M spent ages just cuddling me before he opened his Christmas presents and Santa stocking that I had brought with me. He eulogised about every present, no matter how small. They were gifts from his Mummy and that was all that mattered to him.
I marvelled at how bravely he was coping with this. He thanked me for the presens in a polite little voice, afraid too that he would make a mistake that would bring this short meeting to an end and then asked hopefully if we could go outside to kick his new football in the car park. I looked over at Dipika, my eyes pleading with her to allow us this one small moment of freedom. She nodded and jubilant, M and I pulled on our coats and headed outside.
It was drizzling with rain, but neither of us cared. Dipika withdrew to take shelter and for a glorious half hour we kicked the ball about and laughed, momentarily forgetting where we were. We pretended we were back at home in the car park at the back of our cottage and that soon we would go inside for a mug of tea - always a favourite for M since a much younger child - and a biscuit from the treat cupboard.
"I love you the world and back Mummy," M said repeatedly during that half hour as we ran backwards and forwards across the tarmac. "I love you the world and back too, my darling and always will." The words were like gold to us - to have the freedom to say them even. The hour passed too quickly and M's face fell as we headed inside. "Are you okay my darling?" I whispered. The most I dared to ask. "I'm fine Mummy." He said with tears in the eyes that had somehow lost their light. "Don't worry about me."
I could see that he was anything but fine. His small frame was even thinner than I remembered. He had the same dark circles under his eyes as his grandfather and I now wore permanently - a mark of our situation - like the bruises of a battered wife, we wore the brutal marks made by the system - allowed insanity of the cruel dark fist of misogyny.
There was just time for M to give me his gift and a gift to bring back for his grandfather. He handed me the small box excitedly. In it was a glass crystal with the words I love you Mummy engraved on it. I pushed back the tears that threatened to fall and hugged him tightly. "I love it." I whispered in his ear and "I love you even more. Never forget this."
"I won't." M released the tears he had been suppressing. "I don't want to go", he said choked with emotion, but neither of us had a choice. "I'll be back next week Darling and I will be moving here soon and see you every weekend for six whole hours once we have done this."
"I just want you Mummy." He sobbed.
"I know my Darling. That's what I want too." He was led away crying by Dipika and I sat in the small room with tears coursing down my cheeks unable to hold them back any longer.
Dipika came back into the room. "Do you want to have a cup of tea before I take you to your hotel?" She said in a gentle voice.
"Will you think me terrible if I have a cigarette outside?"
"Of course not. I'll have one too." Dipika and I stood under the covered area of the car park where M and I had only minutes earlier been kicking a ball.
"I can't discuss the case." She said. As if warning me not to risk opening up to her.
"I know." I said quietly.
"But anyone can see how much you love your son and he loves you. You have nothing to fear from me." She added quietly.
"Thank you." I replied gratefully and with relief. She knew the power she had over our future. One criticism of our contact time could end it forever. I felt safe with her, but scared to trust that she would not say this to my face and then damn me. After all we had trusted many like her before.
That evening I spent a lonely night in my room. Once contact was over there was little to do but wait, watch TV and grab a light meal. It was only three in the afternoon when I got back to the motel and there was a lot of time to kill before my flight the next morning. Luton airport has little to offer as a place to hang out.
I walked to the airport and bought a tray of Sushi from M & S - remembering the many times M and I had shared his favourite food at the contact centres on the Island and out in the States. He had been in foster care for 18 months before his father got custody and in that time we had been put through the most stringent of rules. I had even had my facial expressions and body language monitored. I had never before been scrutinised so closely or lived so close to the edge - one false move, one accidental word, frown, smile, could all end my contact with my son.
At least now, it was more relaxed but it was still insanity. I have never harmed a hair on his head. We adored each other. I had raised him alone for 7 and a half years of his life and in that time, I had never been found wanting in any way as a parent. In fact, they made M's father follow a Parenting Course to gain the skills needed to raise him. I had not had to do this because the Court officers said that I had already had all the skills necessary. How did this make sense? I could not see my son without the strictest of oppressive conditions but they said I was no threat to him in any way? All of the "professionals", without exception claimed that I was a good and devoted mother and had an excellent relationship with my son. I had passed every test put before me - I had never had my contact stopped for any reason and all reports of our time together were positive - even from the most biased Social Worker - whom I had secretly named Miss Whiplash. Somehow making those who had destroyed our lives so casually and carelessly, seemed less real and threatening as cartoon characters.
I spent hours running questions in my head that I would never be able to answer. It seemed crazy to make me jump the hoops of flying back and forth to the UK at great expense for one hour with my son in a dingy room, when the Judge had said he did not think I posed a flight risk and had offered me unsupervised contact for six hours, on the proviso I first went through these ridiculous supervised sessions. I could only think that he hoped I would give up at this point and walk away.
I could never have walked away from M, under any circumstance - hadn't I already proven that? I had come back from the States where I could have stayed and retained my freedom, to face almost certain jail, just to be near him.
