Mummy Where Are You? (Revised Edition, new) (15 page)

              Despite the state I was in, I had only one thought and that was to see my son.  Sarah, my best friend, who had been in Court with Jan and my father, offered to come with me to Social Services to try and find out when I could see him.  My lawyer had already phoned the lawyer acting for the Department, but was told that because I had not come out of Court until ten-thirty, and they had arranged for me to see him at ten, I would now have to wait for another contact session to be arranged.  I told him firmly that I was not going to accept that.  I would wait at the Social Services building all day if I must.  I had to see M.

              Sarah and I walked out of the Court into the cold October day.  It was raining and I had no coat.  I was cold right through to my bones from the night huddled in custody and from my slight fever – I pulled my thin grey jacket tighter around me, gripping the sides to prevent the wind searing through the flimsy top that I wore underneath.  I knew I looked like death, but I also knew that M would only see me and not what I wore.  I knew he needed to see me as soon as possible.  The cord that had joined us before birth had stretched from Britain to America and back again and would never break.

              I walked with Sarah through the now familiar glass doors of the Social Services building and asked at reception to speak to the two Social Workers appointed to M’s case - one being the hard faced, dark haired girl who had met me so briefly, before labelling me a bad mother for wanting to protect my son from abuse, the other, an older woman who had a coarse accent and a slightly protruding front tooth which gave her the appearance of
Nanny McPhee
.   I found that it helped to characterise these people, in order to make them less real and threatening.

              We waited for about an hour before the two ugly sisters appeared. 
Nanny Mc Phee
and
Miss Whiplash
as I had mentally termed the dark-haired girl.  Miss W dressed in black as usual and Nanny Mac white faced, reeking of cigarettes and nicotine coloured hair, stood before me with faces filled with contempt, beckoning me to follow them into a side room.  Sarah came too and I was glad of her quiet presence. 

              “You can see him if you sign an agreement first.”  Nanny Mac said skewing up her eyes as she did so.  She handed it to me and I skim read it, not really taking it in.   I would have signed the Magna Carta at that point if it would have allowed me to see M, so I scrawled a signature on what at first reading seemed to be a list of basic rules of conduct around contact and handed it back to them.  

              “Okay, you can see him at one O’clock at the Contact Centre in town.” She said coldly and then they both got up and turned and walked out.

              We had a couple of hours to kill, so we went for something to eat. Only God knows where, everything was such a blur and the only thing that has stayed in my mind was seeing M for the first time in weeks.  What we ate or even if we ate at all, I no longer recall, but I assume we must have gone somewhere between leaving the Department and arriving at the Contact Centre.

              The Children's Centre in the main town was a new building, very modern with a lot of glass built into the structure.  It had the appearance of an office block rather than a congenial place for parents to see their children.  My father had been Chairman of a similar Children’s Centre for seventeen years, but now, he too was forced to see M at a Contact Centre run by many of his old employees – which was extremely degrading for him. 

              We waited in reception until Miss Whiplash and Nanny Mac arrived with M who immediately broke free from them and ran towards me.  He flung himself into my arms with joy, yelling “Mummy." Over and over.  I struggled not to cry, as we reunited for the first time in seven weeks.  It was bliss to hold him. 

              The cold, uncaring voice of the Social Worker, pierced our happiness and we were told to follow her up the stairs to a room where we would be allowed to see each other for an hour under their supervision. 

              The Social Workers had brought with them a bag of gifts that I sent from the UK.  In it were
Club Penguin
and
Pokémon
cards, clothes, a teddy bear and other small gifts that I thought M might like.  Every gift had been agonised over and bought with the greatest of love.

              M was less interested in the “goodie” bag than in seeing me and we sat on the floor together as we used to do at home and played with marbles from the bag of gifts.  There was nothing in the room other than the table and chairs where our jailers sat chatting idly to each other and occasionally glaring at me through steely eyes.  I pretended they weren't there.  M was giggling and filled with delight at us being together and I was doing my best to hold back the tears that threatened to pour down my cheeks, partly from exhaustion, but mostly from the despair I felt that I could not pick him up in my arms and take him home and resume the life we had had before the nightmare began.

              Our time passed too quickly and we clung for as long as we could on goodbye.  M’s eyes filled with tears and mine were pricking with those I could not shed in front of him.  He asked when he would see me again, but the two Social Workers would not reassure him and coldly said, “soon, we’ll let you and your mummy know."  I could not believe their cruelty as those appointed to act in "the best interests of the child."  Not one official we had come across had seemed at all child-friendly and these two were the coldest of all of them.  I felt anger surge in me each time they bullied my son in order to hurt me.  It would be nearly two weeks before I would see M again. 

              With a curt “bye”, the two social workers left, M walking next to them his head down and shoulders slumped.  I have never hated anybody as much as I hated those two women in that moment, M’s jailers, two people who were supposed to care about him.  How could anyone be so callous to a child?

              And so I found myself in this alien terrain, the complete polar opposite of everything we are supposed to give our children, was now M’s life.  He had no security, no stability, no–one to love or cuddle him through his pain, a pain that he should not have ever known and one that began because he dared to tell Mummy what his father had done.   The only consolation was that at least he had not yet been placed with his abuser, but it was small consolation because he so clearly needed me and I desperately needed him.  The pain was beyond anything that I could ever describe.  The longing for him, the worrying over him, the crying for him, it was endless living grief and it consumed me.  There was no way out of my pain. I had to endure it and try to find strength to carry on for M.  I still believed that with the right help we could get him back.  However, I sensed the help would not come from a local advocate, but would have to come from elsewhere.

