Mummy Where Are You? (Revised Edition, new) (10 page)

              I knew now that I would also be facing prison charges and M who was a bright child seemed to have worked this out for himself – either that – or someone in his foster home or the CAS had told him.  He asked me “Mummy will you go to jail for taking me?”  I tried to reassure him that that was unlikely to happen – I didn't want to frighten him, but it was a very realistic possibility and I knew that I was very much hated by the Department and the Police on the Island for managing to get away in the face of the Prohibited steps order.  They would likely seek revenge.  I was not worried about going to jail, it was the least of my fears, other than the effect it would have on M and the chance that I may not see him if I was incarcerated.  However, I clung to the vain hope that we would get our appeal and prevent him being sent back.  There had still been no date set for his return and he was still in the US, so we prayed we had time.

              The contact passed quickly and we had to part.  M separated reluctantly.  He was crying hard and it cut me to the quick to watch him go.  His little face twisted in despair.  I wanted to hold onto him and not let go, but I had no choice.  I left the building and headed to where Dad was waiting with the car and the tears that I had held back for M’s sake gushed down my cheeks as I climbed in.  We drove in silence to a small pub where we picked at some food.  We then went to see the law firm for advice on appeal.  Surely someone there would help us.  This just couldn’t happen. 

              An hour later we realised we had wasted our time.  We were told there was nothing we could do and that any appeal would fail.  What was more, a junior lawyer that we had seen the day before who had referred us here, had notified the CAS of our intent to appeal – supposedly to get hold of the relevant papers, but it was also a tip off and we were unsure if it was a deliberate act on her part, or naivety but we strongly believed it precipitated what then happened.

              We left the office and headed home.  We had run out of options.  Dad was already beaten, but I was still determined to find another lawyer.  There had to be someone, I vowed to spend the following morning searching again and not to give up until I had found someone to take the case.  It was too late in the day now to do other than leave messages on answer phones and I did this tirelessly, praying that someone would call me back. 

              Following another sleepless night, I lay in bed in the early hours and switched on my laptop.  For distraction and in despair, I visited an online Tarot page and did a reading, willing for a sign to reassure me that all was not lost.  The card that came up was The Tower, the reading said “Disaster”.  I shut my computer quickly.  It was just a silly tarot site and meant nothing.  We already had the disaster after all.  Today we would find a lawyer.

              The phone rang before I had even had time to start my relentless searching once more.   It was the CAS social worker handling our case.  “M was sent back yesterday”, she announced.  “He is now back in the Island.”   The phone clicked off.  We had run out of time.

Chapter 7

              I was almost hysterical with fear when I learned M had gone.  I couldn't believe they had got him out of the country so fast.  They had to have known about the Judgement in advance and flown people out to bring him back. We tried without fail to get information from the CAS who seemed to have washed their hands of it – perhaps with relief. 

              Whilst the Judge had ruled that M be released into the custody of the Island's Social Services, she had ordered that it be under the supervision of the CAS - but how were the CAS going to supervise from thousands of miles away?  I remembered the Social Worker on the Island.  She had resembled a member of the Gestapo – black boots, long dyed black hair, severe glasses and black attire.  She had been grim-faced, young and ambitious and she was the person entrusted to look after my precious son.  She was also a virtual stranger to M, having only met him once when they had come out to Florida to try and return him before the Show Cause hearing. 

              They had clearly been confident that we would not get a lawyer in time.  Now, there was nothing in law we could do.  M was gone and we could not appeal the Judgement without him being in the jurisdiction.  Now we had to decide what to do ourselves.  Legally they could not return me or extradite me.  I had done nothing wrong as far as America was concerned and they had not returned M under the Hague Convention, but on the Care Order that had been passed on the Island in our absence. I was free, so long as I stayed in America, but I could never be free without M and I knew that I would have return and face the consequences.  I could not abandon him to his fate – even if it meant facing jail in the process.

              I tried to contact Social Services back on the Island for news of M.  I was told he was now in foster care there.  The line manager of his “team” said I could have a five minute phone call and I gratefully accepted.  She warned me to show no emotion and to tell him I was coming back.  They wanted me back.  They wanted me punished for flying in the face of the Courts and authorities.  However, it may have been easier for them if I had not gone back.  They could then proceed with their evil plan to give him to the father they had supported without exception and to cut me out of his life, without the threat of his mother’s love.  As far as Social Services back home were concerned, I was irrelevant.  Just an annoying fact of life.  If I returned, I knew they would take relish in punishing me.  My fate and M’s were now sealed but there was no choice to make.  I had to be close to M whatever lay ahead but I also knew I had to try to retain my freedom in order to help him.

              M called me at the agreed time.  He sounded tearful and frightened and wanted to know when I would be coming back.  I told him I would come as soon as possible and that Grandad would be on his way tomorrow and would see him as soon as he could.  He told me he had flown first class and had been taken to the airport by stretch limousine.  It seemed the  Government would go to any expense to take my child – I wondered what the taxpayers would have made of it – paying for the removal of an innocent little boy from his mother and bringing him back in such style, merely so they could get him out of the country as fast as possible before we launched an appeal. 

              M said they had taken him from his own leaving party with the American Foster Parents, inflicting further cruelty on my son it seemed.  I told M I had gone to
Chucky Cheese
, a children’s play area in Florida where he had told me he had been with the foster parents.  I had gone there several times in the hope of seeing him – thinking they may take him there for one last treat before he went back.  In fact, I had gone everywhere I could think of looking for M.  We even had the car registration from the foster parent’s car and knew what they drove, as my father had passed them on his way to pick me up. 

