Mummy Where Are You? (Revised Edition, new)

by Jeanne D'Olivier

  As soon as M was well enough, I saw him back at the Contact Centre. He recovered despite their lack of attentive care. I felt it was rather careless of them to have let him go into the sea that weekend only days after his op when his wound would still be susceptible to infection. I remembered the advice I had been given by the Urologist after the last Op which had suggested the wound could not be got wet for a minimum of two weeks, but it was fruitless to complain. M was at their mercy and he told me he'd also being playing football, which again seemed ill-advised as a wayward ball in his groin area would have been very painful indeed and potentially damaging so soon after his operation.

  M survived despite the Foster Carers and certainly not because of them and it remains my opinion that they were not fit to have him which was confirmed by what I learned later on. It was not that I was a mother who over worried about her child. I'd always believed in the need for both solid roots and wings and that you certainly cannot wrap children in cotton wool. The odd fall and scratch goes with the territory and is a learning curve that protects them in later life, but sometimes there was a need for pure common sense which seemed to be lacking all round.

  The following contact, the Contact Centre staff allowed me to bring the puppy to show M and Chris, the more humane Social Worker agreed that this could do no harm and may be of benefit, bringing him some much needed comfort and raising his spirits.

  I brought Coco to the centre on the same day I collected him and M was overjoyed. He ran into the room with glee and went straight to the tiny brown furry animal and picked him up. His whole face lit up. It had been worth every penny of the four hundred and fifty pounds I had paid for the little animal. M was totally smitten and naturally wanted to spend the whole time playing with him. For once I was happy to take a back seat and whilst I sat on the floor with M and let the puppy dash between us, I didn't mind in the least that he was absorbed in stroking it, cuddling it and playing with it.

  As M had had such a lovely time with Coco, I asked if I could bring him each week and the Contact Centre Manager said she could see no harm in it at all. They had no rules that prevented it whatsoever and she also felt that children benefitted from being able to see a pet.

  M’s happiness at having the puppy to play with was once again snatched from him, as Miss Whiplash and Nanny Mac, decided that they were not going to allow it. It seemed they had one aim and that was to deny M anything that brought him any happiness. One couldn't help but feel that there was a strong sense of jealousy at the root of this. They wrote to me saying I could not bring Coco again and ignored a letter from the Contact Centre Manager contradicting this view.

  Once again, my attempts to bring M some small shred of comfort had ended in tears.

  It took two months of hard battle to persuade them to let the puppy come for half an hour – and then only in the back yard where there was no room to play and where we would get soaking wet, as the weather cooled for Autumn. In the meantime they pressed on with extending M’s contact with his father who was now having him for whole weekends and the weekend after she had written to me denying contact with Coco, Miss Whiplash brought her own Chihuahuas to R’s cottage to show him - which M unwittingly revealed to me at a contact session. He also told me that the Social Worker regularly dropped in at weekends to see his father, on her days off. They were blatant in their bias and did not even try to hide it.

  I had been written off as M’s parent in every way and all I could see ahead was a life without him. I prayed that by some miracle this cruel and wicked lie would be exposed – that we would be reunited and that justice and the truth would win out, but I feared it would not. I had known in my heart from the minute they took him, that I had lost my child forever and that now they had him they would stop at nothing until they had placed him firmly in the hands of his abuser.

  Through the summer months, we were allowed to leave the centre accompanied by two supervisors and walk to a nearby park. It was not that exciting for M as he was past the age where children's play areas held appeal, but at least it was a small amount of freedom compared to the restriction of what I had dubbed, the exercise yard - little knowing then, how poignant those words would become.

  The nearest play area was within walking distance and was not very well equipped, but at least we were able to kick a ball more easily.

  On a couple of occasions we were allowed to go to a larger park where we could kick a ball - each time accompanied by two Social Workers sitting in, but at least it was better for M.

  None of this artificial world bore any resemblance to the life we had had - Small crumbs thrown to us by the Department, whilst his father got more and more contact and total freedom to do what he liked and go where he liked with neither supervision nor scrutiny. I worried constantly that M may still be being abused. I thought it was less likely whilst his father was now in a strong position to gain residency. He was too busy trying to bribe and manipulate M into wanting to live with him by buying his affection with toys and taking him Go-Karting and anything else that might entice him.

  My life was in constant limbo. I tried to remain positive and when the QC had suggested we appeal the Fact Find judgment out of time, I had thought that we may have a chance of getting M back and justice may still prevail. What caused the QC to change his mind, I will never know, but just as those who had gone before, who made promises of challenging the Care Order and getting M back to me where he belonged, this one was no different. He very quickly did a volte face, saying this was not the best way to get M back and persuaded me to focus instead on proving that I was the best parent for M.

  What more could I do? I knew I was the best parent for M, all those who had written testimonials for me had testified to that, and I jumped through every hoop that was put in front of me. Other than try and protect my son from harm by taking him away from danger, I had done nothing wrong. I had been a devoted, caring and loving mother, but it didn’t seem to count for anything.

