Mummy Where Are You? (Revised Edition, new) (24 page)

              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 suspected 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.

              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.