel (posed by model)

A catalogue record of this book is available from the British Library

Cathy Glass asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work

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Source ISBN: 9780008275891

Ebook Edition © February 2018 ISBN: 9780008275938

Version: 2019-06-14

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Acknowledgements

Anna’s Story

PART I: THE PARENTS’ STORY

Chapter One: Lana

Chapter Two: Another Chance?

Chapter Three: Anxious

Chapter Four: Anastasia

Chapter Five: Shocked and Saddened

Chapter Six: Lana’s Bear

Chapter Seven: Time Apart

Chapter Eight: Return

Chapter Nine: Court Hearing

Chapter Ten: All New

Chapter Eleven: Exhausted

Chapter Twelve: Another Worry

Chapter Thirteen: Good Girl

Chapter Fourteen: Settling In

Chapter Fifteen: Bad Parenting?

PART II: ANNA ARRIVES AT CATHY’S

Chapter Sixteen: Foster Care

Chapter Seventeen: First Night

Chapter Eighteen: I Haven’t Got a Home

Chapter Nineteen: Memories

Chapter Twenty: Bad at Home

Chapter Twenty-One: Review

Chapter Twenty-Two: Frightened of Her Daughter

Chapter Twenty-Three: Save a Child

Chapter Twenty-Four: A Family Torn Apart

Chapter Twenty-Five: Ian

Chapter Twenty-Six: Missing Her

Chapter Twenty-Seven: Bad Ending

Chapter Twenty-Eight: A Long Way from Home

Suggested topics for reading-group discussion

Cathy Glass

If you loved this book …

Moving Memoirs eNewsletter

About the Publisher

Acknowledgements

A big thank you to my family; my editors, Carolyn and Holly; my literary agent, Andrew; my UK publishers HarperCollins, and my overseas publishers who are now too numerous to list by name. Last, but definitely not least, a big thank you to my readers for your unfailing support and kind words. They are much appreciated.

Anna’s Story

Some stories have to wait to be told to gain the full picture and a better understanding of what happened. Anna’s story is one of them.

PART I

THE PARENTS’ STORY

Chapter One

Lana

Although the children weren’t babies, they appeared as helpless as the day they were born. Dressed only in nappies and ragged T-shirts, they were sitting or lying on the hard floors, or incarcerated in their cots. Their large eyes stared out blankly from emaciated faces. Some children were obviously disabled, others not, but all were badly undernourished and clearly developmentally delayed. The four rooms in the orphanage were hot and airless in the middle of summer. Flies circled around the broken ceiling fans and buzzed against the grids covering the windows. The only toys in any of the rooms were a few balls and a handful of building bricks, but no child played with them. And the silence was deafening and unnatural. Not one of the thirty or so infants cried, let alone spoke.

‘This nice one,’ the care worker said in broken English, pausing at a cot containing a Down’s syndrome boy. ‘He no give you trouble.’

Elaine looked with renewed horror at the child rocking back and forth in the cot. A few wisps of fair hair covered his otherwise bald head, open sores bled on his lips and his face was so pale it was doubtful he had ever felt the sunlight. He stared blankly into the distance. Elaine went to speak to him but the care worker was already moving briskly to the next cot. ‘Or this one,’ she said, tapping the metal bars of the cot and ignoring the fact that the child had been sick.

Elaine fought back tears and looked to her husband to say something.

Ian cleared his throat. The care worker – a large, brusque woman – seemed to be in charge. He didn’t know what role she played and didn’t want to upset her and risk their chance of a child. ‘I’m sorry, we don’t understand,’ he said, almost apologetically. ‘We were supposed to adopt a particular child. She’s called Lana. We have a photograph of her here in our paperwork.’ He went to unclip his briefcase.

The care worker tapped his arm. ‘No. No. Lana, that baby dead. You choose another baby. We have plenty.’

Elaine’s hand shot to her mouth. ‘Dead? When?’ she cried.

‘We weren’t told,’ Ian said.

The care worker shrugged. ‘You on plane.’

‘She died yesterday?’ Elaine asked, horrified.

‘Maybe too late to tell you. You choose another baby. Plenty. Over here.’ She led the way to another cot on the far side of the room.

‘I want to go,’ Elaine said, taking Ian’s arm.

‘We are leaving,’ he said to the care worker, who was waiting for them by the cot.

‘You come here and see baby. Talk to it.’

‘No!’ Elaine cried.

‘You no want baby?’ the care worker asked, a mixture of incredulity and impatience.

‘Not like this,’ Ian said. ‘We came here for Lana and you tell us she is dead. We are very upset.’

‘But you can choose another baby,’ she said, as though they were in the wrong.

‘No,’ Ian said firmly. ‘We can’t.’

‘Suit yourself,’ she said, clearly offended. Leaving the cot, she headed out of the room and towards the main door, a bunch of keys jangling at her hip. They followed. ‘Lots of other parents come here and take our babies,’ she snapped.

‘But not us,’ Ian said, annoyed.

They waited while she unlocked the door. Ian hung back as Elaine stepped outside. ‘Where’s the doctor we’ve been dealing with?’ he asked. ‘He was supposed to meet us here.’

The care worker shrugged, either not understanding or refusing to answer.

‘Dr Ciobanu,’ Ian tried again. ‘We spoke to him on the phone. Is he here?’

She shook her head. ‘You go now. I’m busy.’

‘You tell him we came?’ he said, but she pushed at his arm, signalling for him to leave.

Ian and Elaine stepped outside and the large metal door clanged shut behind them. A lone child screamed from inside.

Elaine burst into tears and Ian put his arm around her. ‘I don’t believe it,’ she sobbed. ‘All this time, working towards the adoption, and that heartless woman tells us our baby is dead.’ Although they’d never met little Lana, they’d felt a bond with her ever since they’d first received her details and photograph, and considered her their daughter. This was supposed to have been the final stage in the adoption process that had begun nearly two years before and had included a detailed social worker’s report, references, medicals, and endless form filling and expectation. Today they should have met Lana for the first time, given the doctor their paperwork and signed the forms for court. And while they waited for the court hearing they would have visited Lana each day, loving her more and more. But that had all come to an abrupt and distressing end. Their baby had died.

Ian gently guided his wife to the taxi they had waiting.

‘No baby?’ the taxi driver asked, seeing their faces as they got into the back.

‘No. The baby died,’ Ian replied, his voice shaking with emotion.

‘Oh dear. It happens in this country,’ the driver said matter-of-factly. ‘Many babies die here.’

Ian nodded as Elaine wiped her eyes. They knew about the high infant mortality rate and the shocking conditions in some of the state-run orphanages that had contributed to their decision to adopt from this country.

The driver glanced at them in the rear-view mirror, started the car and pulled away. ‘I find you a healthy baby,’ he said. ‘My cousin knows a lady who finds couples babies. You no worry. She find one for you, and she very cheap.’

‘That’s kind of you, but no thank you,’ Ian said politely. They’d been warned about these types of arrangements by other couples who had adopted from this country. There were many parents on the internet who were happy to share their experiences of international adoption to help others. While not always illegal, these private adoptions were fraught with problems, and money was demanded at each stage of the process. Yet ironically they’d followed the correct procedure and look where it had got them!

‘You think about it,’ the driver said. ‘I give you my telephone number when we stop.’

‘OK,’ Ian said, without the strength to protest.

The air conditioning in the reception of their three-star hotel was a welcome relief after the heat outside. Ian and Elaine, desperate to be alone, caught the lift straight up to their room on the third floor. The maid had been in and everything was clean and tidy and the bed made. It was such a stark contrast to the poverty outside that Elaine felt a familiar stab of guilt.

‘I don’t think we’re meant to have children,’ she said, utterly defeated and sitting on the bed.

Ian sighed and poured himself a glass of water from the flask that was refreshed daily. ‘I don’t know,’ he said, as dejected as his wife. ‘I expected to face some hurdles, most of those we’ve been talking to who adopted from here did, but I never imagined this. To arrive and be told our child is dead, and then be shown other children, is heartless beyond belief.’

‘Do you think what she’s doing is legal?’ Elaine asked.

‘Who knows?’

‘Those poor children. She kept calling them babies but they weren’t. Some of them could have been six or seven, and most of them were disabled.’

‘I suppose they are the ones no one wants to adopt,’ Ian said sadly. ‘That care worker probably thought as Lana had died we’d be desperate and grateful for any child.’

‘I feel awful but I really can’t take on a disabled child. I told our social worker that right at the beginning.’ Her voice caught. ‘I’m just not cut out for it.’

‘I know, love, me neither. We’ve been honest, and it wasn’t fair to put us in that position.’ He sat beside her on the bed and rested his head back, exhausted.

They were having to deal with so many emotions: bereavement, shock, disappointment and anger. At forty-two and thirty-eight respectively, this had been Ian and Elaine’s last chance of a family. Elaine was infertile, IVF had failed, and they were considered too old to adopt a baby or very young child in their own country, the UK.

‘I think we should just go home and forget about it,’ Elaine said, leaning her head on Ian’s shoulder.

‘Yes, I agree. But I’m going to speak to that Dr Ciobanu first and tell him what I think. I don’t want other couples going through what we have.’

Half an hour later, when Ian felt up to it, he telephoned the orphanage but was told by a care worker that Dr Ciobanu wasn’t there, so he left a message (which he wasn’t sure the care worker understood), saying he’d call back later. After two hours, having heard nothing, Ian tried again and was told bluntly, ‘No doctor.’ But later that evening, with plans to change their flights to the following day so they could return home as soon as possible, they received a phone call from Dr Ciobanu.

Ian steeled himself to say what he had to; he wasn’t an aggressive man and avoided confrontation, but this needed to be said. Yet before he had a chance, Dr Ciobanu said, ‘Mr Hudson, I’m sorry I wasn’t there to meet you today but my wife was taken to hospital.’

Thrown, Ian said, ‘Oh, I see. I hope it’s nothing serious.’

‘It wasn’t, thank you. A funny turn. She is home now. If you come to the orphanage tomorrow morning you can meet your child.’

‘I don’t understand,’ Ian said, shocked and confused. ‘We were told our baby was dead.’ Elaine moved closer to the handset so she, too, could hear.

‘Yes, Lana died,’ the doctor said evenly. ‘She was a sickly baby so perhaps it was for the best that it happened here, rather than when you got home. I have another child. She is not sickly. You come here tomorrow and I will arrange it.’ Ian glanced at Elaine, not knowing what to say. ‘You come tomorrow and we go ahead,’ he repeated. Taken completely unawares, Ian looked at Elaine for direction. ‘You come here tomorrow at eleven and meet Anastasia. Now I have to go to my wife. Good night.’ The line went dead.

Chapter Two

Another Chance?