  Whilst I didn’t agree with Phillip's “appease the court” approach, he was Queen’s Counsel and had a wealth of experience, so I had to put some faith in him. He had, now changed his initial opinion and believed that if we appealed the Family Court Judge he would then be more determined to give M to his father. None of this made sense to me as surely appealing the Judge would put the case before another Judge and having seen the ABE interview twice myself, I couldn't believe that the Appeal Court Judges could possibly ignore the sincerity and obvious truth of my son's words. I still felt it was the only way of avoiding the catastrophic outcome that I feared.

  Periodically I tried to get the lawyers to change their mind and still go to appeal, but they wouldn't listen. They assured me their way would get my son back and quite frankly I would have agreed to anything to bring him safely home. They assured me that what we were experiencing now would soon be at an end and worst case scenario, I would end up with shared residency. All I had to do was endure the torture for a little longer and bide my time, whilst trying not to breach any of the ever-more restrictive terms of contact - a cruel and elaborate game where the rules changed daily and the prize - my son.

  My Criminal Trial was fast approaching and there was a great deal of necessary preparation. With Phillip now managing both the Family and Criminal case, we were in constant communication. Fortunately we got on well and I tried to do everything he asked of me but deep down, I remained unconvinced that he was taking the right approach in the Family Court whilst I felt confident that he would do a good job in the Criminal Court and he assured me I would not go to jail.

  I spent long hours, day and night working through reports, Judgements, and endless files looking for evidence and making copious notes, my Masters Degree a walk in the park by comparison. I had to think like a lawyer and suppress emotion in favour of objectivity and rationale and this was not easy to do. There was now so much material for both Courts and whilst much of the same information applied to both cases, it had to be approached differently for
each separate Court.

  I made a Subject Access Request for the Social Services files on M and I. My own file was completely empty, but there were eight files on M and every single line of each and every note, report and email had to be scrutinised and put under headings to demonstrate evidence of bias. It was painful to read the endless lies that had been documented; yet I was determined to leave no stone unturned, no word ignored, nothing missed that may help M.

  It perhaps says it all that I feared my Criminal Trial less than I feared the Final Hearing in the Family Court. In the Criminal Court things were judged on the burden of proof, which meant that the evidence had to be substantiated. In the Family Court which was due to start only weeks later, no such rule applied. Hearsay evidence being allowed, was one of the biggest problems faced by anyone entering the Family Court arena. Anyone with a grudge can say anything they like and it can be accepted as fact. Naturally anyone who wore the official label of “professional” was far more likely to be believed than I - my word against so many others all working to one end alone which was to cover up the abuse, protect their own jobs and give my son to his abuser. Why? Would we ever know?

  What connection did M’s father have with these people that he was so supported? I had always known that he was a plausible liar as that was how I'd got involved with him in the first place, but I had learned relatively quickly that beneath what appeared to be a passive facade, lay an aggressive, cruel and manipulative man who had sought to destroy me from the moment he had lain eyes on me. I represented to him someone who he felt had had a privileged life and one that he wanted for himself. He was consumed with jealousy and whilst he wanted to attain the things he thought I stood for, education, intelligence, the trappings of middle class life, he resented me for having them - classic Madonna/Whore syndrome - a story as old as Adam and Eve, but no less relevant.

  R had had a difficult relationship with his own mother who he treated very badly, but nonetheless she sought to control and dominate his life. He had taken his misogyny out on me and yet it went far deeper than that. There was a total lack of ability in R to show any sort of humanity or compassion for any other human being. He had no compassion for what he was putting his son through, no ability to empathise with the cruel suffering that was part of M’s daily existence. In his mind he had to win. He had to punish both M and I for daring to expose the truth – he was driven like a moth to the flame to his one desire to destroy me and to take from me my most precious child as the way of hurting me most and it amazed me that not one of the Court Officials seemed to see this. Either it was a case of like attracting like and one bully mimicking the behaviour of another or there was something more sinister going on - a Paedophile ring? It seemed there could be no other explanation when abuse had been ignored and the abuser supported by all.

  I was exhausted all the time from working flat out day and night, yet still I put every ounce of my being into trying to fight back. I rarely slept and when I did, managed only a few fitful hours tormented by nightmares and waking in a cold sweat - there was no peace of mind either awake or asleep. Still I pushed myself harder and harder as the two hearings approached, determined not to give up, determined that nothing should be left undone, that could be done. M deserved no less from me and I gave my all and more.

  The financial pressure was really beginning to take its toll on my father. He was selling off assets right left and centre to keep on greasing the legal wheels that we needed to go on fighting. He still believed that the lawyers would come good in the end and what other choice did we have? Fight or flight? I had tried the latter to no avail.

  With only a week to go before the start of the Criminal Trial, the QC and Brian took up residency in an apartment on the seafront so they could work with me more easily. Brian’s assistant came too and another barrister who had been employed as Junior on the case when Gabby unfortunately had had to leave due to other commitments. The Junior was a nice girl too and worked hard. She had represented my father who had also been taken into custody and charged with abduction, aiding and abetting and perjury.

