Mummy Where Are You? (Revised Edition, new) (33 page)

              It is strange what brings people together.  All I saw now was Nigel’s inherent kindness and gentleness, as I remembered the last time we'd met during my mother’s funeral.  He and Sophie had had the whole family round for dinner at their beautiful and rather exotic home, which had a swimming pool adjoining the kitchen, with a little boat in it.   I remembered how Nigel had played with M with some kind of antique table top game.  He had been a collector of all sorts of antiques and contemporary art.  I had thought then, what a gentle soul he was, despite his Lothario reputation. Now, bizarrely he was checking out two books for me at a jail counter.  We said goodbye and I walked with the warden back to the wing with a heavy heart – Nigel had been so full of life, so full of fun.  Who knew now, if he would ever get out.  I'd heard the police had cheered when he was convicted – how cruel – how unprofessional – how typical.

              I soon discovered it wasn’t the jail that was blocking my contact with M.  It was, as usual, Social Services and no doubt the highly vindictive Miss Whiplash.  The Deputy Governor was actually trying hard to make it happen, but the Social Worker was making this her own personal vendetta and doing all she could to prevent it - an act of vengeance, no doubt for my open disdain for the system, which I'd done nothing to conceal in Court.  Having chosen to voice what I thought about the Judiciary and the Department in particular,  one might say was unwise, but I'd hoped that the lay person in the jury, a jury made up of the “common man” would, no doubt, have their own grievances against this Ancien Regime, thinking  naively that they would support someone who had the courage to stand up to the wrongs in the system.  I suspect, that whatever their true beliefs, most of them were too scared to go against the Prosecution and I remembered again, that when we'd  come back into court for the verdict, the Prosecutor was already in the courtroom – a courtroom that had been locked. 

              I thought back to the look of sympathy on the face of one of the jurors as she heard our story.  It seemed impossible that same woman had found me guilty – but maybe she hadn't -  in her heart.  She had looked like a grandmother, a kindly face, a large figure.   I wondered if some of the hostility was due to my connections, my family name, rather than who I was.  It was no secret on the Island that my sister had had several high profile marriages and wasn't popular – I wanted to scream, “that’s her, not me, I'm just like you.”  Had they even seen me at all?

              I was knitting furiously, hoping to finish the scarf for M in time to hand it out to my father on his next visit. At least Dad was still having contact once a week.  My heart ached for my son, to see him, reassure him, hold him, it was torture.  I knitted my love into each stitch as I worked into the night on the blue and white striped scarf, the only thing I could offer him.

              The finished product wasn't great.  I was terribly out of practice, but at least, M would know I'd been thinking of him.  I thought of the gifts I'd already begun secreting in the loft ready for Christmas.  Would I ever get a chance to give these to him? I completed the scarf just in time  for Dad's next visit and in my haste nearly wrecked it, trying to cut off the loose ends, as I didn't  have a darning needle to sew them in.  I vowed to start another the next day or a hat, but for now, it would have to do. 

              That evening I was suddenly told that I could have a phone call with M, scheduled for seven p.m. -  for ten minutes.  Naturally I was overjoyed.  I hadn't heard his voice since our final contact - but alongside my jubilation, I was worried how he would feel, hearing my voice, when he couldn't see me and was concerned that this may upset him even more.  I still had no idea what he'd been told. 

              When the time came for my call, I was taken into the office and the warden spoke first to M explaining that she was someone who “cared for his Mummy”.  I anxiously took the phone and tried to sound as bright as possible.  His first words were; “Are you okay Mummy?”  He sounded worried.  I told him I was fine and I would be out in no time - hoping like crazy that he would believe me.  I told him to be brave and strong as he had been throughout.  He told me, to my relief, that he'd received the one letter I'd been allowed to write and  thanked me for it.  My heart was bursting and tears were threatening to fall, but I willed them to stay back until our ten minutes were over, not wanting to worry him further.  

              He told me he'd  bought me a birthday present of a glass heart with the words “I love you Mummy” engraved on it and had wanted to send it to me but hadn't been allowed.  How cruel to deny him - I wondered what harm it could have done?  I stifled as sob, as I told him to keep it for me until I came out or give it to Granddad to keep safe for me.

              "Lots of people are working hard to get me out of prison.  I'm  sure it won't be long before I am."  I tried my best to reassure him.  I was so impressed by how grown up M had become, how caring and wonderful and brave – but all children are wonderful – gifts of God, the Universe.  No child should have had to experience this pain.

              M told me to treat being in jail like a holiday.  In his child’s mind he needed to put this into a context that was less frightening to him.  I assured him that I would do as he suggested and told him that that was a good idea.  I marvelled at how he tried to comfort me, unselfish and only concerned for my suffering.  He was such a special boy and had always been naturally caring of others.  I was so very proud of him, his words to me then, reminiscent of what I'd said the first contact after he was taken in America – to treat it as if he was on a summer camp.  Now, here was my little boy telling me to do the same, showing a maturity well beyond his years.  My heart burst with love and pride.

              The call kept getting interrupted by messages saying my credit was running out.  This was frustrating as I knew I had plenty of credit in my ten minute daily allowance.  Either this was a technical hitch or a way of them listening in and monitoring the call.  In the end we were cut off before we had a chance to say goodbye.  I asked the warden to let me ring back and she kindly let me do this so I could say “I love you the world and back” which he echoed.  I felt, that at least on some level, M had been reassured by hearing my voice and I took some small comfort in that. 