Elaine and Ian were up most of that night discussing what had happened and what they should do. Prior to the doctor’s phone call they’d decided to bring forward their flight and return home childless, yet now they were being offered the chance of another child, reigniting their hopes of having a family of their own. They were calmer now but still had big concerns. This new child, Anastasia, had appeared very quickly, and with no background information they were imagining all sorts of horrifying scenarios, including that she could have been abducted from her natural family or the parents might have been put under pressure or even paid to give her up. Yet while the care worker they’d seen the day before probably didn’t have the authority to find them another child, Dr Ciobanu certainly did. He was a recognized professional in the adoption process in this country and had been recommended to them by other couples who had successfully adopted through him.

Ian and Elaine talked themselves round in circles. They knew nothing about Anastasia, yet other couples had told them not to place too much emphasis on any details given before they’d seen the child, especially the child’s birthday. Record keeping was haphazard in this country, and if a woman gave birth in a remote village it could take her weeks to register the child or get to the orphanage. Also, children going for adoption were portrayed in the best possible light, as developing countries such as this one relied on international adoption to take their orphaned and abandoned children. There was a lot to consider, but in the early hours they decided they would visit Dr Ciobanu as he’d asked and at least hear what he had to say about Anastasia, and take it from there.

‘Perhaps it will be all right,’ Elaine said hopefully as she finally drifted off to sleep.

‘Whatever the outcome, I will always love you,’ Ian replied.

They were awake again at 5 a.m., showered and dressed, and then went down for breakfast as soon as the restaurant opened at 6.30 a.m. On the way through the lobby Ian stopped off at reception and booked a cab to pick them up at 10.30. The hotel had been recommended by Dr Ciobanu and the cab firm it used had experience of ferrying couples who were adopting.

There were only four others in the restaurant having breakfast at that time, all businessmen in suits. The hotel had thirty rooms, and although it had been recommended by the doctor, as far as Elaine and Ian knew they were the only would-be adopters staying at present. Some of the staff knew why they were there, and when they’d checked in the receptionist had said she would arrange for a cot to be put in their room once the adoption had gone through.

Unsurprisingly, Elaine had little appetite that morning and only managed half a croissant and a cup of coffee. Ian, who showed his anxiety in different ways, had scrambled eggs on toast, but kept checking his phone and nervously straightening the napkin on his lap. Neither of them spoke. Not only were they exhausted from the emotion of the day before and too little sleep, but there was also nothing left to say. Either they still had a chance of adopting or they’d return home as they’d arrived – a couple and not a family.

During breakfast an email came through to Ian’s phone from one of the families they’d got to know online who were also going through the process of adopting. They were eager to know how the meeting with Lana had gone. ‘I’ll reply later,’ Ian said. ‘I can’t face it now.’

After breakfast, they returned to their hotel room and tried to read the books they’d brought with them, but concentrating was near impossible. At 10.20 they were in the lobby waiting for the cab. They knew that little happened on time in this country – sometimes it happened earlier but more often late. The cab arrived at 10.40; not the same driver as the day before but he knew why they were there. Elaine and Ian would have liked to be left to their thoughts during the journey, but the driver was chatty and direct.

‘You going to adopt?’ he asked almost as soon as they got in.

‘We’re not sure,’ Ian replied.

‘Why not?’ He glanced in the rear-view mirror, puzzled. Elaine moved out of his line of vision so she didn’t have to talk.

‘Our baby was very sick and died,’ Ian said.

‘Oh. I’m sorry. They find you another one?’

‘Possibly.’

‘Boy or girl?’

‘Girl,’ Ian said.

‘I have children, a boy and a girl,’ the driver continued amicably as he drove. ‘You meet your child today?’

‘Maybe, we don’t know yet,’ Ian replied. Elaine gazed out of her side window. Although international adoption was well known in this country, it was still a source of interest to the locals, possibly because adoption wasn’t part of their culture, hence all the state-run orphanages. They didn’t adopt or foster and didn’t really understand why anyone would.

‘Many couples adopt from here,’ the driver said as he drove.

‘Yes, I know,’ Ian agreed.

‘This is your first trip here?’

‘Yes.’

‘Some couples come back two, three times to adopt. They must like our children a lot.’ He grinned and Ian met his gaze in the mirror with a polite smile. ‘I take one couple three times to orphanages,’ he continued. ‘They from America. They adopt brothers and sisters. Six in all! Very good people with lots of money.’

Ian nodded. ‘But we don’t have lots of money. We saved up to make this trip.’

‘You good people too.’

Yet while it was a strain having to make conversation, hearing about successful adoptions was heartening and proof that the system did work. Perhaps they had just been very unlucky and it would work out in the end. Perhaps.

It was 11.15 when the cab pulled up in the lane outside the orphanage. Ian opened the door to get out. ‘You wait here?’ he asked the driver.

‘Yes. No rush. Very important you spend time with your child.’

There wasn’t a meter running – cab journeys were quoted in advance and included any waiting time. Elaine joined Ian in front of the high metal gate as the driver wound down his window and lit up a cigarette. A wire-netting fence ran all around the perimeter of the orphanage, with a patch of land separating it from the building. This strip of land would have made a good outside children’s play area had it not been so badly overgrown. Ian rattled the metal gate – the only way of attracting attention, as there wasn’t a bell – and they waited. There’d been some rain in the night, and although the sun wasn’t out the humidity had risen. Elaine knocked away a fly.

‘They come soon,’ the driver said, and sounded his car horn.

The door to the orphanage opened and the care worker who’d dealt with them the day before came out, keys on the short chain at her waist. Elaine took a deep breath. She really didn’t like the woman. Without acknowledging them, the care worker nodded to the driver and unlocked the gate. ‘Thank you,’ Ian said, and they waited just inside while she locked the gate. They then followed her up the cracked cement path and in through the main door, which again she locked behind them.

‘You wait here,’ she said brusquely, and disappeared down the corridor, her shoes clipping heavily on the hard, tiled floor. A solitary child screamed in the distance and Ian threw Elaine a reassuring smile.

A few minutes later Dr Ciobanu appeared from the corridor. Although they’d never met him, they recognized him from his photograph online. In his mid-forties, of average height and build, he was wearing a dark suit with an open-neck shirt.

‘Pleased to meet you,’ he said pleasantly and, smiling, shook Elaine’s hand, then Ian’s. ‘So you decided to give me another chance?’ Ian nodded awkwardly. ‘No worries,’ he said, clapping Ian on the arm. ‘Come through to my office and we can talk.’

His office overlooked the front of the orphanage, and through the window they could see their cab waiting in the lane. Dr Ciobanu motioned for them to sit down. The room was small and cramped, with an old wooden table acting as a desk in the centre, and three chairs. Filing cabinets lined one wall and a fan stood on top of one beside an open bottle of water. ‘Would you like a drink?’ the doctor offered, going to the bottle.

‘No, thank you,’ they both said politely. The bottle would very likely have been refilled with tap water, and while this was safe for locals to drink – they’d built up a resistance to its bacteria – it upset foreigners’ stomachs.

Placing his tumbler of water on the table, Dr Ciobanu opened the top drawer of a filing cabinet and removed a folder. ‘Your paperwork,’ he said, returning to sit behind the table. He carefully opened the file before him. Elaine and Ian saw the top page was their initial application sent a year ago, with passport-sized photographs of both of them.

‘I have the rest of the paperwork you need in my briefcase,’ Ian said.

Dr Ciobanu nodded and then, folding his arms, leaned forward in earnest. ‘I am sorry you were disappointed yesterday. It is not good practice to have a couple arrive and find the child is no longer with us. It is a pity I could not be here to tell you personally. We are very short-staffed and my two care workers have no time for breaking bad news gently.’ He threw them a knowing smile and Ian, at least, started to relax.

‘As I said last night on the phone,’ the doctor continued, ‘Lana was a very sick baby. We did our best to save her but it wasn’t enough. She died peacefully in her sleep.’

‘What was the matter with her?’ Elaine asked, her voice slight.

‘She wouldn’t feed, something wrong in her gut, but you needn’t worry about that. We have to look to your future.’ His gaze went from one to the other, gauging their reaction, and Ian nodded. ‘I do not have a photograph yet of Anastasia. She has only just been given up for adoption. But she is healthy and you can see her shortly. Her mother works abroad a lot, as many single women here have to. She has been leaving her with us since she was a baby. Now the mother has met a man who is going to marry her, so she will be leaving this country for good for a better life.’

‘And she can’t take her child with her?’ Elaine asked, horrified.

‘No. It happens,’ Dr Ciobanu said matter-of-factly. ‘The man may not even know she has a child. The mother believes her daughter will be better off here in the orphanage, as many parents in this country do.’ He sighed with exasperation, as though he didn’t agree with this. ‘I will explain to the mother that her daughter will have a better life being adopted by you, rather than being left here.’

‘So the child isn’t free for adoption yet?’ Ian asked.

‘No, but she soon will be. I will speak to the mother today and get her to sign the forms, which I will take to the court personally.’ Elaine and Ian knew that this wasn’t so unusual. Part of the doctor’s role was as an adoption facilitator – arranging and completing the formalities of adoption as well as advising the adopters on procedure. ‘The court will set a hearing date and once the adoption has gone through you will be issued with a new birth certificate, passport and visa for the child.’ This was standard and what would have happened with Lana’s adoption had she lived.

‘How long will all this take if we decide to go ahead?’ Ian asked. ‘With Lana we were already a long way through the process. It would have been completed in three to four weeks. I have to work; we can’t stay here indefinitely.’ He hoped this didn’t sound abrupt but they had to be practical.

The doctor gave a small shrug. ‘It shouldn’t take too long. The legal system in this country can run slowly at times, but I will do everything in my power to speed things up.’ Which didn’t really tell them much.

‘How old is the child?’ Elaine finally thought to ask, overwhelmed.

‘Two and a quarter,’ the doctor said, glancing at a handwritten note tucked into their file. ‘Don’t worry, I will make sure you have all the correct paperwork for her, including a medical.’

‘She’s a lot older than Lana,’ Elaine said.

‘Yes, but she is strong and healthy. Why don’t you come and meet her? I am sure you will be happy.’ Dr Ciobanu immediately stood. He was used to having his word acted on, although he came across as caring. Ian and Elaine knew he only charged the minimum for his services, while some adoption facilitators were growing rich on the proceeds of international adoption, although no money reached the natural parents. It was illegal to give them anything – gifts or money.

Elaine’s heart missed a beat as she tucked her hand into Ian’s and they followed Dr Ciobanu out of his office. Could it possibly be? The moment they’d anticipated, worked towards and dreamed of for so long? Was it possible that after all the ups and downs and disappointments, they were going to meet a child who could be theirs? Ian’s hand tightened in hers and Elaine knew he was as nervous as she was.