              Sarah drove me back to my father’s house with both of us in tears.  Now M was gone, I could no longer hold them back and I wept bitterly for the separation, but at least I had seen him and he knew I was back on the Island. 

              It was weeks before I could go into what had once been our home - an old white cottage on the seafront.   Almost our whole lives so far, lived out in that little haven and our past was etched on every inch of it.  From then on, I drove past it every day but I could never summon up the strength to go inside.  Instead I stayed at Dad’s both loving and hating him as I could not get past how close we had come to our freedom before he gave us up.  My bereavement fuelling my anger, there was no way of detaching from it and nowhere to hide from it.  I wished with all my heart that it had been someone other than him that had broken the silence of our freedom and brought us back to this prison. – but the real prison was in my head and in my heart – my fears for M – my need for him and I carried his suffering with me as well as my own, his overshadowing mine.

              There was no peace in sleep or awake.  There was just constant endless fear and despair and an aching so deep, it manifested physical pain.  I felt ill, tired and as a mouse on a wheel as I ran in circles trying to find a way of cracking the case – of revealing the corruption of possibly exposing a paedophile ring – but how? – alone – just one small mother drowning in the sea of evil.

              I now had another problem to face and that was the Court case.  I was already in serious trouble in the criminal court but the Prohibited Steps Order had been made in the Family Court and I could be put in jail for contempt by the Judge sitting on that case – the brother of the Attorney General responsible for my Criminal trial both working hand in evil hand.  I only had my Scottish lawyer to defend me and I had already decided that he was not going to be of any help to me.  He was too much a part of the system as most of the local advocates seemed to be. 

              I met with Neil at his office to give him one last chance to demonstrate that he could fight the case.  He was amicable but not hopeful and despite an air of feigned camaraderie, there was something about him that repelled me but I couldn't put my finger on it.  On the surface he was polite and amiable but I didn't trust him and I sensed a hostility towards me that was only thinly veiled by the apparent bonhomie.

              “I want to plead “Not Guilty” in both courts.”  I told him firmly.  “ Are you happy to support me in that?”

              “No, I can’t do that. I don’t think it’s the right thing to do.” 

              I felt a rising anger as he dismissed my life so easily, but quelled it and instead coolly handed him some printed sheets.

              “Here is the relevant authority to support my plea on a defence of necessity under the Hague Convention.”  

              “I don’t know anything about the Hague Convention.”  He responded without emotion as he dropped the information onto his desk without even a cursory glance.  “If you won’t plead guilty, I can’t represent you,” he said, his earlier mask of cordiality having slipped completely to be replaced by hard contempt.

              “Fine, I respect your view, but I am going to plead "not guilty" so it seems we will have to part company and I will have to get help elsewhere.” 

              It was at that moment that R’s lawyer came into the office and Neil left the room to speak to her. I watched through the glass partition as they exchanged information – I knew immediately that they were going beyond the call of duty and quite likely trying to make some kind of deal, so my resolve was further strengthened.  It was then, I knew for certain that I had to get a lawyer outside of the Island who was not part of the local mafia.

              Neil came back into the room and I gave him my instruction to come into Court the following week and take himself off the record.  He didn't try to fight me on this, but reiterated his opinion that I was doing the wrong thing.  I closed the door both on him and his advice. He was just another part of the system, another weak link in a chain that was wrapping itself around my neck and becoming longer each day. 

              My first appearance in the Criminal Court was scheduled for a week later  meanwhile I had seen M only once since our tearful reunion and I had been made to see him in a tiny office above the Job Centre in town, supervised by the two witches who had become prison guards to both M and I.  There was no room to play, no way of being relaxed with each other in a room that could not have been more than eight feet square with a desk taking up most of the space.  There was no apology for this – it was see him there or not at all – they were apparently sorting out a Contact Centre slot, but it was more likely that it was located opposite the Social Services building. I was considered a flight risk, so they wanted to ensure I was surrounded at all times.

              M was always thrilled to see me and clung to me when he had to say goodbye.  We made the best of the awful conditions and I brought cards, games and art materials to try and make what fun I could out of so little.  I felt like we had been kidnapped and held hostage by our captors,  who used our love for each other to blackmail and bully us.  There was no adherence to any normal moral behaviour, let alone Human Rights.  Every single article of the Human Rights Act was being breached and yet I was defenceless against this and so was M.  He had no rights at all and no voice.  He was as afraid of losing his one hour with me, as I was of losing my time with him and we tried to jump the hoops put before us, terrified of making a single mistake. 

              I had no real sense of the Foster Carers, but I sensed M was unhappy with them and longing for me constantly.  He said little and it seemed that he had been warned not to tell Mummy anything that might lead to their discovery.  I asked no questions as was dictated to by the ridiculous agreement that they had made me sign on coming out of custody.  It was a strait-jacket designed to keep me from knowing anything of what my son’s life now was.  It was another way to taunt and control us.  The cruelty towards children by this lowest of all factions of society was unbelievable.

              I arrived at Court in good time the following week to face the Criminal Court in earnest for the first time.  I dressed smartly and did my hair and make-up carefully.  I was not going to give anyone the satisfaction of seeing my suffering.  I needed to keep up morale. 

              I was slightly concerned that I couldn't see Neil anywhere.  I was due to meet him prior to the hearing.  I had since made contact with a UK lawyer who had a strong reputation in family matters, having defended a mother who had been falsely accused of murdering her own children - who they eventually proved had died of a genetic disorder.  It was through John Hemming, the UK politician that I had been pointed towards this man and he had just agreed to take the case, assuming I could get him licensed to work in our Courts.  In fact he had spoken to me on my mobile only minutes before I had walked from the car park to the Court room and he'd advised that I get Neil to tell the Court that I sought to appoint UK counsel.