              I liked the two female wardens on our wing, they were not without compassion and I think they even grasped the situation to a certain extent.  I certainly sensed no hostility from them.  This was another source of jealousy for the other girls though, who saw me as siding with the "screws" -  a betrayal, when they themselves abused the female staff as much as possible and expected others to do the same. 

              M had told me he had confided in two of his closest school friends, he trusted.  Apparently the two boys had been sympathetic to him, as much as children of that age were capable.  I was relieved he hadn't said anything about being bullied.  I couldn't have borne it if he was.

              I'd assured him that things inside were not too bad, but in reality, I knew that the cold hard facts or at least the Court’s version of those facts had been well-publicised on both the
BBC
news and in the National Press.   The worst reporting, however, had been in the local press which was well-known to be owned and paid for by local Government.  It had damned me very hard for my actions and I feared that M may not be oblivious to this.  There was nothing I could do but hope he was not too damaged by it. 

              I remembered that the paediatrician had told me in his chilling words to “let them carry out their experiment," of giving M to his father, assuring me that it would fail.    But after years of forced contacts with his father back then and the way they had cruelly and relentlessly insisted they continue, despite his protests, I doubt very much that whatever his reaction, they would have abandoned what they were so determined to do - to take him from his mother and give him to his abuser at all costs.

              I discovered later, sadly, from Social Services notes, that M had been taunted the first time they had taken him back to his old school - children asking whether his mummy was in jail.  I had been horrified to read this in the reports, but again, was powerless to do anything about it.  I felt the school had been lacking in not better preparing the children and ensuring that they didn't question M, but the school had shown unbreakable allegiance to the fee payer – M's father – something that I would see again and again.  Money talked, where duty of care to a child, should have been the only currency.

              M had also told me during that call that he'd been staying with his father since I was put in jail.  They were increasing the contact at a very fast pace now, in preparation for the Final Hearing in the Family Court. With Mummy safely out of the way, they pushed as hard as they could to get M conditioned to accept a new life without me,  in the hands of his father and his father’s new wife - the woman he'd married only weeks earlier – despite dating her for eight years – an Ace card he would play to demonstrate stability and a stereotypical family life.

              When M told me this, I felt a surge of anger as it was so plainly clear that the Department hoped that M would choose living with his father over staying in Foster Care where he had seen one child be adopted, now that living with me was no longer an option in the short term, at least.  His father had put in his statement that he would rather M stayed in Foster Care than be returned to me.  This was a sentiment we shared, but for completely different reasons.  I wanted M kept safe.  R's motives were driven pure and simple by his desire to deprive me of my son and thus cause me the maximum of suffering.

              My lawyer proposed foster care as the only option at the time, should I lose my appeal and be forced to serve my full four and half months term.  Short term pain for M, to avoid a life of abuse.  I could not believe, R wouldn't try again – after all, he'd got away with it, also knowing that at that tender age, M could not possibly have made up the abuse. 

              I remained incredulous as to why no-one had believed M, when the policy had always been that the child should always be believed.  How could they take the chance?  It was inconceivable, especially when they had failed to investigate and accepted the views, instead of the Educational Psychologist, Dr C who was conflicted from the start.

              I still longed for Florida, to be safe in our beautiful home that had only been ours for one night – the happiest night of our lives.  I wished I could have given my father the strength and courage to withstand the police and his fear.  I loved my father deeply, but it was so hard not to lay blame at his feet for this horrifying outcome, whilst reminding myself constantly that Dad hadn't acted out of malice, only naivety. 

              We had all learned too late, that corruption in this small Island was rife and that Freemasonry was a dominant force.  Even so, I could still not be completely certain what was at the root of all of this.  How had I gone from innocently reporting to my GP what my son had told, me to losing him altogether? 

              It was certainly true to say that to appoint an “expert” who has seen a party prior to the proceedings, is an unbelievable thing for any Judge to do and it showed his incompetence if nothing else.  He then vested her with total power and control in letting her supervise all the contacts so that she could commit more and more lies to paper and turn them into facts.  Sadly this was happening to many families across the British Isles, but we were unaware of it back then. 

              Through my own experiences and the publicity of our case, I began to learn of others who made contact when they heard of my plight.  I was overwhelmed with support and letters from mums and dads alike – some of them old friends, some of them strangers, all expressing horror at what had happened to us.  One day I hope that M may be able to see those letters and better understand so that he can attempt to make sense of this horrific nightmare that we have lived and see why his childhood was smashed to pieces.

              I wished now that I hadn't returned to the Island when M was a baby.  I wondered if things might have been different if we had stayed in England where M had been born, but now, judging from other people’s stories, it may not have made any difference. 

              We'd returned home when my son was eighteen months old because I'd thought it would be a safe place to raise a child.   I had wanted M to benefit from a healthy outdoor life and the low crime rate.  Perhaps the reason for the low crime rate was that they left the criminals outside and locked up good mothers instead.  It was hard not to become bitter and cynical, but I kept my eye on Amanda's drawing emblazoned with “Hope” and I willed myself to keep this alive no matter how small the flame.

              The four barristers that had seen M’s evidence all believed that M’s father would have been convicted in the UK and many abusers had been, on a lot less evidence.  The police had said that M’s evidence hadn't been clear enough and yet they said my father and I had coached him.  This was crazy because surely if we had coached him, we would have coached him to be as clear as possible.  One wonders what a child has to describe for it to be considered abuse - if putting his hard "winky in his bum so it hurt" - wasn't enough.  The only possible explanation still seemed to be, that they were protecting a paedophile ring.

              On my worst days,  I wondered if I should have taken the plea bargain the Prosecution had offered, but this was only because I'd ended up in jail and was away from M.