Brian arranged for the press to be in attendance and contacted the Times and the Telegraph. I had already met with John Sweeney from the BBC's series Panorama in the summer when I had stayed with Julie whilst working on the case. He'd described our case as a tale of two Judges – based on the fact that the Attorney General and the Family Court Judge were brothers. He was very interested in our case but the BBC lawyers were not so keen.
Where children are concerned, the media have to be so careful not to identify the child and without being able to identify me which would have led to M’s identity, they didn't want to touch it. The Media is a double-edged sword in cases such as ours, they can do good in helping to raise awareness as to the heinous crimes against parents behind closed door Courts, but they can also do harm by exposing the child and this needed to be balanced properly. I left the decisions in this regard to Brian. I had no real experience of the press myself. Whilst there had been some publicity when we were in the States, we were outside the jurisdiction then and in that instance the press had been on our side and able to speak out freely. This was no longer the case, but nonetheless there were no orders in place to prevent the press from sitting in on the Criminal Trial, held in open Court and so long as they did not identify me or my son, they could write about us. This was how I came to be known - as Miss A.
Chapter 11
Now, only days away from going to trial, I saw M. The Department tried to prevent this saying I would be too stressed to see him, but I again stood my ground and fought against this. I had to see him because if I didn't, who knew when I might see him again? I had no idea whether if I was sent down I would get any visiting rights and was unsure even if I would want him to see me in jail, not wanting him to experience any further anguish. I needed to hold him and reassure him as best I could. I had no idea if he knew that the trial was starting, but I had to be near him and let him see that Mummy was strong and confident and I knew that I could keep up that pretence for just a couple of hours.
It seemed that everything was conspiring to make this occasion as hard as possible. The Contact Centre staff decided to disallow a promised trip to the park. A new manager had been brought in and unlike the previous manager who seemed child orientated and had been fair, the new manager was of a completely different ilk and dressed as if she was going to a nightclub in low cut tops and tight skirts and was determined to make the most of her newfound power.
M and I had gone outside with two of the Contact Centre workers and M had got into my car ready to go to the park - the car this same manager had sat in only the week before when she had supervised. Suddenly a new rule was imposed that we could not go because the Contact Centre staff were not insured to travel in my car. M, disappointed again, naturally burst into floods of tears having been told he couldn't go and walk the puppy with whom now, due to my constant battling with the Department, he was allowed to see for one half hour every four weeks. Time was wasted whilst I tried to reason with the manager and to find out why suddenly everything had changed. As usual I got nowhere and later I was accused of causing M’s upset. Whenever anything went wrong, I was always blamed without exception.
M was brought inside with the puppy, but as they now didn’t want the dog inside the Centre either, this caused a further problem. Half of our contact was wasted and eventually the Centre Director was summoned to resolve matters. In the end he agreed to bring M and the Social Workers to the park and I would meet them there. So much time had now elapsed, that we got all of fifteen minutes at the park with the dog. It was then that M gave the first real indication that he'd been completely broken and brainwashed.
We were walking slightly ahead of the Contact Centre staff. The manager in her high heels, completely inappropriately dressed for such an outing or even such a job, was teetering along slowly, our other chaperone, a member of the Contact Centre staff was nervous of dogs and hung back. How anyone could fear one so small as Coco, was beyond me, but to be fair some people are just not dog people and she may have had a bad experience in the past.
The situation, however, did allow for M and I to speak to each other alone for five precious minutes. In that time I told him how much I loved and missed him and how I so much hoped that he would be coming back to me. “I will live with you or Daddy,” M responded emotionless. I had no idea whether these were his genuine wishes or whether he had been told this, nor did I have any opportunity to find out, but it was the first time that M had voiced or been prepared to consider any possibility of living with his father, who less than a year earlier he had refused to see at all. It came as a shock and I feared they had managed to sufficiently distort the facts in his mind until he reached as state of acceptance.
Even if M still knew the truth of what his father had done, he had learned that telling anyone had brought his little word crashing around him and lost him his mum. He must have had some awareness too of the fact that I may be put in jail and therefore his only way out of Foster Care would be by agreeing to live with his father. He also believed, I think, that his father would let him see his mummy. Those few words told me all I needed to know and then the Contact Centre staff caught up with us and we were taken back to our respective cars and returned to the Centre with only a few minutes to say goodbye to each other. We hugged tightly and said our special endearment of “I love you the world and back” and then he was gone. I left with deep sadness and grief, wondering when or if I would see M again.
The night before the Criminal trial was to begin, the lawyers assembled at the apartment. Phillip had already been in residence a week and we'd spent quite a few hours in preparation together and then worked separately and through email so that he could prepare his submissions on my behalf and then send them to me to verify facts. He was tenacious in his efforts and unlike Brian and Julie who both drank heavily and daily and spent many hours eating out, Phillip would work from the early hours and then go to bed in good time. His Junior was much the same and took matters very seriously, working diligently by his side.