Chapter Three

Anxious

‘Anastasia!’ Dr Ciobanu announced brightly, leading them to a cot in the second nursery room. Ian and Elaine met the child’s inquisitive gaze with a mixture of awe and apprehension. Clearly not a baby, but an apparently healthy, bouncing child with personality and gusto. She was pulling on the bars of the cot as though demanding to be let out, and was so different to the nine-month-old baby they’d come to adopt, it took them a minute to adjust.

‘Say hello to your new mummy and daddy,’ Dr Ciobanu told her.

Anastasia babbled something in her own language.

‘What did she say?’ Elaine asked.

‘It was just baby talk,’ the doctor replied. ‘Don’t worry, she will quickly learn English and forget her life here.’

‘Hello,’ Elaine said tentatively, taking a step closer to the cot. Ian joined her. Anastasia looked at them and they looked back. It was one of the most touching and surreal moments of their lives as they were presented with this little stranger who could shortly become their daughter. ‘Why is she in a cot?’ Elaine asked, without taking her gaze from Anastasia.

‘To keep her safe,’ Dr Ciobanu replied. ‘She is an active child and would be gone from here given the chance.’

‘I don’t blame her,’ Ian quipped, which helped ease the tension.

‘I’ll get her out and you can see how active she is,’ Dr Ciobanu said. Reaching over the cot side, he lifted out the child and set her on the floor. As soon as her bare feet touched the ground she made a dash for the exit. Dr Ciobanu called out something in her language and she stopped. ‘You mustn’t go out. It’s not safe,’ he repeated to her in English. She threw him an almost defiant look, but it was so quaint on the face of a cherubic two-year-old that they all laughed.

She was like a life-sized porcelain doll, Elaine thought, with her pale skin, clear blue eyes and fair hair, and wearing a little floral dress that was really far too small. But she did look healthy and robust, which was so important after what had happened to poor little Lana. Moving away from the door, Anastasia went to the closest cot and, peering through the bars, began talking to the child. He was very disabled and lay motionless on his back, staring up at the ceiling, his misshapen limbs jutting out at odd angles.

‘He’s blind and deaf,’ Dr Ciobanu said with a heartfelt sigh. ‘We do what we can, but …’ He left the sentence unfinished.

It was as heartbreaking now for Elaine and Ian to see these children as it had been the day before. Although they hadn’t been in this room, it was similar to the others, and the majority of the children in the cots seemed to have a severe physical and/or mental disability. Elaine felt a pang of guilt for wanting a healthy child, but she knew her limitations – she couldn’t cope with a badly disabled child. That took a very special person. For some moments they watched, spellbound, as Anastasia went from cot to cot, babbling to the infants in her own language and gently stroking their foreheads or holding their hands through the bars. Only a few responded by shifting their gaze to her; most lay unresponsive and continued to stare blankly into space as though they weren’t aware she was even there.

‘Can we take Anastasia outside and play ball for a while?’ Elaine asked. The room was oppressive.

‘Possibly tomorrow,’ Dr Ciobanu said. ‘Today is just for you to meet her. I will speak to the mother and then you can come back tomorrow and play with Anastasia.’ Which they had to accept, and it seemed reasonable that the doctor would want to speak to the mother first to gain her consent to start the adoption process. ‘Don’t worry,’ he said, clapping Ian on the shoulder. ‘All will be well, I promise you.’

They continued to watch Anastasia for a while longer as she went from cot to cot. How Elaine would have loved to pick her up and carry her home there and then, for the bonding process had begun and she was already feeling protective towards her.

Dr Ciobanu made a move to go. ‘So you come back tomorrow,’ he said.

‘Yes, of course. What time?’ Ian asked.

‘I’ll phone you in the morning in your hotel room to let you know.’ He then called down the corridor for a care worker. ‘Anastasia can stay out of her cot for now,’ he said to them. ‘She can help. She likes to help.’

A different care worker appeared, but seemed no less harsh and abrasive in her manner than the other one. Dr Ciobanu said something to her in their own language and then called Anastasia, presumably to go with the care worker. Anastasia pretended not to hear and stayed by the cot. ‘Now, please,’ the doctor said firmly, then repeated it in her own language. Anastasia dutifully turned and went over to the care worker. Elaine’s heart clenched.

‘Goodbye, love,’ she called after her. ‘See you tomorrow.’ But Anastasia didn’t reply, because of course she hadn’t understood.

‘You can teach her English when you visit,’ Dr Ciobanu said, beginning towards the door. ‘She will learn quickly. She is bright.’

‘Yes,’ Ian agreed, much happier now.

Anastasia and the care worker were already out of sight as the doctor led the way to the main door. ‘Do you want our paperwork now?’ Ian asked, having brought it with them in his briefcase.

‘Tomorrow will do. We have plenty of time.’

‘But not too long, I hope,’ Ian said.

The doctor smiled. ‘Don’t worry. You enjoy your stay here, see some of our beautiful country and let me take care of the rest.’ He unlocked the door and they followed him down the path, where he let them out of the main gate, saying hello to their cab driver.

‘So you’ll phone us tomorrow morning to let us know what time we have to come?’ Ian confirmed. He would have liked a firm time but had to accept that things ran differently in this country.

‘Of course.’ Dr Ciobanu shook their hands and then returned inside as Elaine and Ian climbed into the back of the cab.

‘You look happier,’ the driver said.

‘We are,’ Ian replied, taking Elaine’s hand.

‘You met your daughter?’ the driver asked, starting the engine.

‘We did,’ they chimed. For although they hadn’t actually had that conversation, they both instinctively knew that to adopt Anastasia was the right decision. They were beside themselves with joy.

The driver dropped them off at their hotel and they went briefly to their room to freshen up, then had a light lunch in the hotel, including a glass of wine to celebrate. While they ate, Ian messaged those who knew they were there and were waiting for news, telling them only that they had met their daughter and everything was fine. They would fill in the details about Lana’s passing and Anastasia when they returned home. For now, this was the update their friends were waiting for, and his and Elaine’s phones buzzed with messages of congratulations and good luck.

They spent the afternoon walking around the local area, gazing into shop windows and down side alleys, and visiting the street market. They took lots of photographs. Although it was their first visit to the country, they’d read up about it and researched online and wanted pictures of the area to show Anastasia when she was older. The social worker who’d assessed them for their suitability to adopt and compiled their Home Study report had emphasized how important it was for adopted children to know their roots. She said they had to be completely honest with the child from the start and recommended they compile a Life Story Book and Memory Box, which they’d already begun, having taken photographs of the departure board at the airport and saved their boarding cards. They’d take photographs of Anastasia tomorrow and, if they were allowed, of the orphanage too. They’d keep the clothes she wore here and anything else significant or of sentimental value that would help give her a better understanding of her past. Elaine had also begun a diary of their journey through the adoption process, confiding their hopes and feelings from when they’d made that first phone call enquiring about adoption. Anastasia would know as much about her past as possible, just like the social worker had said, although possibly not about Lana. She must never feel second best.

That evening, after dinner, they sat in their hotel room with a phrase book and tried to learn some of the language, but it was a very difficult language to learn and they laughed at their feeble attempts to pronounce the words. Thankfully Dr Ciobanu spoke very good English, and it was important that Anastasia learned English as soon as possible, so learning the local language for them was fun rather than necessary.

They were in bed early and slept well. Nevertheless, they were downstairs at 7 a.m. having breakfast, excited at the prospect of spending time with Anastasia, and not wanting to miss Dr Ciobanu’s phone call. As soon as they’d finished eating they returned to their room. Although Dr Ciobanu had both their mobile numbers, the network service in this country was notoriously haphazard and expensive, and they knew that most professions preferred to use landlines where possible.

The morning slowly ticked by. The maid knocked on their door to make up their room but they thanked her and told her not to bother today. The phone stayed perversely silent and by noon, when Dr Ciobanu still hadn’t called, doubt and anxiety set in.

‘He definitely said he’d phone in the morning,’ Elaine said, ‘and the morning has gone now.’

‘Perhaps he got held up or called away,’ Ian offered.

‘Or perhaps Anastasia’s mother has refused to give consent and is taking Anastasia with her,’ Elaine said, voicing her worst fears. ‘If so, I can’t go through this again, Ian. I can’t. We forget about it and go home.’

‘We don’t know that,’ Ian said, trying to be rational. ‘Let’s assume for now that no news is good news.’

Elaine wasn’t reassured. ‘Dr Ciobanu said we could visit this afternoon but before long it’s going to be too late. We can’t just sit here waiting indefinitely.’

‘But we know from other couples that there is a lot of waiting and hanging around,’ Ian reminded her.

‘But that was waiting for the court date,’ she said, irritable from worry.

‘All right, calm down. We’ll give him another hour and then I’ll phone at one o’clock.’

The hour passed, the phone didn’t ring and their unease increased.

‘Shall I phone or will you?’ Elaine snapped at 1.05.

‘I will,’ Ian said, but went to use the bathroom first.

Elaine would have liked to give Dr Ciobanu a piece of her mind for causing them all this extra stress. International adoption was emotional and fraught even when it ran smoothly. But neither she nor Ian would criticize the doctor to his face, as they were relying on him to give them what they wanted more than anything in the world – a child of their own. He could keep them waiting for as long as he wanted and they had to put up with it.

Returning from the bathroom, Ian sat beside Elaine on the edge of the bed and pressed the speaker button on the phone so they could both hear the conversation. He keyed in the number to the orphanage and to their surprise it was answered straight away by Dr Ciobanu.

‘It’s Ian Hudson,’ he said, a slight tremor in his voice.

‘Hello. How are you?’ the doctor asked jovially, apparently oblivious to the worry he’d caused them. Elaine wrung her hands in her lap.

‘We’re OK,’ Ian said. ‘But we were expecting you to phone this morning about our visit this afternoon.’

‘Yes, come here tomorrow with your paperwork.’

‘Not today?’ Ian asked.

‘No. I have a visitor from the government coming this afternoon. Tomorrow is good.’ Which again they had to accept.

‘All right. So everything went well with the mother?’

‘Yes.’

‘She has consented to the adoption?’

‘Yes, of course. You and your wife will have to learn to trust me. I know what I am doing.’

‘Yes, I’m sure you do. I’m sorry,’ Ian said quickly. ‘We’re just very anxious, having lost Lana. We couldn’t bear another loss.’

‘And you won’t have to. Come here tomorrow at two and you can spend time with your daughter.’

‘Thank you so much.’

‘You’re welcome.’