I had put my head on the block and suffered the unimaginable humiliation of strip searches, incarceration, cold cells, endless bullying - and I would do it all again, just to be with him for five minutes. What does it take to prove that you love your child? Surely a six week parenting course, like the one R had undertaken, could not compare, on any level, to the years of sitting up all night when your child is sick, hours of playing on the floor with Lego bricks, reading to him every night, and most of all just loving him more than life. These things were not on any parenting course. They were just the normal things that parents do. No-one expects a certificate or report at the end of it. Every good parent just loves - unconditionally and would lay down their life for their child in a second to keep him safe.
I walked back to my solitary room with the tray of Sushi and a coke in the M & S carrier bag. I ate without appetite. I watched some TV but who knew what I watched. I rang Dad to tell him how things had gone. He was eager for news of M. He had been as worried as I was that R may not show.
Brian then rang. I reported events and then typed out a brief note of the contact session on my phone and emailed it over, as I had done now almost every week, for the last two years. How does one put into words the emotion of seeing your son for an hour in a tiny room with a stranger recording your every word and move? I stuck to the facts - emotion was something that the Court was not interested in.
At last I got into bed and lay awake all night reliving every moment of my time with M, logging the memories of his face in my mind - holding him in my heart. I could not get the sound of his sobbing out of my head. His grief at the parting. I would be back the following week for us to endure more of the same and I would live with the fear each time that he may not come, for the next three contact sessions.
Chapter 3
Moving across the water
At last the four weeks of supervised contact were over. Each one had passed in similar fashion to the last. M and I would
play together for a while in the little room with Dipika sitting in the corner scribbling away. We would then have half an hour of kicking a ball backwards and forwards and he would leave sobbing at the end to go home with his captors.
I now had the practical problem of finding accommodation in the UK and getting moved to the area where M was now living. This was not easy as I had no job, very little money and no place to stay while I looked for somewhere to rent. I also had to find accommodation that would house the dog as well as myself.
Some friends of my deceased mother lived about an hour away from the area where M now lived. They very kindly offered to put me up whilst I looked. I would stay with them for five days and in that time I lined up as many viewings of rental property as I could.
I had known Jim and Margaret since my early twenties. My mother had cared for their son who was seriously disabled. When she and my father had divorced, she had moved to live in the UK to start a new life. She had run a nursery school on the Island and had shared a very close relationship with M. Fortunately she never knew he had been taken from me. She died of a stroke suddenly in the middle of our proceedings, I believe from the stress of it all . That she did not see him taken from me, was the only blessing in the sadness of losing her.
Jim and Margaret were like family to me and whilst I had not seen them since my mother's memorial service back in 2008, I had kept in close contact with them. They were angry and astonished at what had happened to M and I. They had even been on holiday with my mother, M and I to the Caribbean. We had had a wonderfully happy time, playing on the white sandy beach, M running in and out of the waves clutching Nanny's hand, sleeping cuddled up to me at night, exhausted from the fresh air and sunshine. He had only been four then but was already a good little swimmer and would doggy paddle across the pool with his beloved Nanny, my mum, urging him on. I can still hear the shrieks of laughter as he jumped into the pool, splashing his grandmother and giggling delightedly as we all applauded his early efforts in the water.
Jim had bounced him on his knee and played childish games with him , teasing him and reciting little stories of rabbits that fell down the rabbit hole, as he gently let M fall though his lap and back again. They flew imaginary birds from his hands to M's shoulder and M watched mesmerized, with the innocence and wonder of childhood as he accepted the magic without question. How far away those Halcyon days now seemed.
After his grandmother's memorial service, M had kicked a ball in Jim and Margaret's garden with their grown up son, Peter, a solicitor who had been incredibly supportive and given us free ad hoc advice from time to time.
It had been a difficult day saying goodbye to Mum, M's adored Nanny but she was a casualty of what had happened to us. I firmly believe that whilst the worry and stress of our situation had contributed to the stroke that had taken her from us, had she lived to see M taken, it would have destroyed her.
Jim met me from the train and took me back to their beautiful home in Cambridgeshire. They lived in an old converted Rectory in a small village and their house had a lovely warmth to it and a lot of character. I had once belonged to the amateur dramatics group in their village when I had lived a few miles away from them, many years earlier - so this added to my sense of familiarity.
Margaret was warm and welcoming and a wonderful cook. They looked after me like a daughter and Jim came with me to view the many properties I looked at. I was starting to panic, as it seemed I might not find anything in time, as those that were suitable and affordable, would not accept the dog.
At last I found a house sufficiently far from R not to be under his nose but near enough to M for him to visit easily and only a couple of miles from his new school. Whilst it was tempting to move as near as possible to M, I knew it would be hazardous to do so, for if he attempted to run away, as he had done in Florida from Foster Care, we would both lose contact immediately.
M had started a new public school that belonged to a group of schools where I had once taught. In fact I had taught at two out of the three in the Trust and expected them to at least treat me fairly. I was in for a shock here too.
