Sadly, I was not alone in being put in this position. My increasing knowledge of those who shared my hell by reporting abuse of their children, only to lose custody to the very person who had harmed them, grew daily. There was no logic to it. It was insanity and beyond cruel for the children who were forced at tender years to lose the person to whom they had the closest bond. The carrot and stick was used to ensure evidence was gleaned from unsuspecting children who were intimidated into saying things they neither felt nor wanted. Often children were questioned relentlessly by many different people, until they gave the answer the Court wanted. It seemed to be a case of make a Judgment and then get everything else to fit that.
M could have had no idea that he might lose me for four years when he told the Judge what she wanted to hear - If indeed he had done so, for there was no evidence - only hearsay from the Guardian's solicitor who had already made her position quite clear - no contact whatsoever - based on nothing at all.
Chapter 13
The final Judgment
Whilst Christopher could not attend himself for the closing submissions and Judgment the following week, he did not want me to go alone, so he sent a friend in his place. This man had never stepped foot in the Family Court and was about to get a baptism of fire. He was a retired doctor and whilst he had clearly seen some complex situations in the past, nothing could have prepared him for what he was about to witness on this fateful day.
My father decided to stay over for the hearing. The writing was on the wall and nothing short of a miracle would now change the outcome, but we still had to go through the ordeal. I still had to make my impassioned plea to remain in my son's life. I prayed endlessly to a God I had long since given up belief in that something I would say, would touch some grain of humanity in a Judge that appeared to have none.
I had emailed a copy of my closing submission over to the clerk to the Court the day before, as requested. I wanted to read it out, to give life and meaning to the words that I had written and honed with Christopher, but the Judge decided that she was not going to allow this. Perhaps she feared that hearing my testament of love for my son might cause someone in that room to feel a human emotion such as compassion. Perhaps she feared she herself might respond. She had already replaced one clerk from an earlier hearing, who having heard my father's evidence of how much he loved and missed his precious grandson, had burst into tears.
The new clerk handed copies to the parties of my final plea to the Court. R did not prepare a closing speech as he knew that his work had been done already by each and every person in that room, other than myself, my father and the retired gentleman standing next to me for moral support.
To my surprise, the Judge asked me if I wished to further question Giles, the Guardian. Having been told I was there only to give my final submission and hear the Judgment, I was ill-prepared. This had come out of the blue and the questions I had not been allowed to put at the earlier hearing were back at home. I cursed myself for not having brought them with me but I had had no warning of this. I knew I could not turn down the opportunity either, so I had to think on my feet, coupled with the added burden of the weight of the decision hanging over me.
I hurriedly scrawled what I could remember on a piece of paper in the few minutes it took for him to take the stand and I asked him if I could see my son to say goodbye if I was to be cut out of his life for the next four years. He spoke to the Judge directly, not looking at me once, as he said that it would not be in M's interests to see me for one last time. He said it would be too upsetting to him. I knew, that they all feared M would show his true feelings if he saw me and this would go on record. I knew that they dare not have any evidence that would undermine the cruel decision that they were, without question, about to make.
I tried desperately to think of any way in which I might make a difference to this outcome, but could think of nothing. My evidence and carefully thought out questions for the Guardian was at home. I was totally unprepared and my heart was racing as I realised I was slipping over the edge into an abyss of life without my most precious son. Why had I been given no warning of this further opportunity to question the Guardian? It was clear, so that I would be, as I was, completely unprepared, but so that the Judge could say that I had been given the chance. Another act of unfairness - another nail in the coffin that would seal the lid on the life we had had.
My paltry efforts, such as they were, to make any difference, were in vain. It was clear that the Judge had prewritten her Judgment as straight after my brief questioning of Giles, she read out her decision. It was a long ramble of damnation against me, full of factual inaccuracies, dwelling heavily on the former Social Worker's reports and even the fictitious email that no-one had been able to produce. One long ramble of hearsay and hearsay upon hearsay.
I took what notes I could for Christopher through a haze of tears falling onto the page as she brought my life with M to an end for the rest of his childhood. Each word ripped my heart to pieces and I wanted to scream at the injustice.
Once again I was accused of having a false belief that my son had been sexually abused - a subject that the Judge had said she was not going to visit in any way but had been the only subject discussed throughout the sham of a hearing. My belief based on sound medical evidence and expert opinion from the only properly qualified expert who had ever been on our case was considered to be fabricated and fallacious. I had been denied all my witnesses, expert or otherwise. I had been cut off at every turn from putting my questions to the parties and I had been refused my evidence. The whole case was based on a string of cruel Chinese whispers that had somehow become the truth. Even the Appeal Court Judgment that had said it was understandable that I had believed my son and had good reason for doing so, was considered of no value, purely because my Appeal had been denied on a time issue.