Chapter Four

Anastasia

With their confidence in Dr Ciobanu restored, and looking forward to seeing Anastasia again, Elaine and Ian passed the following morning with a visit to the local supermarket. It wasn’t a large shop but it was crammed full of every type of good imaginable, including groceries, pharmaceuticals, underwear and socks, toys, beer, hardware and numerous miscellaneous items. There was also a box of Christmas decorations, even though it was only August. They bought bottled water, and some bread and ham for their lunch, as it was too expensive to keep eating in the hotel and there weren’t any cheap restaurants or cafés close by. They also found a colouring book, crayons and a doll for Anastasia. Lana would have been too young for these – they had packed nappies, baby food and first-year toys for her, which were still in the suitcase. They’d also brought with them clothes to fit Lana that would be far too small for Anastasia. They’d have to buy more here before the adoption, as they knew the children often arrived at court only with what they stood up in.

They returned to their hotel room to eat their picnic-style lunch, and then with Elaine carrying the bag of toys for Anastasia and Ian his briefcase containing the paperwork for Dr Ciobanu, they waited in the lobby for the cab. They’d booked it for fifteen minutes earlier than it needed to be, to allow time for it being late, so in fact it arrived to collect them on time. ‘I’ve cracked it!’ Ian joked to Elaine, and she laughed conspiratorially. How much happier they were now.

It was the same driver they’d had on their first trip to the orphanage and he greeted them like long lost friends, shaking their hands warmly and asking how they were. ‘Perhaps we’re tipping him too much,’ Ian whispered to Elaine as they climbed into the cab.

But it was rather nice – reassuring – to see a familiar friendly face in a country where they knew no one and didn’t speak the language. He was eager to know what had happened since he’d last seen them, when they’d arrived at the orphanage to be told Lana was dead. Ian briefly explained about meeting the doctor and Anastasia the day before and that the adoption was going ahead. The driver was very pleased for them and didn’t seem to mind that they weren’t using the lady his cousin knew. ‘So I’ll be seeing lots of you,’ he said, for he knew the procedure. Couples usually visited the child most days while they waited for the adoption to go through.

He parked outside the orphanage, and as Ian and Elaine got out he wished them luck and confirmed he would be waiting for them when they came out – it didn’t matter how long they were. Trying to summon a cab outside the towns and cities was highly unreliable and most cab drivers were happy to wait for hours if necessary. It added a little to their income and saved the clients a lot of aggravation.

Ian rattled the gate to alert the staff to their presence and the driver gave a blast of the car horn. A few moments later Dr Ciobanu appeared.

‘Good afternoon,’ he called brightly, coming down the path. He unlocked the gate and warmly shook their hands and said hello to the driver. ‘So are we all good?’ he asked Ian and Elaine as they followed him inside.

‘Yes, thank you,’ they replied.

‘You slept well? And the hotel is comfortable?’ he asked, showing them into his office.

‘Yes, it’s fine, thank you,’ Ian said. Although staying in the hotel was purely practical. They’d been warned that the cheaper guest houses were very basic and unclean and the court wouldn’t be happy knowing the child would be taken to one of them. There would be at least a week between the adoption order being granted and the adoption papers, her passport and visa being issued. During which time Anastasia would be with them. While many children lived in far worse conditions than those found in guest houses, the courts expected better from the adoptive parents.

The orphanage was quiet as usual, and Ian and Elaine sat at the table in Dr Ciobanu’s office as he offered them a glass of water, which they politely refused. He sat opposite them, their folder and other paperwork on the table in front of him. ‘So I have spoken to Anastasia’s mother,’ he said, taking a sip of his water. ‘She has agreed to you seeing the child for an hour each day before the adoption, but she has requested you do not take her outside.’

‘OK,’ Ian said. ‘Can I ask why?’

‘It’s normal. The mothers are concerned you may abduct or harm the child.’ They nodded. ‘She has also asked that she has new clothes. Again, this is usual. She is very poor and what we have at the orphanage is basic. You have brought some with you?’

‘Yes,’ Elaine said. It was on their instruction sheet. ‘But they were for Lana. They are far too small for Anastasia. We were looking at some children’s clothes this morning at the local supermarket but they didn’t have much choice.’

‘No. I will give you the address of a proper children’s shop in town. You can go there.’ He scribbled the address on the notepad, tore it off and passed it to Elaine. ‘It’s about a twenty-minute cab ride from your hotel. The driver will know where it is.’

‘Thank you,’ Elaine said, and tucked the paper carefully into her bag.

‘The clothes you brought with you for the other child you can donate to the orphanage,’ Dr Ciobanu said. ‘We rely on donations.’

‘Yes, of course,’ Ian said, although he would have liked to have been asked rather than instructed. They both knew the doctor wasn’t being rude; it was just the way so many people in this country talked. They issued instructions rather than requests, so it could sound very curt and abrupt.

‘Give me your paperwork now, please,’ Dr Ciobanu said. ‘You have brought the originals?’

‘Yes,’ Ian said. Unclipping his briefcase, he handed the file to the doctor. In it was their Home Study report compiled over eight months by their social worker, Certificate of Eligibility to adopt, medical reports, references, bank and mortgage statements (showing they could afford to look after a child) and police checks. All of which had been notarized and translated. Ian had another complete set in his briefcase in case any went missing. Photocopies of the documents had already been sent, but the court required the originals.

They waited patiently as Dr Ciobanu turned the pages, checking everything was there. ‘Good,’ he said, flicking through the last few. ‘It seems to be in order. Now you need to sign these forms so I can process them.’ He opened the second file and placed various forms in front of them, which they both signed. They weren’t translated but Ian and Elaine knew what they were and had been expecting them. ‘Your request to adopt Anastasia,’ Dr Ciobanu confirmed, ‘and in this one you appoint me to represent you and act on your behalf.’ The last form was a donation to the orphanage and an amount equivalent to £500 had been entered. Again, this was standard and they’d been expecting it.

‘Do you want the donation now?’ Elaine asked. The doctor nodded. She opened her handbag and took out an envelope containing the local currency and passed it to him.

‘And the second payment for you arrived in your account?’ Ian asked.

‘I haven’t checked but I am sure it has,’ the doctor said. They’d had to send an initial payment for the doctor’s services when they’d first instructed him and then a second payment to cover the court fees before they arrived. But these fees were small compared to what they’d already spent at home on their Home Study, Certificate of Eligibility, notarization, medicals, etc. All in all, including accommodation and travel, they estimated they would spend in the region of £25,000 for the adoption. A lot of money to them, but obviously worth every penny.

‘So now you have time with Anastasia,’ Dr Ciobanu said. Standing, he tucked the envelope into his inside jacket pocket. ‘I will bank this later and give you a receipt. Come this way. Anastasia is in the playroom.’

Their hopes rose at the mention of a playroom, but fell again as soon as they entered the room. It was very small and mostly empty. The only furniture was a beanbag in one corner, on which Anastasia sat waiting. Beside her were a few old and broken toys.

‘Hello, love,’ Elaine said, going over and sitting beside her on the floor. Anastasia was wearing the same dress as the day before.

‘I’ll leave you to it then,’ Dr Ciobanu said. ‘Let someone know when it is time for you to go.’

‘Thank you,’ Ian said. Dr Ciobanu closed the door behind them.

‘How are you, love?’ Elaine asked gently. Ian joined them on the floor, setting his briefcase to one side.

Anastasia stared at them and then tugged at the carrier bag looped over Elaine’s arm.

‘Oh, you’d like to see what I have in here, would you?’ Elaine asked, pleased. ‘Of course. These are for you.’ She took out the doll and placed it in Anastasia’s lap. ‘Doll,’ Elaine said. ‘For Anastasia. Can you say doll? Doll.’ She knew that children learned language through imitation and repetition, but Anastasia was more interested in what else was in the carrier bag.

‘Crayons,’ Elaine said, handing her the packet of wax crayons. ‘And a colouring book.’ She set it on the floor and stuffed the empty carrier bag into her pocket. Although Anastasia was only two and a quarter, Elaine and Ian had friends with children of a similar age who managed to hold a crayon and make large swirls of different colours. But Anastasia had never seen a crayon close up before, let alone used one. She spent some moments examining the packet and then, selecting the red crayon, put it in her mouth.

‘No, love,’ Elaine said, stopping her. ‘It’s not to eat. It’s a crayon, we use it for colouring in. I’ll show you.’ She took another crayon from the packet and passed one to Ian, and together they began colouring in the first picture in the book, which was of a teddy bear wearing a spotted hat and scarf.

Anastasia watched intently for a while, then lost interest and, dropping the crayon, picked up the doll. ‘Doll,’ Elaine said. ‘You like the doll?’ Anastasia stared at them as though wondering who on earth these strangers were and why they were here.

‘It must be so difficult for her,’ Ian said. ‘I hope Dr Ciobanu has tried to explain to her what is happening.’

‘I would think he has,’ Elaine said, concentrating on Anastasia.

Suddenly Anastasia jumped up and, still holding the doll, ran to the window. Ian and Elaine followed her. The only redemptive feature of the room was a large window that looked out to the woods at the back of the orphanage. There were bars at the window and the glass was dirty, but it gave more natural light than the small grids in the nursery rooms and the view was encouraging. Anastasia reached one hand through the bars and banged on the glass with her little fist, then looked up at them imploringly. She didn’t need language to make herself understood.

‘We can’t go outside,’ Elaine said gently. ‘One day we will after we’ve been to court.’ Anastasia banged on the glass again and then held up the doll so she could have a glimpse of the outside. It was touching and upsetting. Anastasia hadn’t spent all her life in the orphanage as many of the other children had – some of it had been with her mother – so she knew a very different world lay out there. ‘Come on, let’s do some colouring,’ Elaine encouraged, but Anastasia remained glued to the window.

‘I don’t think she has been in this room before,’ Ian said. ‘She’s fascinated by the window.’

‘No,’ Elaine agreed. ‘I get the feeling she spends most of her time in that cot or helping in those so-called nurseries.’ Elaine’s eyes filled. Although they’d been aware of the conditions at these orphanages, it still hurt and angered them to see it for themselves.

‘But we mustn’t say anything,’ Ian reminded her. ‘They don’t like criticism.’ Which was one of the reasons change in social care had been slow.

Elaine bent down to Anastasia’s height. ‘We’ll take you out as soon as we can, love. We are going to visit lots and lots of places when we go home. Parks, the seaside, the zoo, activity centres and, when you are older, museums and castles. But for now we have to stay here. Let’s play with the doll.’ Elaine gently drew Anastasia from the window and to the beanbag, where she sat beside her.

It was a very basic, cheap-looking doll, but it was all the store had. Its dress was held on by Velcro and Elaine now showed Anastasia how to dress and undress the doll. Anastasia liked the tearing noise the Velcro made and spent some time sticking and unsticking it. Then she spotted Ian’s briefcase and made a grab for that.

‘Do you want to see inside?’ he asked, smiling. Anastasia tugged at the flap. ‘OK, I’ll show you, but you can’t have what’s in it. They are very important papers, about you.’

