I panicked and then phoned the parents. They came at once. I was addressed immediately, with a harsh phrase. “You killed my baby!”
My bond with little Jacob was broken. He was gone. I didn’t know what went wrong. All I remember is the allegation made by his mother. It repeated itself over and over, like a broken record. Later that mournful week, I was invited to their house again. I thought that it might have been for an apology, to the way she reacted. How could I have been so wrong?! It was the total opposite. Standing right in front of me, were two, black and white checked persons. It was as though I was being dragged into a television programme, just like “The Bill!” Actually, it was a lot more daunting. The two constables ushered me to the door and into their car. I was being taken to the police station.
I was then sitting in the back of their car. It contained a musty smell, just like the attic sometimes does, as we never go in there. In the front, they had black and white sherbet sweets. These reminded me of the horrible darkness people in prison cells live in… My life had been totally flipped around. Babysitting was my life, but it seemed as though now, it was going to be the cause of the end. Next we entered the building. It was a soaring construction, which was swarming with people: criminals, officers and the public. As we entered I could feel my chin beginning to tremble, just like what it feels like when jelly begins to wobble. I couldn’t cry, it would seem that I was guilty. I put on a brave face and staggered inside. The grey walls inside made me feel very cold and unwanted. The people in the waiting room seemed very quiet and reserved. A tear gently rolled down my face. A silhouette was moving towards me and when I looked up, the police officer stated that I have been accused of the death of little Jacob! I felt a sudden pang of hurt, rushing through my body. I tried to speak and tell him it wasn’t true. I just couldn’t clear the fog from my throat.
There was no glow from the sun that day. The clouds were closely packed together; my mother and I had an intense chat, about everything that had happened those past few days. This was the one thing that seemed to be going right. We hadn’t been on talking terms with one another for weeks, but this appeared to sort out the difficulty. We were brought even closer, to one another. I felt that even if my bond had broken with little Jacob, I could now regain it with my mother. I strongly remember the fragrance of her peppermint perfume, as it comforted me. My emotions had gone wild. I didn’t even understand what had happened, as I just followed my usual routine with him. I’d just have to wait to see what the forensic scientists had to say.
I was not allowed to go to the funeral. My mother went. All I did that day, was wander around the hillside. There was no warmth in the colour of the sky that day. I could just about see what was going on at the funeral dinner. I peered down into their house. The mourners were stiff and dark suited. I watched them all quizzing and directing their anger at my mother. It just went on and on...
The baby is still howling away. There must be something wrong. I’m edging forward to find out whether he needs food, a change of nappy… It sometimes reminds me very much of being a detective!
I know that I have to overcome my fear. That one day, has ruined my love for young children. I need to regain this, even if does mean going to a counsellor like my doctor recommended.
That evening, the sun was beginning to peep up, from behind the clouds. At the same time we received a wonderful phone call. “You have been let off, due to the doctor’s inspection of the baby.” This had put me out of my misery; I was not held responsible anymore!
It was a cot death. My mind then began to wonder, just like any typical teenagers would. What makes a cot death happen and what if it happens to someone else close to me?… I don’t want to go through this appalling experience again! I decided to give up my babysitting job. It was the most sensible thing to do, as everyone had already labelled me, “the girl involved with the cot death.” This was such a hard and tragic thing to do, as it was my love and passion. I was positive that I should keep this all behind me, but that has failed.
I’m travelling to the counsellors. Pangs of my nervousness are shooting up and down me. I had left my son, in the caring hands of my babysitter. I am told to take a seat and then we have a very deep conversation with each other. I feel a lot more secure about myself and my baby. “Time does heal.” These are the words running though my mind.
The sun was hanging like a huge copper gong in the sky today. It looks even brighter, just because I felt happier and more confident in myself. As I turn the door knob, I hear gurgling laughter. It was the first time I had listened to my son laugh! I observed the way the babysitter handled my child. She reminded me a great deal of myself at that age. The way she was holding him, tickling him, he seemed so happy. A jewel of water, dripped down from my eyes…
I wanted to overcome this fear. It was childish to be living in the past, when I have a son of my own that needs me a great deal! I went up, and clasped him into my arms! I would never let go of him now… He was mine.