I sometimes wondered what the real use of Brian and Julie was. I didn't doubt that Brian was a very experienced solicitor and had handled some quite high profile cases, but I hadn't seen any evidence of real expertise in our case. He seemed vague at times and given the amount he drank, I was amazed he could work at all. I understood that the nature of the work they did must place them under huge emotional pressure, but it's anything but reassuring to know that the person who is central to you legal team has drunk the equivalent of up to three bottles of wine the night before an important hearing, which was so often the case.
Whilst I liked both Brian and Julie, I didn't feel they acted responsibly or professionally and they also encouraged me to drink with them which in my vulnerable and often desperate state, was not a good idea. I was nowhere near as used to handling drink as they were and was a good deal lighter than either of them – more than two glasses of wine at any one time, would render me very tipsy and yet they would casually top up my glass at dinner and in my weakened emotional state it was hard to fight this. I was glad to blank my mind for a while, but was fully aware that this was not a good route to be taking and tried to ensure that this never became a habit, just an occasional chance to relax. The last thing I wanted was to give M's father or the Department any ammunition and I kept this in mind at all times.
The night before trial, I was utterly terrified. Unable to sleep, I began to wonder whether I should have taken the guilty plea that had been offered, but I knew I would not have forgiven myself, had I not tried to fight this terrible injustice. I was caught between the Devil and an ocean of lies.
That morning, exhausted, but pumped full of adrenalin and nervous energy, I dressed carefully and smartly with the minimum of makeup and awaited my father who was accompanying me to Court.
Dad was not allowed into the Court itself, being one of our key witnesses. As such, I put him in charge of looking after the dog, alternately with my friend Liz who came to Court each day of the
trial for at least part of it.
A small number of my more loyal and staunch friends also came in to support me and there was a small group of four with whom I was to have lunch each day. I will always be deeply grateful for their support at this time. Particularly, my friends Sophie and Mags who were both facing severe problems of their own at the time. Mags had her own problems with the Department and Sophie was involved in a nasty legal battle that would eventually see her imprisoned. Both knew too well the corrupt and evil ways in which the Department and the Judiciary worked, and in the midst of their own problems, I was particularly grateful to them for offering their support to me.
Liz was as steadfast as she has been since I had first met her and would sit each day outside the courtroom with me, rubbing the knots of tension in my shoulders and neck and offering a shoulder to cry on whenever I needed it. I overwhelmed by the kindness of these wonderful friends who rallied round me in my hour of need.
Dad dropped me at the Court house where I was to meet Phillip and Brian. Brian was already outside and was talking to a reporter from the Daily Telegraph. I was introduced to a rather pleasant man in a long winter coat, who in appearance, was not dissimilar to Clive James.
He asked me if I'd mind having some photographs taken and assured me that nothing that was printed would identify me. The shots would be in silhouette only. Brian indicated that this was acceptable and I was asked to walk towards the court house from the road whilst a photographer took shots. It felt bizarre and totally detached from reality. My mind was focused only on the trial ahead and everything felt surreal. A lot of what happened in that week, is now something of a blur in my mind and like anything that is seriously traumatic, I believe the brain can bury it deep, as the reality of thinking about it is so painful that this is the only way to survive horrific events. Each second and minute seemed like an eternity whilst it was happening, but the event as a whole seemed to be over in a flash.
After the photographs, I headed inside gladly. A fierce wind was biting cold and cut through me. I was shivering, made worse by the lack of sleep. My hands were like ice and the thin grey suit I had been bought for the trial provided little in the way of warmth.
The legal team had the use of a room at the court where we could leave our belongings and they could keep files under lock and key. I went through the security gate and had my bag and body searched, before heading up to the second floor landing to use the facilities. Once I'd done so, I went to our allocated room to meet with Phillip and his Junior barrister, Elaine. Elaine had a young child of her own and I found her to be quiet, calm, sympathetic and deeply committed, despite joining us at the eleventh hour. She seemed to grasp right from the start, the complete injustice of the situation. Having viewed the evidence, she had no doubt that M had been sexually abused or that his father was anything other than a bully and psychopath. She was far more openly damning of him than Phillip, but it was not Phillip’s way to express strong opinions about people, by comparison he was mostly cool, calm and collected and I rarely saw him lose control.
In many ways, it was necessary for Phillip to be dispassionate, especially during the trial where he needed to remain completely focused. My liberty was in his hands and whilst outside of court he was amiable and kind, he warned me that during this week he must remain detached and couldn't prop me up emotionally, as well as concentrating on the job in hand. This was fair enough. I had my little support group to offer me solace. I didn't expect him to also take on this role and it would have been entirely inappropriate had he done so. He was professional through and through and I'd learned to put my trust and faith in him and did so now. Whilst I didn't always agree with him, I never once lost respect for him either personally or professionally.
I waited nervously with my friends outside the courtroom waiting to be called. The time seemed to pass painfully slowly. I just wanted to get on and get it over with. I reminded myself that Phillip had told me that I was unlikely to go to jail whatever the outcome. No woman in the British Isles at that time had been jailed for abducting their own child and he didn't believe that this case would be any different. Yet, deep in the back of my mind, I again had a strong premonition that my fate would be imprisonment. I had to face the possibility and come to terms with it. It was no good living with a false sense of security at a time like this. I had to be prepared for the worst, whilst hoping for the best.