Ian unfastened the clip and allowed Anastasia to peer in, but he needn’t have worried about her wanting the papers and files – they were of no interest to a two-year-old, regardless of how important they might be. Anastasia was up again and at the window.

‘Come on and we’ll do some crayoning,’ Elaine said, going over. Anastasia tapped on the glass and looked at her imploringly again. ‘We can’t go out,’ Elaine said, shaking her head to signal no. ‘Let’s play with the doll again.’ But even as she said it, it was clear that all the child’s hopes lay in being allowed to go out. ‘What about these toys?’ Elaine said, going over to the broken toy cars and four plastic building pots that were already in the room. Anastasia glanced over to where Elaine pointed and then returned her attention to the window.

‘I don’t know what else to do,’ Elaine said to Ian. ‘We’ll have to buy some more interesting toys when we go shopping.’ Then she had a thought. Opening her handbag, she took out her mobile phone and went into the Photo Gallery. ‘Look, Anastasia, pictures!’

The child’s interest was piqued. She turned from the window to look, then allowed Elaine to lead her to the beanbag where she sat between them and they spent a pleasant ten minutes going through the photographs.

‘Well done,’ Ian said to Elaine. ‘When she’s finished with yours we can look at the photos on my phone.’

So the hour passed with photographs, some colouring, sticking and unsticking the Velcro on the doll’s dress, and visits to the window. While Ian and Elaine had thought an hour was a very short time to spend with their future daughter when it had first been mentioned, now it seemed appropriate. They were emotionally exhausted and had also used up their resources so that Anastasia had grown bored with what they had to offer. As well as gazing out of the window she kept looking towards the door, perhaps wondering when it would be opened. When the hour was up and they told her it was time for them to go and went to find someone to tell them they were leaving, she didn’t resist. Far from it. She seemed pleased to see the care worker again and ran to her side, but of course what is familiar feels safe to a young child. Elaine and Ian said goodbye to Anastasia, and the care worker issued an instruction to Anastasia. Without looking back, she ran off into one of the rooms and the care worker saw them out.

As they collapsed into the back of the cab the driver said, ‘First few visits always difficult. You and child strangers. It will get better. I bring a lot of couples here and they look like you to begin with – shell-shocked.’

Ian and Elaine laughed, relieved. ‘That’s the word – shell-shocked,’ Ian said. ‘You speak a lot of sense.’

‘You tell my wife that!’ the driver replied with a cheeky grin.

Chapter Five

Shocked and Saddened

Back in their hotel room, Ian and Elaine went over the time they’d spent with Anastasia, holding a post-mortem on the things they felt they’d got right and those they hadn’t.

‘It will get easier each time we see her,’ Ian said. It wasn’t just the driver who’d said this, but other families who’d adopted. They’d warned them not to expect too much during the first week of introductions and to just go with what the child felt comfortable with. This had also been covered during the three-day preparation course they’d had to attend in the UK as part of their adoption assessment.

Ian booked cabs for the following day, one for 9.30 a.m. to take them to the children’s store Dr Ciobanu had recommended in town, and the other to the orphanage for 2 p.m. Using public transport wasn’t an option, as buses were infrequent and unreliable. They were going to donate Lana’s belongings to the orphanage as Dr Ciobanu had suggested, so that night as Ian showered before bed Elaine sorted through their suitcases, carefully taking out what they’d packed for Lana that couldn’t be used for Anastasia: clothes, nappies, baby toys, packets of milk and food, dummy and so on. There was a lot; they’d brought extra in case they got delayed in the country, and had distributed it between both their cases. Now, as Elaine carefully put Lana’s belongings into carrier bags she kept finding herself overcome with emotion and had to stop to wipe away her tears. Although other children would benefit from their donation, these things had been bought specifically for Lana. Elaine remembered the joy she’d felt when choosing the little clothes and toys and carefully packing them in the cases. There were other first-year baby items at home and Elaine would sort out those when they returned.

By the time Ian came out of the shower the items they were donating to the orphanage were in carrier bags ready for the next day, apart from one teddy bear – a special bear they’d had personalized with Lana’s name.

‘Do you think we could visit Lana’s grave?’ Elaine asked Ian as she held the bear. ‘I’d like to put this on her grave if possible.’

‘That’s a lovely idea. We’ll ask Dr Ciobanu,’ Ian said, giving her a hug. Elaine wasn’t the only one with tears in her eyes.

The following morning they woke feeling refreshed and in a positive frame of mind. They knew there would be a lot of waiting around as the legal wheels turned in international adoption, but today they’d be busy and productive. A different cab driver took them to the children’s store in town and showed them where to catch a cab back, reassuring them that it would be easy to find a cab at the stand so he didn’t need to wait. The shop selling children’s goods was one of four large stores set side by side and back from the main road. They were clearly upmarket, with dazzling, brightly lit window displays, and their goods would only be affordable to a few. The other three sold furniture, carpets and electrical goods.

Inside the children’s store, Ian and Elaine wandered up and down the aisles of carefully laid out merchandise. It was so unlike any of the other local shops they’d seen during their stay so far, with smartly dressed assistants on hand to help. It sold everything imaginable for babies and young children: good-quality goods, mostly imported and therefore very expensive. Using the calculator on Ian’s phone, they converted the prices into pounds as they went. Most of the goods were at least double what they would have paid at home but they weren’t surprised that Dr Ciobanu had sent them to such an expensive store. It was widely thought in countries that practised international adoption that those adopting must be very wealthy, although in fact most had average incomes and had saved up to finance the trip, forgoing holidays and similar, remortgaging their home or taking out a bank loan. But of course compared to the locals they were wealthy.

They needed clothes for Anastasia and bought seven outfits to see her through the next three to four weeks, assuming they could be washed, and some toys, all of which Ian paid for on his credit card.

That afternoon they had the same cab driver as on their first and previous day’s visits to the orphanage, and he told them his name was Daniel – Danny for short. Ian was carrying the bags of Lana’s belongings and Elaine the items they were taking that day for Anastasia: three sets of clothes, underwear, pyjamas, sandals and some of the toys – an activity centre and two jigsaw puzzles. They’d decided not to take everything they’d bought for her in one go, as it could be overwhelming for Anastasia and also it would have to be stored somewhere in the orphanage.

Danny parked outside the orphanage, sounded the car’s horn to draw attention, and Ian and Elaine were let in by the care worker they’d seen the day before, who managed a small nod. They’d only seen two care workers so far in the orphanage for all thirty children.

‘Dr Ciobanu?’ Ian asked the care worker once they were inside and pointed to his office. ‘Is he here?’ She shook her head. ‘These are for the orphanage,’ Ian said, showing her the carrier bags of Lana’s belongings. ‘Clothes and toys for the children.’

She nodded. ‘I take them,’ she said, apparently understanding.

‘Thank you.’ He passed her the carrier bags.

‘These clothes are for Anastasia,’ Elaine said, holding up the bag containing her clothes. ‘Where shall I put them?’

‘I take them,’ the care worker said again, and Elaine handed her the bag. They’d left the teddy bear with Lana’s name on it in their hotel room and they’d ask Dr Ciobanu when they next saw him if it would be possible to put it on Lana’s grave.

‘Where is Anastasia?’ Elaine now asked.

The care worker nodded in the direction of the ‘playroom’ and they went in. She wasn’t there. The stained and faded beanbag and small heap of broken toys sat forlornly where they’d been the day before. ‘The care worker has probably gone to fetch her,’ Ian said, looking round.

A minute or so later a child’s footsteps could be heard running down the corridor, then Anastasia flew into the room. She looked pleased to see them.

‘Hello, love,’ Elaine said, going to her. ‘How are you?’ The care worker closed the door behind her.

Anastasia spotted the carrier bag Elaine held and, remembering that a similar bag had held gifts the day before, tugged at it.

‘Yes, they are for you,’ Elaine said, smiling, and took out the activity centre. ‘Come on, let’s sit down and we’ll show you how it works.’

Intrigued, Anastasia went with them and sat beside Elaine on the beanbag as Ian sat on the floor on the other side of her. Elaine placed the activity centre on Anastasia’s lap and together she and Ian began showing her how it worked, pressing the various brightly coloured keys to give a letter of the alphabet, number or colour, followed by a four-note tune. Anastasia tapped a few of the keys and then peered into the carrier bag to see what else was in there. Elaine took out one of the jigsaw puzzles and remarked to Ian, ‘I wonder where her doll, crayons and colouring book that we brought in yesterday are?’ They’d left them in the playroom.

‘Perhaps she has them in her cot?’ Ian suggested.

‘Doll?’ Elaine asked Anastasia, hoping the child might recognize the word from the day before. But she was more interested in the puzzle.

They showed her how the pieces went together and then Anastasia wanted to see what else was in the bag. Elaine took out the second puzzle, but as she and Ian began to assemble it the child lost interest again. With the carrier bag empty, Anastasia picked up Elaine’s handbag.

‘I know what you’re after,’ Elaine said, smiling. ‘You want to see the photographs on my phone. Shall we do the jigsaw first and then look at photographs?’

But Anastasia didn’t like that idea and was most insistent on opening Elaine’s handbag, babbling in her own language. Elaine set the jigsaw to one side and took out her phone. She then went through the photographs as she had done the day before, telling Anastasia what they were and repeating simple words like ‘house’ and ‘ball’, hoping Anastasia would try to say the words.

Having got to the end of Elaine’s photos, Anastasia began tugging on Ian’s arm, signalling that she wanted to see the photographs on his phone. He laughed indulgently and took out his phone. Anastasia wanted to hold it and he let her. She began pressing the keys and then didn’t want to return it. Fearing the phone might get broken or his messages and contacts erased, Ian gently eased it from her hand. She wasn’t happy and jumped up from the beanbag and ran to the window, where she banged on the glass. Not wanting to upset her, Ian relented and held out his phone. Anastasia returned to the beanbag and then spent some minutes pressing various buttons before losing interest and discarding it in favour of the activity centre.

Anastasia clearly had a personality and will of her own, but that was good, wasn’t it? It showed she was intelligent and developing normally. Elaine had read that children of Anastasia’s age sought greater autonomy and exerted their will power, which could lead to tantrums, hence the expression ‘the terrible twos’. But all in all they felt their time with Anastasia had gone well. They had a lot to learn as new parents as well as getting to know Anastasia. She hadn’t been as agitated and unsettled as she had been the day before, and while she’d gone to the window a number of times, it had been easy to persuade her away. She seemed more comfortable around them (they weren’t complete strangers any more), and although she hadn’t settled to an activity for very long, it was early days yet and many two-year-olds have short attention spans.