The truth was the only thing that had not been heard in this case. The truth lay in the love between a mother and son - myself and M. Would that truth still exist in four years time when M had not seen me and had only been exposed to lies and hatred? I had no way of knowing. I only knew that nothing could change the love I felt for my him and I believed in that more than I believed in anything else in the world.
We left after the hearing and headed to a nearby pub to buy lunch, by way of thank you to the retired doctor who had come to Court with me. I could not eat. Christopher's friend ate quickly and had few words to say - other than he had never seen anything so horrifically cruel and unfair in his life. He went home soon afterwards. He clearly wished he had not come. We thanked him for his time. Dad and I were overwrought. Dad was voicing his anger at the injustice, all I could do was sob uncontrollably - I would empty my soul out in tears for days and weeks to come until I had no more.
We were oblivious to another hearing that was taking place as we headed for home. We would see the outcome of this later that day. The Judge was having a private hearing with the Guardian, R and the Guardian's barrister, to which we were not invited. In fact she had told my father that he should find me and we could both go home as we were not needed further. Was this hearing fair? What had been fair so far?
When we at last reached my home after a long arduous and cramped journey on the rush hour train from London, I headed upstairs and pulled off my Court clothes. I climbed into bed and wept until the pillow was soaked through. I barely heard the loud knock on the door, but whoever it was, I did not want to see anyone.
My father opened the door to find a bailiff on the doorstep. She handed him an envelope and left. Inside it was a further Order - it forbade me, my father, Christopher and the retired doctor from going public in any way with what had happened in that Court - a super-injunction - worldwide and for life.
Chapter 14
I Will Survive
Dad left a few days later. Neither of us knew what to do or what to say to each other. I had fallen into a pit of despair so deep that I just wanted to curl up in a ball and sleep forever.
I
had no idea how I would get through the next ten seconds, let alone the next four years without M and I couldn't imagine what he would feel when he received her letter telling him this. I was convinced that even had he said he did not want to see me on that fateful day, he could have had no idea of the far-reaching consequences or length of the stay of absence that would ensue for us both. He, in his innocent youth, would most likely have thought that this was a decision that whilst may appease those who were pressuring him temporarily, could easily be changed any time he felt strong enough to state his true wishes.
The letter, which would later be sent to me for my records, included the fact that he could not change his mind for the next four years on any grounds, regardless of his wishes. This went completely against the spirit of the Children's Act which clearly states that the "wishes and feelings of the child are paramount." They had not been paramount when M had spent the last four years begging to come home to Mummy or pleading not to be forced to see his father. They had not been paramount when he had put this in writing repeatedly and told every Expert, Foster Carer and Social Worker who grilled him endlessly for hours on the subject and when he had remained adamant that his view was to return to my care. The only time that M's supposed wishes and feelings had been taken into account was during a brief meeting with a Judge, in her chambers surrounded by people who did not want him to maintain a relationship with his mummy - for which he had been unable to give a reason.
How must M now be feeling, faced with the prospect of being put on a prison sentence of four years of not seeing his mummy. He had been nine years old when he allegedly refused to see me. He had not then seen me for six whole months. He had been grilled and pressurised endlessly and had had only the influence of his father and his father's wife on a daily basis, urging him to reject me and my father. He would be fourteen and a half by the time I could even reapply to see him. How much does a child change in that time, from being a little boy, to being a young adolescent? To say that how he felt on one particular day and under those circumstances at his age, may not change as he developed in the next four years - was beyond cruel - it was unjust by anybody's standards and it went against everything that was advocated in law in the Children's Act. To forbid me from contacting M was cruel enough, but to forbid a child from contacting his mother for four years, was unlawful by the Court's own standards.
I knew I had to appeal this terrible outcome and Christopher was urging me daily by email and phone to get my application in as soon as possible. The last thing I felt like doing was anything that involved Court work or Legal documents. I was so exhausted and drained emotionally and physically from the ordeal, that I simply did not know how I would face yet another application form, more research and the heavy task of putting together indexed bundles, which must now be even more detailed and more specific.
The application is only the first stage and for this you have to file a Statement, Grounds of Appeal and a Skeleton Argument. You also have to do this within a very limited period of time.
Somehow I summoned the strength, with the help of Christopher, Peter and his girlfriend Sarah, to co-ordinate eleven grounds of appeal, a statement and a sketchy Skeleton. I knew that I would get a chance to perfect all of this once the application was received. It would take at least two weeks to get the Permission to Appeal application stamped by the Court and returned to me for service on R and the Guardian.
It felt like the last leg of a marathon, where you take those final breaths before collapsing on the finish line. Now I needed a long drink of water and some rest. I would not and could not have carried on, had I not then done the only thing that I felt could possibly save me.