At last it was time for the trial to start and I was brought into the dock which would be my tedious home for over a week. The G4 guards were always polite, sympathetic and decent to me and they were readily there with a handkerchief, a plastic cup of water and sometimes even a coffee secreted from their kitchen below stairs. I found it comforting to have them with me which is rather ironic given that they were there to prevent me escaping.
The Judge, whom I had seen only once before when Dad had been brought before him, was an overweight, pompous man, very obviously bald, under his wig. He had a red face that belied heavy drinking and had the annoying habit of pulling the wig backwards and forwards over his forehead every few minutes, as if it he found it a constant source of irritation. It was very distracting and unfortunate but I guess everyone has their foibles and this Judge was a veritable Rumpole of the Bailey. Once again I found turning a difficult situation into fantasy helped to reduce its impact. I told myself I was merely an actor playing a part in a scene and that the outcome would be justice and a happy ending - as in all good television dramas.
Once the Judge had opened the hearing and summarised the trial that would ensue, the jury were brought in. There were about twenty-seven potential jurors from which seven would be selected. My first impressions of this random group was that they were a rather motley crew. They were, in the main, shabbily dressed in anoraks and jeans, amongst which were quite a few who one might have described as the rougher elements of society. If these were the people to whom we were appealing for compassion, I felt there was little hope of empathy. I had nothing in common with any of them and the kind of educated, well-turned out professional people that might have felt some sympathy for me were not in evidence. I imagined that was because, one way or another, those people may have known of our family either directly or indirectly and naturally that would lead to conflict and them having to step down.
My father in his younger days had run a large business on the Island employing fifty people and my cousins and other family members also ran prominent businesses. Those who didn't know me directly, would most likely know someone related to me. As such, these were the people we were left with. A list of names had been given to me prior to going in and I didn't recognise any of them which was a pity, because I would have liked a chance to lose at least a few of them.
The Judge then proceeded to read out those people who would be witnesses in our case and also the name of M’s school, the names of the Department members who would give evidence on behalf of the Prosecution and the names of the various lawyers. The potential jurors were advised that they must declare any possible conflict. One by one jurors left the group until there were only thirteen. This, most likely because they had connections to the Department or had been in trouble with the law and hence knew the Prosecutor or other local lawyers.
From this number, names were drawn from a hat to narrow it down to seven. I then had the option of seeking the removal and replacement of any four on the basis of knowing them and two on the basis of not liking the look of them.
I didn’t like the look of any of them, but when Brian reached the dock to ask me if I had any objection, he whispered, “I think we’ve done the best we can with this lot.”
There were two that I especially didn’t like the look of and perhaps should have sought to remove. One of these was a Jehovah’s Witness, the only one wearing a suit. There was something about him that I couldn't place, but I had a bad feeling about him and told Brian. His response being,“well he’s carrying a copy of the Telegraph, so he’s probably okay.” To place my fate and liberty in
the hands of someone merely because they read a particular periodical was ludicrous, but looking around at the other possibilities I had to concede we could do no better. I also had an ominous feeling about a woman with dyed blonde hair and a harsh expression but again, I could see no one who potentially would make a better juror, so I agreed to the group and hoped for the best. Surely any human being would empathise with M’s ABE evidence and even more so a woman. I had to keep faith in that. My fear was that they would not relate to me at all and would see me as privileged, true or not, I was at their mercy now and from that moment on, I could do nothing about it.
I tried to look over at them to see if I could read their expressions as they filed into the two rows of benches to my left. I could see nothing but blank faces which became increasingly pictures of boredom as the trial progressed. I was convinced that at times they were not even listening and one appeared to be dropping off from time to time.
There were three women on the jury out of the seven and I hoped that that would help. Surely mothers or Grandmothers would relate to my plight and show me some compassion, but I saw nothing in the small pool of faces that indicated that they were sympathetic to me whatsoever. I sat there dressed in my grey suit, wearing my anguish for all to see, but I suspected that most of these people, even if they didn't know me personally, would know that our family had money and seek to punish me for that alone. My father was fast running out of his and I had little of my own resources left, but I feared they would just see privilege and no doubt think I deserved all I got - much like the left-wing Social Workers.
The first day dragged on interminably. The Crown Prosecution put their case to the jury and Phillip put mine. All I could do was listen and try to observe the reactions of the jury as each witness took the stand. I kept looking for signs, anything that would show me that even one of them understood or felt something for me, but there were none. The blank, bored faces stared straight ahead or at the various documents in the jury bundles before them. Occasionally one would look over at me, but it was more with curiosity than anything else. Behind the glass of the dock, I felt like a circus freak on display. I didn't know how to reach out to them and plead for their compassion and understanding. At times I didn't hear what was being said as my mind would wander into thoughts of M and our happier times together. I felt cold all the time in my thin suit and wondered if I should have come in warmer clothes, jeans and a sweater, but I wanted to show the Court respect. This was a new Judge from the UK and I wanted to show him that I was an honourable person, calm and balanced and not the crazy person the CPS sought to portray me as.
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