When the hour was up, Ian and Elaine felt they could have stayed a little longer, but mindful of what Dr Ciobanu had said about keeping to the hour, they began to pack away. Anastasia wanted to keep the activity centre, which was fine. They went to find a care worker to say they were going. ‘This toy is for Anastasia,’ Elaine said, pointing to the activity centre. The care worker nodded as though she understood. ‘Do you know where her doll and crayons are?’ Elaine asked. The care worker frowned, puzzled, either not knowing or not understanding. ‘Doll?’ Elaine said, and mimed a small baby in her arms. The care worker shook her head. ‘Crayons?’ Elaine said, moving her hand as though drawing. The care worker shrugged. Anastasia babbled something in her own language and the care worker shrugged and shook her head.

‘Don’t worry,’ Ian said to Elaine. ‘If they don’t turn up we’ll ask Dr Ciobanu where they are when we see him.’ It wasn’t that the toys had been expensive – they hadn’t been – but they’d been the first gifts they’d given to Anastasia and for this reason the doll especially would have sentimental value in years to come.

As they began to say goodbye, to their delight, instead of sending Anastasia away while the care worker saw them out, she was allowed to go with them to the gate. Elaine offered Anastasia her hand to hold as they walked but she refused, which was hardly surprising, as she barely knew them. They said goodbye to her at the gate and then waved as Anastasia watched them get into the cab. The care worker locked the gate.

‘Nice-looking kid,’ Danny said, and they both agreed.

That evening Ian and Elaine felt confident enough that everything was going as planned to message their family and friends with an update. Elaine’s parents were dead but she had a sister who, while not living close, had been very supportive and was eagerly awaiting news. Ian’s parents lived closer but had expressed reservations about their plans to adopt from abroad; however his brother and his family had wished them well. Ian messaged his parents that everything was fine and not to worry, and sent his brother a few extra details about the orphanage and their time with Anastasia. They also updated the friends they’d made online in the international adoption support group forums.

They slept well, and the next day continued the routine that was likely to see them through to the court hearing when Anastasia would become theirs. In the morning they walked to the local supermarket where they stocked up on bottled water and bought fresh bread, cheese and cooked meats for their lunch, and in the afternoon they took the cab to the orphanage. When they arrived Anastasia was in one of the dresses they’d bought for her and the new sandals. She looked lovely and more like their child now that she was wearing what they had chosen for her. ‘We’ll have to buy her a hairbrush and some bands and I’ll braid her hair,’ Elaine said as they settled in the playroom. Every mother wants to see her child looking smart and their hair neat. Anastasia’s hair was long and unkempt.

There was still no sign of the doll, crayons or colouring book, but Anastasia had the activity centre they’d left with her the day before, so they played with that, plus the new toys in the bag they’d brought with them. These included a toy mobile phone, which sounded a recorded message when the numbers were pressed. The hope was that Anastasia would play with this rather than their phones, but their hope was short-lived. Although she liked pressing the buttons and listening to the recorded messages – Hello, how are you? and similar – it didn’t contain the photographs that Elaine’s and Ian’s phones did. Anastasia was very insistent that she should play with both their phones, and of course, wanting her to be happy, they let her.

Another of the toys they’d brought with them was a basket of play food and they told her the names of the food in English as she picked them up – apple, pear, bun, jar of jam and so on – repeating the words so that Anastasia would eventually start to use them as she began to learn English.

At the end of the hour, Anastasia was allowed to see them to the gate again. Elaine and Ian felt their time with her had been positive and they were starting to build a relationship. They’d noticed that Anastasia didn’t often make eye contact and she wasn’t ready for a hug or kiss yet, but given that they’d only just come into her life, this wasn’t surprising. They’d read all about bonding and it had been covered in the preparation course, and mentioned by other adoptive parents. They were aware it would take time for Anastasia to trust them and allow herself to feel affection.

The next day, when Anastasia was brought to them, she was barefoot and wearing a faded T-shirt and shorts, not one of the outfits they’d bought for her.

‘Where are her clothes?’ Elaine asked the care worker – the same one they’d given the clothes to. She shrugged as though she didn’t know or understand. ‘Or care,’ Ian later said to Elaine.

Ian had their phrase book with him and found the word for clothes. He said it a few times but the care worker shrugged and upturned her hands, suggesting she hadn’t a clue what he was talking about. He showed her the word in the phrase book, wondering if he wasn’t pronouncing it correctly, but she shrugged again. Anastasia was holding the activity centre and she ran off into the playroom, while the care worker disappeared down the corridor into one of the nursery rooms where a child had begun to scream.

‘We’ll ask about the clothes later,’ Ian said to Elaine as they went to the playroom.

Anastasia was sitting on the beanbag expectantly and, while she had the activity centre, there was no sign of the toy phone or puzzle they’d left in the room the day before. Dr Ciobanu had said she’d be the only one using this room for now. They were rotating the toys they brought with them with the idea that Anastasia would have something different to play with each day, but where were they? There was still no sign of the doll, crayons and colouring book either. As Elaine settled beside Anastasia on the beanbag, Ian said he’d go to see if he could find a care worker and ask again about the missing clothes and toys.

He found the one they’d seen earlier in a nursery room dressing a child – presumably the one who’d been screaming – and Ian thought she was rough, although she was clearly rushing, as they were so short-staffed. ‘Sorry to trouble you,’ he said. ‘But Anastasia’s toys are missing as well as her clothes.’

She ignored him and kept her back turned. He took a step in and said, ‘If you tell me where you keep Anastasia’s toys and clothes, I can fetch them, as you are busy.’

‘You go,’ she said rudely, not looking at him. ‘I have to see to the child.’

Not wishing to upset her further, Ian returned to the playroom. At the end of the hour Ian asked the same care worker if Dr Ciobanu was in and she shook her head. ‘When will he be in his office?’ he asked.

She shrugged, but then said, ‘Children lose their things,’ suggesting she had understood and knew why they wanted to see him.

Ian didn’t pursue it with her, but the following day Anastasia was wearing the first dress they’d bought her, although the activity centre was nowhere to be seen. They asked the care worker – the other one – where her toys were but were met with the same dismissive shrug, which said she didn’t know or understand. Dr Ciobanu wasn’t in, and as Elaine played with Anastasia in the playroom Ian went to see if the missing toys were in Anastasia’s cot. They weren’t, and he noticed the mattress cover was grubby, as indeed were most of the covers in the other cots. The room smelled of urine and sweat, and as Ian glanced around at the children he felt guilty for worrying about a few missing toys when there was so much misery around him. On returning to Elaine he said, ‘The sooner we get Anastasia out of here the better.’

When they left that afternoon Ian asked the care worker when Dr Ciobanu would be in.

‘Not here,’ the care worker said.

‘I know. When will he be here?’

She shrugged.

‘I’ll phone him,’ Ian said to Elaine, frustrated. Apart from wanting to find Anastasia’s belongings, he wanted to know if they had a court date yet.

As it turned out, Ian didn’t have to phone Dr Ciobanu, for just as they got into their cab a car drew up behind them and Dr Ciobanu got out. ‘Please wait, we need to speak to him,’ Ian said to Danny.

Anastasia had returned inside by now with the care worker and Dr Ciobanu greeted them warmly and shook their hands.

‘Your time with Anastasia is going well?’ he asked them.

‘Yes, thank you,’ Ian said.

‘She waves you off at the gate?’

‘She comes to the gate, yes.’

‘Good. I tell the care workers to bring the children out to say goodbye. It’s nice for the parents.’

‘Thank you.’

‘And everything is going to plan so you have no need to worry,’ he reassured them in his usual upbeat manner.

‘Good,’ Ian said. ‘But I need to talk to you about something.’

‘Yes?’ And what Ian and Elaine learned next shocked and saddened them deeply.

Chapter Six

Lana’s Bear

‘Dr Ciobanu,’ Ian began, choosing his words carefully. ‘I’m sorry to trouble you, I know you’re very busy, but we bought Anastasia new clothes as you asked, and yesterday she was in old clothes that weren’t hers. Apart from one dress, the rest seem to have vanished. Also, we’ve been buying her toys but we can’t find them anywhere. They are not in the playroom or her cot. We’ve asked the care workers but they don’t seem to understand. Where do you keep her things?’

Immediately the doctor’s expression changed and he looked annoyed. Ian thought he was annoyed at them for bothering him. ‘I’ll speak to the care workers,’ he said bluntly.

‘We don’t want to cause any trouble. We’d just like to know where her belongings are.’

‘You need to take her toys to your hotel with you. You won’t get them back.’

‘Oh, why not?’ Elaine asked. ‘What about her clothes?’

‘I’ll try to find them,’ he said curtly, ‘but don’t hold your breath.’ With a nod signalling the conversation was over, he unlocked the gate.

Ian and Elaine looked at each other, confused, but not wishing to upset the doctor further, they returned to the cab.

‘Doctor not happy?’ Danny asked, having seen the exchange.

Ian let out a sigh, then explained that they couldn’t find Anastasia’s clothes and toys and the doctor seemed to have taken it personally.

‘He will,’ Danny said, turning in his seat to look at them. ‘He annoyed because it happens a lot. Parents bring nice new clothes and toys for their child, and sometimes charities donate play equipment, but it all goes.’

‘Where to?’ Elaine asked.

‘The workers in the orphanages take them home for their children and their families and friends’ children. Not just this orphanage but others too.’

‘But that’s stealing!’ Elaine exclaimed. ‘We bought those things for Anastasia.’

‘Yes, it is wrong of them, but you have to understand the people who work in the orphanages are very poor. They can’t afford to buy their children nice clothes and toys, and they don’t see why the orphans should have them. Also, many of the children are disabled so they think it’s a waste, as they can’t play with the toys. One charity gave a slide, sandpit and things for outside. The next day it was all gone. You need to look after Anastasia’s things, take them away with you, or you won’t see them again.’

‘How very sad,’ Ian said. ‘Thank you for explaining.’

The missing toys didn’t reappear and neither did the other two outfits. From then on Elaine and Ian did as suggested and took the toys away with them and then brought some back the next day. Anastasia didn’t protest at having her toys taken away from her as a child in a normal family would, as she’d had little experience of owning things. They couldn’t do the same with her clothes – keep dressing and undressing her – so they had to accept that the other two outfits they’d left had gone for good, and they kept the rest back for the court date and afterwards, when she would be with them in the hotel until they all flew home. Dr Ciobanu didn’t mention it again and neither did Ian and Elaine.

The doctor wasn’t at the orphanage much as he had to divide his time between a number of orphanages and other work in the community. As they neared the end of the second week, having not had a chance to see Dr Ciobanu again, Ian left a written message on the table in his office asking him if he could phone him, as they were concerned they hadn’t got a firm court date yet. Dr Ciobanu phoned their hotel room that evening but it wasn’t the news they’d been hoping for.