I had seen my GP and discussed the outcome with them. My choices now were counselling or pills to cope with the pain and I wanted neither. I did not want to talk to anyone about the horrendous injustice and I could not verbalise the level of grief I felt. Four years felt like an interminable prison sentence and it was now eight months since I had seen M for those few minutes R had allowed me on Christmas Eve 2011. My son would be almost grown up by the time I could even apply for contact again and I would have to go back to the same Judge who had denied me contact as she had retained the case. I could only try to believe Christopher in his view that the Appeal Court would be fairer and more humane.
Clinging to this last fragment of hope, I filed the application and decided I had to get away from the house, which was fast becoming a prison cell of despair and a shrine to my memories of life with my son.
Photos of M hung on every wall in the house and I had a box of treasured paintings, scrapbooks, cards and mementoes that was full to overflowing. My second bedroom still had his little "White Company" bed in it. The one we had gone to great lengths to have shipped to the Island just before we had run to the States - The bed he had slept in only a few times and which by the time I could see him again, he would be too big for and yet I could not part with it.
M's patchwork quilt and duvet set were still the ones from childhood and what was left of the toys he hadn't taken to R's were still on the bed. His books were carefully stacked on the window sill and his precious collection of "Julip" ponies, horsebox and jumps which we had played tirelessly with on the floor of his room, were displayed on a shelf, waiting for his return. Every DVD, CD, game and toy that I had left, was now a treasured memory to be examined through a mist of tears. It was living bereavement - the death of a life that we had lived and loved and the only way I could bear to go on, was to go somewhere that held no memories.
I knew my pain would go with me, but I had done all I could for now. I had to save myself if I were to have any chance of saving him. It was only walking the dog, that got me to face the day at all. My loyal little friend was there for comfort and most of all as a means of getting through the day. He had to be fed and exercised and I could not give up on him either, even if I felt like giving up on life. I thanked God that I had got the Chihuahua, even though it had been for M. Coco was a life-saver.
I had absolutely no idea where I wanted to go. I had no money, my career destroyed, but this was a time where booking something on the "never, never" was essential. I was too exhausted for long-haul travel and couldn't possibly afford anything too extravagant. It was then that I fell upon, what was to become a sanctity for me for some time, a beautiful, little-discovered Island called Ischia.
I had been looking for holidays in Italy. I had always had a hankering to go back there having been to Rome on a childhood educational cruise and to Lake Garda with my father when pregnant with M. At that time I had been filled with the joy of the impending birth - even though R had turned his back on me from the moment of conception. I had not cared that I would be alone with M - I had wanted him more than anything in my life before and I had felt bonded from the moment I knew I was going to have him. That bond was still with me and would never be broken - a silver thread of love that joined us together.
I had looked at all the popular resorts and had almost booked Sorrento, so popular with British tourists. I had been about to choose a particular hotel, when I realised it was on the edge of a high cliff with a roof top pool and as someone who has never liked heights, I had decided to look elsewhere. I am so glad now that I did, because what I fell upon by chance was an Island that has magical qualities of healing - a paradise of sandy white beaches, blue sea, culture, history, beautiful gardens and tranquillity.
I was not sure if I could even find the strength to travel but I took out my credit card before I changed my mind and booked to depart only ten days after the terrible Judgment day.
My friends Terry and his wife had offered to have the dog but I did not even want to leave the comfort of my staunch little companion. I knew that I had to do something though. I had to get on that plane and take the rest that my body was crying out for. I had to go somewhere that would soothe my soul and where no demands would be placed on me.
I packed quickly and with difficulty. I did not know if I could survive a
week away, but I knew I could not survive another day in my self-imposed prison of grief.
Sleep was a thing of the past, but I somehow managed to get up at four a.m., fall into a taxi and board a flight two hours later to Naples. I spoke to few people on the journey - I was in a daze. I had not travelled abroad alone since college days, other than the dreadful flight I had made back from the States after M was taken. I had taken M on holiday many times, but now there was just me and my dreadful anguish. Grief is a poor travelling companion.
There were few people going to Ischia. When we landed, I discovered I was the only one on board my flight. Most people were going to Sorrento and I wondered if I had made a mistake in picking the Island. However, I found our rep, a lovely girl called Ina and introduced myself. There were two other couples who had arrived on a different flight and we all boarded the coach that would take us to the port and on to the Island by ferry.
I made small talk with the two other couples but gave away nothing of my reason for being there. I was beyond tired and even talking was an effort. The other couples were going to different hotels to me. In some ways I was relieved as I did not want to have to make the effort of socialising.
Mummy's Still Here Page 16