  Dad had acted somewhat naively when he was arrested. He'd refused his right to a lawyer and whilst my QC and any number of people from Brian’s office rang to try and speak to him to advise him to give a "no comment" interview, my father, who just wanted to get out, fully cooperated with the police and gave them a no-holds-barred interview, that was anything but helpful to my case. Once again, my father believed what he was told. It was hardly surprising. He had no experience of the Island other than from the stand point of an upright citizen. He'd never had so much as a parking ticket. He trusted the system, as so many do, until it turns on its head.

  Dad was persuaded by the police that he couldn't speak to anyone from Brian’s firm which was not true. Even though they were licensed to act for me, the police were in fact duty bound to let him have one call and the lawyers had rung for a Welfare Check on my behalf, which they were perfectly within their rights to do. Dad sadly refused to take the call.

  My legal team had been frantic. Gabby, at that time still on the case, had been on her way over for a meeting with me and was in transit, was frantically ringing on her mobile and Phillip and Brian too were both periodically ringing the station. They knew that if he talked without any legal advice or lawyer present, he may well unintentionally self-incriminate and in doing so, may inadvertently damage our case in the Criminal Court. They urgently needed to let him know that he had a right to remain silent as they knew the police could not be relied upon to tell him this.

  Once Dad disclosed everything, he had no defence and had no option but to plead guilty and Phillip's Junior barrister, who eventually replaced Gabby had to advise him to accept the perjury charge, in return for the prosecution agreeing to no charge on aiding and abetting.

  Gabby had been outraged when she heard that Dad had given a statement and passionate as she was about trying to help me stay out of jail and get justice for M and I, she laid into Dad with gusto after he was released. But it was too late, the damage was already done and whilst his statement did little to help us and nothing to help him, I doubt it made any difference in the long run to the eventual outcome. After all, their true prize was me, not my father. He was merely a convenient tool to extort information that they could twist and use against me. It was a shame he played into their hands, but a man in his eighties with no experience of how the police operate, is ill-equipped to deal with it. He'd been raised to respect the authorities and to cooperate with the law.

  The Judge was lenient and gave my father a two year conditional discharge which amounted to little more than a rap across the knuckles. It was not Dad they wanted. Regardless, I don't believe that they ever would have jailed my father. To jail a man of over eighty who had had three heart attacks would have caused too much of a stir, particularly one who was well known in the community. The press would have had a field day and so they successfully got him to incriminate me, playing on his own fear of jail and letting him think that they could gain access to his bank statements if he did not admit he had spoken to us when we were in America, something he had lied about in his initial statement as a weak attempt to protect us.

  This too was bluff on the part on the police, for the bank had been called into Court when we were still in the States and had refused to give evidence. The Court couldn't force them as they were not a noticed party and this was not a fraud case, so really they just played on Dad’s lack of knowledge of the law and the fact that he believed what he was told without question. Sadly he has had to learn some hard lessons late in life about how corruption works and how the systems set up to supposedly protect the vulnerable are often rife with Freemasonry, old boy networks, bribery and insidious deceit.

  A week before going to trial, I was offered a plea bargain by the prosecutor. He indicated that if I pleaded guilty he would be lenient and the QC felt that I would definitely avoid a custodial sentence if I took the plea. I was not so convinced. I fully suspe
cted that my father's minor sentence was a carrot to encourage me to plead guilty and firmly believed that they hoped to lure me into a false sense of security, whilst still giving me the harsh prison sentence I feared would be the inevitable outcome.

  Nonetheless I agonised for a day, trying to decide which path to take. I knew that any plea of guilt would leave me with a conviction for the rest of my life and I would never be able to teach again which I had planned to do when M was older. I would also be restricted from travel which had been a big part of M's early years and clinging vainly to the hope that M would still come home to me, I was not prepared to sabotage his future or mine, while there was any chance of walking free.

  I thought of our dream home in America and the paradise we'd tried to build; the memory of which had sustained me and given me hope during this horrific time and knew I was not prepared to give up yet. If I ran my defence of necessity, I still had a fifty-fifty chance of being found not guilty and I would be no good to M if there offer of leniency landed me in jail. I wanted to give us the best life possible and the best chance of a future together, so I decided to continue as planned and run my defence. I remained convinced that any jury seeing M’s evidence could not fail to understand why I had run and had to show me compassion.

  I went out for lunch with Phillip, the QC and told him that I'd decided to take my chances and go to trial. I think, deep down, that whilst he didn't want me to face prison if things did not turn out well, he believed we had a fighting chance and wanted to run the case. It was one of the hardest decisions I have ever had to make. I had to at least try and fight for justice. In the Criminal Court, the press would be allowed to report the case, alerting others to the flaws in the Family Court system. Whilst this was only a secondary issue, it was still important. Having said that, I would always advise and have advised others since, to fight for your child first and never sacrifice them for the sake of the cause.