‘The judge is going on holiday,’ Dr Ciobanu said. ‘I am trying to fit you in before he goes but the court is very busy.’

Ian and Elaine knew delays happened, but it was still frustrating and it added to their anxiety that something could go wrong that would stop them from adopting Anastasia. Ian had taken a month off work – he was an engineer in a railway company – and a month should have been enough if everything went to plan.

‘If we can’t go to court before the judge goes on holiday, how long before he comes back?’ Ian asked Dr Ciobanu.

‘He’ll be away for three weeks.’ Ian’s heart sank. Elaine was watching him as he spoke and knew it was bad news.

‘Isn’t there another judge who could hear our case?’ Ian asked.

‘Lots of people take their holidays during August, judges included,’ Dr Ciobanu said. ‘But don’t worry, I’ll try my best to have your case fitted in before then. I’ll phone you with the date.’

‘Thank you,’ Ian said, and replaced the handset.

They weren’t greatly reassured. They’d seen enough of Dr Ciobanu to know he tended to reassure people by telling them what they wanted to hear.

‘If we don’t get to court before the judge goes away, I’ll have to phone work and ask for unpaid leave,’ Ian said to Elaine. Ian’s boss knew about the adoption and had been sympathetic when Ian had asked to take all his annual leave in one go, which needed special permission. Elaine, a legal secretary, had left her permanent job the day before they flew out. During their adoption assessment the social worker had said that one parent should be at home at least for the first year after the adoption to give the child continuity and time to settle in. Elaine hadn’t minded at all. She had waited a long time to be a mother and wanted what was best for her child and to make the most of every minute. Later, when Anastasia was old enough and went to school, Elaine could take some part-time work. Legal secretaries were always needed and with her experience she would find work easily.

Ian and Elaine felt they were bonding quickly with Anastasia, probably faster than she was with them. But that was to be expected. They had spent two years working towards this point, whereas Anastasia had had barely two weeks so far to adjust. Dr Ciobanu had told them that the care workers had explained to Anastasia what was happening, but Ian and Elaine doubted they’d had the time or patience to explain thoroughly or answer her questions and reassure her. He’d also told them that her attachment to her mother (or anyone else) was very weak, so she’d have no problem bonding with them once they were home, and wouldn’t miss anyone there.

Ian and Elaine had got to know some of the staff at the hotel, especially their waitress who served them each morning at breakfast. Her name was Maria and she told them she was improving her English so she could work in the UK where the wages were much higher. She practised her English on them as she served them and knew why they were there. She had a five-year-old daughter who was looked after by her mother during the twelve-hour shifts she worked six days a week. But it was only when Maria showed them a photograph of her daughter that she said her name was Lana. This in itself was not such a huge coincidence, as it was a very popular name, but its significance immediately struck Ian and Elaine. On a waitress’s wages, Maria would never be able to afford to buy her daughter nice toys, let alone a personalized bear, as they had done for Lana. They hadn’t had a chance to approach Dr Ciobanu about putting the bear on Lana’s grave and if they were honest the need for doing this was lessening, as they moved on and bonded with Anastasia.

‘I think I’d like Maria’s daughter to have Lana’s bear,’ Elaine said to Ian later. He readily agreed.

The following morning Elaine brought the bear in its original store gift bag down to breakfast and gave it to Maria. ‘For your daughter,’ Elaine said. We thought our child would be called Lana but we were wrong. We’d like you to have it.’ There was no need to go into any more detail about the child they’d lost.

Maria looked at them, surprised and delighted, then, as she took out the bear, her eyes filled and her face crumbled. ‘For Lana? It’s beautiful. I could never afford to buy her this. She will love it so much. Thank you.’ She took Elaine’s hand and then Ian’s and kissed them. ‘Thank you from the bottom of my heart.’

Elaine and Ian swallowed hard and knew they’d done the right thing.

They began extending their time with Anastasia and running over the hour. Dr Ciobanu wasn’t there to tell them not to and the care workers didn’t seem to mind. In fact, it probably did them a favour not having to watch Anastasia, who was one of the few non-disabled children and by far the most active. So the hour became one and a half hours and then two. Anastasia always appeared pleased to see them and eager to look inside the carrier bag of toys to discover what they’d brought for her today. She wasn’t a tactile child but that would come with time, and although she wasn’t saying any English words yet, she seemed to understand simple instructions – for example, put this piece of puzzle there.

One afternoon, while they were in the playroom, they heard English being spoken in the corridor outside without a heavy accent, which was unusual. Intrigued, Ian went out to investigate and saw two women in their early twenties. ‘Are you from the UK?’ he asked them.

‘Yes. Are you?’

‘Yes, pleased to meet you. I’m Ian.’

‘Pam and Mel,’ the girls said.

‘My wife is in the playroom. Come through and say hi. What part of the UK are you from?’

‘Bournemouth.’ And so they got chatting.

It’s always heartening to meet someone from your own country when you’re abroad, especially if the country you are in doesn’t speak the same language. Friendships can develop and confidences can be swapped, when they might not at home.

‘This is my wife, Elaine,’ Ian said, introducing her. ‘Pam and Mel. And this is Anastasia.’

‘Ahh, she’s cute,’ Pam said. ‘Is she your daughter?’

‘We hope she will be soon,’ Elaine said with a big smile. ‘We’re adopting her.’

‘That’s lovely,’ Pam said. ‘We met another couple adopting two boys, brothers. There seems to be a lot of adoption from this country.’

‘Yes, there is,’ Ian agreed.

‘Why are you here?’ Elaine asked, interested and making conversation.

‘We’re volunteers,’ Mel said. ‘We’re students and we’ve come here on a project to help in the orphanages. We came at the end of June and fly back on 12 September, ready for the new term.’

‘That’s very good of you,’ Elaine said. ‘Are you going to be working in this orphanage?’

‘We think so. We’ve been at another orphanage run by Dr Ciobanu about thirty kilometres from here, and he said we should come here as they needed the help more. He’s supposed to be meeting us here.’

‘They certainly could do with the help,’ Ian said. ‘They’re very short-staffed.’

‘We’ve only seen two care workers and there are thirty children,’ Elaine added.

‘That’s a very low ratio,’ Pam said. ‘The orphanage we’ve been working in had two care workers for twenty children and that was nowhere near enough. The building there was much newer than this, though. This is very old.’

‘I know,’ Elaine agreed. ‘And it has so little equipment. There’s nothing for the children to do. Are you staying locally?’

‘We might be sleeping here if they put us on the night shift. We’re not sure yet. It depends what Dr Ciobanu says. Otherwise we’ll get a room in town.’

The large front door of the orphanage could be heard opening and then clanging shut, the sound resonating down the empty and otherwise silent corridor.

‘I wonder if that’s him,’ Mel said, and stepped into the corridor to look. ‘Yes, it is,’ she said. ‘We’d better go.’

‘Hopefully see you again,’ Elaine called. ‘Good luck, and well done for volunteering.’

‘Thank you.’

‘I’m going to catch Dr Ciobanu while he’s here,’ Ian said to Elaine and disappeared out of the playroom.

‘Good afternoon, Mr Hudson, how are you?’ Dr Ciobanu turned from the students as Ian approached.

‘Well, thank you. Could I speak with you later?’

‘Yes, of course. I was going to phone you. I have the news you’ve been waiting for. Come to my office before you leave.’

‘Thank you,’ Ian said, and returned to the playroom, greatly relieved. ‘He says he has the news we’ve been waiting for,’ he told Elaine.

‘Fantastic.’ They both assumed it was good news: that they’d been given a court date for the following week and would fly home with Anastasia as planned.

As they played with Anastasia, Dr Ciobanu’s low voice could be heard outside showing the students around. It was reassuring to know there would be some extra help. They worried about Anastasia when they weren’t there.

They kept to the hour and then began packing away the toys, telling Anastasia that they had to see Dr Ciobanu. She didn’t say anything but recognized his name. She went with them to his office and as Ian knocked on the door she slipped her hand into Elaine’s. It was the first time she’d wanted to hold hands and Elaine was delighted. As she felt her small, cool fingers tuck themselves inside hers, Elaine knew it was a big step forward and a moment she would treasure for a very long time.

‘Come in,’ the doctor welcomed, opening the door. ‘She can come too,’ he said, referring to Anastasia.

Ian and Elaine sat in the two chairs in front of the table as Dr Ciobanu took his place behind it. Anastasia stood between Elaine and Ian, close but not quite touching. Elaine would have loved to pick her up and sit her on her lap, but she knew she had to wait until Anastasia was ready for that.

‘So you like your new mummy and daddy?’ Dr Ciobanu asked Anastasia in his usual upbeat manner. It was unlikely she understood, but seeing the man in charge smiling and talking to her, she nodded. ‘Good. And they obviously like you very much, so all is well.’

‘Very much!’ Ian and Elaine agreed.

He looked at them in the same positive manner. ‘We have news of the court date at last. There is no free time before the judge goes on holiday, so the child’s mother has returned to work abroad until the court hearing. She needs the money and Anastasia will stay here with us for that period.’ He paused.

‘I see,’ Ian said, trying to understand what this meant. ‘For how long?’

‘Three months. As you know, unless the child is an orphan the mother has to be in court for the adoption hearing to give her consent, so I have booked the court date for the day after she returns – 23 November.’ He looked at them as though they should be pleased.

It was a moment before either of them could speak. ‘But I can’t take another three months off work,’ Ian said.

‘No, of course not. You must fly home and return for the court hearing.’

‘Oh. It can’t be heard in another court with a different judge?’ Ian asked.

He shook his head. ‘Many staff are on holiday, there is no free time. And the child’s mother has already left the country. It is nothing for you to worry about. Trust me. Anastasia will be looked after here.’

Chapter Seven

Time Apart

Ian and Elaine couldn’t agree that the news Dr Ciobanu had given them was ‘nothing to worry about’. In fact, they spent the rest of the day and most of the night worrying. They’d bonded with Anastasia and they were sure she was bonding with them. Three months was a long time in a young child’s life, and wouldn’t being apart for all that time undo most of their bonding, so they’d have to start all over again? Dr Ciobanu had been philosophical when he’d told them and said delays happened, it couldn’t be helped, and he would explain to Anastasia that her new mummy and daddy were going home to get her room ready. He also said to keep their memory alive he’d show her the photographs he had of them on file that had accompanied their original application. He offered them the consolation that three months would pass quickly and that they needn’t fly back until the day before the adoption hearing, as all the paperwork was now in court.

During the long hours of the night as they lay awake they tried to think of practical alternatives. Elaine said that possibly she could stay so at least Anastasia could see her each day, but they certainly couldn’t afford for her to stay in the hotel.