I arranged to see M's headmaster while I was over. I wanted to know how M was settling in and to start on a good footing with them. There was, at this time, no reason why I could not attend any Sports events as a spectator and I had hoped to get as involved with M's educational development as possible and to support him in every way that I was allowed.
It was a good hour's drive from where I was staying to get to the school and I left in plenty of time. Jim had kindly lent me a car to use for the week and I had driven almost half way to the appointment when my mobile phone began to ring. I pulled in to a lay- by to take the call. It was the school secretary who was sorry to inform me that the meeting was not going to take place. No explanation was given. I felt a cold chill. This was clearly a sign of things to come.
I explained that I would be flying back to the Island two days later and if the Headmaster was indisposed on this occasion, perhaps we could reschedule for the following day. She told me this would not be possible but refused to give a reason why. I knew there and then I had been blacklisted by the school, but it would be some time before I would discover why.
Heartsick, I drove back to Jim and Margaret's who were surprised to see me return so soon. I told them what had happened over a cup of tea. They were as appalled as I was. It seemed life in the UK would not be a fresh start for me or for M. The tight restrictions placed on us were to follow us to our new life and the repercussions of the school's lack of willingness to involve me would have far reaching consequences on the events that would unfold over the next few months.
Brian insisted I meet up with he and his assistant in London whilst I was over for a catch up and two days later I headed for London by train. He also wanted me to meet with a new QC who had some expertise in difficult and complicated Family Law cases.
In my mind, this was not a complicated case. I loved my son, had never harmed him and had reported sexual abuse as any parent should, for this I had been vilified, bullied and lost both residency and virtually all contact. R had sexually abused M and gained full residency and now controlled both our lives. However, I was willing to try anything and look anywhere for a solution and if Brian felt this man could help us, then I would see him, as I had seen the many QC's and barristers he had recommended to us before.
I got off the train and caught a taxi to a restaurant where we were to meet for lunch. Brian's meetings always involved an element of socialising - usually a great deal of wine and always somewhere expensive. Whilst he didn't charge my father directly for this, he had paid for it many times over with the exorbitant legal fees that we had been enduring since Brian took over the case. Not all had gone to Brian but the greater portion had and we had seen little return for our money.
It should be said here that spending a fortune on lawyers who achieve nothing is the norm in Britain within Family Court proceedings at the time of writing this. It is not that the lawyers are necessarily useless, although many are, but more that they are powerless against the establishment. It takes courage and conviction to fight the machine that calls itself Justice, once it has turned on an innocent family. The lawyers are dependent on the court for their livelihood and need to keep on good terms with the Judges. They will often take the path of least resistance and encourage clients to comply rather than fight for their rights. In some ways they are as shackled as their clients which is why more and more parents are representing themselves - not only because most cannot sustain the legal costs but because as a litigant in person, you have more freedom to fight your corner.
At this time though, we were still trying to find a barrister willing to challenge the Fact Find judgment that found for "no abuse" - something that should have been done straight after the decision had been made. However, Brian had formerly advised against going this route, saying it would alienate the Judge who had made the ruling and who was presiding over the case.
&n
bsp; Now that we were in the UK, Brian's view was that it was worth an attempt at doing the one thing I had been instructing him and our former lawyers, to do since 2008.
After lunch, we headed to the Chambers of Barry Miller. I had no idea what to expect from this man, but knew I was in for a grilling. QC's usually play Devil's Advocate to see if you are hiding anything or have any weak areas, so will often come across as confrontational and combative on first meeting. Philip, our Human Rights Lawyer had never been that way with me, but Barry's approach was very different. I have to say, I didn't like him at all when we met. However, I knew that liking him was not important. I needed someone who would fight and if he was aggressive towards me, then he would likely be aggressive in court.
Barry was in his fifties, balding and without any of the politeness and charm that Philip had had. He fired questions at me, as if I was being cross-examined and was accusatory in manner. I felt like I had just relived my experience of giving evidence in my criminal trial by the time we left a couple of hours later. I was drained. I was convinced he neither liked, nor believed me. It was soul destroying.
Much to my amazement Barry rang Brian a few minutes after we left his office and told him that he liked me immensely, found me completely credible and wanted to appeal the Fact Find, believing we had a good chance of success. I was jubilant, for in my mind, the only thing that could bring M home to me was to get this terrible Judgment undermined.
The costs of this latest exercise would be considerable. Barry's charges were greater than Philip's had been. I had always felt that Philip had cared about us as people and as such, had often not charged for pieces of work that he had done. Barry was a different kettle of fish, he was ruthless, aggressive and believed firmly in billable hours.
I felt for Dad as I told him that whilst we now had some hope, it was likely to come at a very high price. Dad, whose unfailing support is with me to this day, bit the bullet and agreed immediately. He was as delighted as I that we had found someone willing to do the one thing, that we felt could turn the case around.
Mummy's Still Here Page 3