‘Perhaps I could find a cheap room in a lodging house like those students?’ Elaine suggested doubtfully. For even as she said it her stomach churned. She wasn’t an adventurous person, and, a little on the shy side, she relied heavily on Ian. The thought of spending three months separated from him in a foreign country among people she didn’t know and where she didn’t speak the language filled her with dread.

‘Not unless I fly out each weekend,’ Ian replied to her. ‘But the cost of that would be prohibitive.’

Still awake at 2 a.m. they reached their lowest point. ‘I’m beginning to regret ever starting international adoption,’ Elaine said, close to tears. ‘It’s been one heartache after another. First Lana and now this.’

‘Don’t say that,’ Ian chided, drawing her close. ‘We’ve come this far. Let’s try to focus on the positives. The court date is definitely set. All our paperwork is in and Anastasia’s mother hasn’t changed her mind.’ Which they knew from other couples did happen – the parent(s) changed their minds or a relative came forward to look after the child at the last moment. ‘And think about all those families we’ve been talking to online who have successfully adopted despite all the setbacks,’ Ian added.

‘Yes.’ Elaine conceded he had a point. ‘I wonder if anyone has experienced what we’re going through,’ she said.

‘I’m sure they have,’ Ian said. ‘But once the adoption is granted you probably forget all the bad things.’

Finally, in the early hours, they fell into an exhausted sleep, but Ian was awake early. Leaving Elaine asleep, he quietly slipped into his clothes and went down into reception, which had the best phone signal, and from there he messaged Maggie, the founder of their online group for international adoption. She and her husband had adopted four children from two different countries and were happy to share their knowledge and encourage those going through the process for the first time. Ian messaged her that their court date had been postponed for three months and they had been told to return home, and they weren’t sure what to do for the best. He then waited in reception to see if she would reply straight away, and five minutes later his phone bleeped with a message.

Sorry to hear about the delay, Ian. A disappointment but I’ve heard of other cases. You can’t do anything so fly home as Dr C said. We can chat when you get back. I am sure the adoption will go through. Don’t lose heart. You’ll have the rest of your lives with your child. M x

Which was exactly the message of hope Ian needed. He returned to their hotel room, and when Elaine woke he showed her the message and she, too, took comfort from it.

Nevertheless, it was with heavy hearts that they confirmed their flight home and then made the most of their last few days with Anastasia, but spending time with her now was bittersweet. While they wanted to make the most of every minute, they were acutely aware they wouldn’t be seeing her for three long months and would miss her dreadfully. They tried to talk to her about what was going to happen and told her they loved her, but it was doubtful she understood. It was impossible to know what she was thinking or feeling, and if Dr Ciobanu had said anything to her to explain, it wasn’t obvious from her behaviour.

On their penultimate day they bumped into Mel and Pam, who were working the night shift, and Elaine told them they were having to return home as their court date had been postponed for three months. The girls were very sympathetic and said they would keep an eye on Anastasia while they were here. But of course they were due to return home a week later and after that Ian and Elaine assumed the children would be left in the care of the two workers again. It was very worrying. They felt protective of Anastasia and wanted to keep her safe.

On the last day they took all the toys and clothes they’d brought for her that hadn’t gone missing into the orphanage and left them in carrier bags marked with her name in Dr Ciobanu’s office. Hopefully, at least some of them would be used by her. Then they had to say goodbye and it was heartbreaking. Anastasia walked between them down the path holding a hand each and the care worker unlocked the gate. As they bent to Anastasia’s height they tried to hide their emotion, but their pain must have been obvious.

‘Goodbye for now, love, don’t forget us,’ Elaine said, her eyes immediately filling. ‘We won’t forget you. We’ll put your photograph in our living room so you are with us all the time. We love you so much.’ She kissed Anastasia’s cheek and straightened. She couldn’t take much more.

Ian kissed Anastasia but couldn’t say anything.

They left her at the gate with the care worker and climbed into the cab. Danny knew this was their last visit for three months and didn’t immediately pull away. They both looked out of the side window. Usually, as soon as the care worker had locked the gate they returned inside, but now Anastasia clung to the wire netting, pressing her face against it and looking at them. It was one of the few occasions she made eye contact and it was pitiful. Elaine and Ian saw the pain and rejection in her eyes. She might not have been able to tell them in words what she was feeling, but her eyes said it all. Her mother had left her and now they were leaving too.

‘We’ll be back soon,’ Elaine said through the window. But the image on Anastasia’s little face imploring them not to go would haunt them in the months to come.

It was Danny who took them to the airport the next day and he seemed to appreciate that they didn’t want to talk much. He had the radio on low, tuned to a local station, and wasn’t his usual chatty self, only occasionally making a remark – about the weather or traffic. As they neared the airport he said, ‘I’m sorry you have to go home without your child.’

‘It’s not your fault, Danny,’ Ian said.

‘But I have got to know you during our trips to the orphanage so I am sorry. Perhaps if I have time I can visit Anastasia and tell her you will be back soon.’

‘That’s very kind of you,’ Ian said. Elaine kept quiet, struggling to hold back fresh tears.

At the airport Danny parked in the passenger drop-off area and took their cases from the boot. ‘I see you here in three months’ time,’ he said more cheerfully. ‘When you book the cab ask for Danny and I come to meet you.’

‘We will. Thank you for everything,’ Ian said, and they shook hands warmly. They felt they had at least one friend in the country who understood.

Elaine and Ian were emotionally exhausted from all they’d been through and slept for most of the flight, even though it was daytime. In England they had to take a train from the airport to their home town and then a cab to their house. It was late evening when they arrived at their modest three-bedroom house, but its neatly tended front garden seemed very bright and upmarket after the drabness of the orphanage. Their neighbour had been cutting their lawn, watering the plants and generally keeping an eye on the place while they’d been away. They’d messaged her with the date they’d be back, adding that the adoption had been postponed. They’d see her tomorrow to thank her and give her the gift they’d bought, but for now they just wanted to get inside.

As they set their cases down in the hall the comfortable, welcoming familiarity they usually felt on returning home was now tainted with the knowledge that they should have been returning as a family. Upstairs was the nursery, decorated and ready with a cot, changing station and first-year clothes and toys, all of which would need sorting out at some point, and the room would remain empty for now. They’d also have to telephone their friends and family and explain what was happening, as they’d told them only the minimum while they’d been away.

Elaine made them a cup of tea using the milk their neighbour had put in the fridge while Ian took their cases up to their room. Then, to try to relax ready for bed, they put the television on so they didn’t have to talk and have yet another worrying conversation about Anastasia. They’d said it all. Ian was planning to return to work the following day, when he would talk to his boss about the two weeks’ leave he’d need in November. He wasn’t looking forward to the well-meant questions and comments from his boss and colleagues who knew the reason he’d been away but not the result. Elaine wasn’t sure what she was going to do for the next three months, but thought she should find some temporary work. It would help pay the bills and would also stop her from sitting at home worrying. They opened their mail, of which there was a lot. It included an adoption congratulations card from Ian’s brother and family – sent early and assuming all would go to plan. Ian said he’d phone him and deal with the mail tomorrow.

Over the next week, as Ian submerged himself in his work, Elaine grew more and more down. She telephoned her sister and told her what had happened, but didn’t contact any of her friends or log into the online support group for international adoption. Her thoughts were permanently with Anastasia and the image of her little face at the gate as they’d said goodbye. What was the poor child thinking and feeling now? How was she coping? Had Dr Ciobanu and the care workers reassured her they would be back? Elaine doubted it – not in any depth, they were all too busy. Anastasia was one of many children, most of whom had multiple needs.

Elaine kept returning to the nursery even though it made her cry. She couldn’t face sorting out Lana’s possessions. She just sat on the pink velvet child’s chair and looked around as her thoughts grew increasingly gloomy and morose. Not usually one to suffer from depression, she now found herself sliding down a long, dark tunnel with no way out and no light at the end. The walls closed in and she tormented herself with speculation that when they returned for Anastasia they would be told that she, too, was dead. The thought plagued her during the day and kept her awake at night, while Ian, tired from work, slept soundly beside her.

At the end of the second week, while Ian was at work, Elaine telephoned the orphanage and the phone was answered after many rings by a care worker.

‘Is Dr Ciobanu there?’ she asked, her voice faltering.

‘He not here,’ came the heavily accented reply.

‘This is Mrs Hudson. Is Anastasia well?’ She hoped the care worker understood enough to be able to reassure her.

‘Yes. She’s well. I tell Dr Ciobanu you phone.’

‘Thank you. Will you tell Anastasia I phoned too?’

‘Yes. I tell her. Goodbye.’

So at least Anastasia was alive.

Two days later Dr Ciobanu emailed to say Anastasia was doing well and looking forward to seeing them again, although Elaine doubted she had expressly said she was looking forward to seeing them again. She couldn’t picture it and thought it was Dr Ciobanu again telling them what they wanted to hear, and it didn’t really help. Ian, whose life had returned to some normality with work, was worried about Elaine, but also losing patience with her growing gloom and despondency. He suggested she made an appointment to see their doctor, or at least have a chat with Maggie, the founder of the support group for international adoption who Ian had messaged while away. Elaine did neither until the following week, after she and Ian had a blazing argument.

‘You’ve got to snap out of it!’ Ian cried, tired at the end of the day. ‘Anastasia is going to need a lot of care when we bring her back and you’re in no fit state to help her. Get yourself sorted out now or we won’t be going back!’ He stormed out of the room and went upstairs.

He apologized later and said he hadn’t meant the threat of not going back – he was as attached to Anastasia as Elaine was. But it was the wake-up call Elaine needed. She telephoned Maggie and cried as she confessed all her worries and told her in detail what they’d been through. They were on the phone for over an hour and Maggie was able to reassure her so that when they finished Elaine felt far more positive. Taking Maggie’s advice, she sorted out the nursery, bagging up what they didn’t need and making a list of what she had to buy for Anastasia. It would be winter when they went back so she’d need warm clothes. While Elaine was in town she registered with an employment agency that specialized in temporary work and by the next morning had a position in a local firm to cover staff sickness. It gave her a new focus, and although she still thought of Anastasia and missed her, she was in the real world again and far more positive. What started off as one week’s work stretched to five, so that by the time the contract ended there were only three weeks before they had to fly out for the adoption.

Dr Ciobanu emailed confirming all would be going ahead for 11 a.m. on 23 November and they should arrive in the country no later than twenty-four hours before. He added that Anastasia was looking forward to seeing them and he hoped they were both well. Ian emailed back saying they’d arrive on 18 November so they could spend time with Anastasia in the days before the hearing. Then he booked the flight tickets: two seats confirmed going out and three reserved coming back. Aged two and a half, Anastasia would need a seat of her own, but they couldn’t confirm it until they had her passport number after the court hearing. They were very excited but also anxious that all would go to plan.

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