              Even with this information, we had not found him and it turned out, ironically, that in fact he had been very close to where our lawyer was and where we had gone to eat most days.  Several times we had been round the corner from where he was living.  So near, and yet so far.   To find anyone in a country you know is hard enough, but in a foreign country it is a needle in a million haystacks and had we found him, then what?  If we had turned up, the foster parents would most likely have called the police or the CAS.  After all, they had no idea who we were and yet we had trawled the streets anyway looking for my lost child, doing anything that might help diminish our sense of our powerlessness. 

              After just five minutes, the call was ended.  We had spent most of it telling each other over and over how much we loved each other.  Five minutes of trying to demonstrate all the love in your heart and make it last until we could be together again - not knowing when that would be.  A mere few minutes, to try and comfort and reassure your most precious child and give him hope.  I was bereft once the call was ended and had no idea when I would be granted another.  Now, we had to turn our thoughts to our own plans to return.

              The sensible solution was for Dad to return to the Island straight away and try to gain some form of contact with M.  For myself, I needed to stay a couple of days longer to sort out the house and put it in safe hands.  Every fibre of my being wanted to leave immediately, but I had to keep a cool head and do things in an organized way.  I needed a lawyer on the Island and whilst I did not trust any of the local lawyers, I could not easily retain UK counsel.  The rules were such that you must have local counsel unless you had exhausted all local advocates and a special license would be needed even then. 

              I had almost run out of law firms already, as so many had been involved in our case, but just before my father flew back, I found a local advocate who would take the case.  I guess he saw pound signs in reality, as he certainly did little to help us.  If I was to set foot back even on English soil I may be arrested on behalf of the Island's police and I needed to stay free for as long as possible to work out a strategy to help M.  Whilst my heart bled from not seeing him straight away, I knew my father would bring him comfort.  He had been more of a father to M, than his own had ever been and M worshipped him.  M would be survive, if he had one of us. 

              Meanwhile I arranged to fly back a few days later to the United Kingdom and go to a hotel near Gatwick where my lawyer would meet me.   I arranged a time and a date for the meeting and as requested, informed him of  my travel arrangements.  I then decided it was too dangerous.  He was part of the local system, so I delayed my flight by two days and lay low.  I felt it was safer to fly back without communicating details even by email.  It aggravated the lawyer but rightly or wrongly it made me feel a little safer. I still fully expected to be arrested on landing.

              I contacted two very dear friends of mine Andrew and Shaun.  I had know them for years.  They were a gay couple I had met through a local amateur dramatics society many years earlier.  I had known Andrew before they got together when Shaun was still married and had not yet 'come out'.  They had been through their own struggles and they were compassionate and loyal to their friends.  I was lucky enough to be counted as one of them.  I let them know of my plight and they immediately offered to come and meet me when I landed.  I was nervous as hell about being met by police.  I felt reassured that at least if this did happen, someone would be able to let  my father know.

              I made, what I later discovered was a huge error of judgement in regards to my friend Miriam, the local realtor.  She offered to try to mediate with M’s father on my behalf and tried to speak to him to beg him to let me have M back and to withdraw any application for my committal for abduction. I should have known it would be fruitless. M’s father was vindictive and sought revenge.  He wanted us both punished.  Later I discovered that Miriam had been taken in by him – which I had feared could happen if I put them in touch.  Sadly her initial loyalty and friendship was later lost, another casualty of our tragedy, but the backlash of this was not known to me until a few months had passed and a great deal more water had seeped into our ocean of despair. Perhaps I have more of my father in me than I know, because I naively believed that most people were good unless proven otherwise and I trusted too easily.  Until now, I had had little cause to believe so many were smiling assassins.  I wish I had followed my gut instincts more back then, but I blindly put faith in those pretending to be my friends - under pressure you have to take some risks and I hadn't had time to build any close relationships in the US.

              I gave the keys to our dream home, to my now good friend Tania – my conveyancing lawyer’s wife.  She promised to look after things and with huge sadness I packed up our things in the same suitcase we had run with and locked the door.  Tania drove me to the airport.  We hugged, she wished me well and told me to be strong.  She promised to pray for us and asked me to stay in touch.  With trembling hands, I checked in my suitcase.  I was sad to leave America – despite the tragedy of our short time there, I had grown to love the American people as warm and lovely.  I could not judge everybody by the Courts or the CAS.  After all they had merely believed what had happened, must be right – they had no way of knowing the corruption that existed and the terrible wrong that had occurred.  They were just one authority carrying out the orders of another authority.

              I waited anxiously for my flight to be called - the internal flight first.  I had always been a nervous flier, but my fear of flying was far outweighed by the anxiety of returning back to the United Kingdom to face possible arrest.  This was only the first leg of the journey and was only an hour’s flight, the dangers would come later.  All the time I was conscious of my child's suffering.

              As we took off, leaving the runway, a grey strip behind us, I knew that I was leaving all of our hopes and dreams for a better future, my promises of safety and happiness for my son and that before too long I would be descending into purgatory but this time not as a fugitive - but a criminal.  My crime - wanting to protect my child from harm.

              It seemed ages until the flight was called and I boarded the small craft that would take me back to the place I had landed with my son only twelve weeks earlier – the beginning of our dream – now returning alone to face a nightmare.   I was subdued, resigned and frightened but I knew I had no option but to go back and face whatever consequences lay ahead.  The flight was smooth but again I felt I was heading into a storm and with every mile we flew I saw my dream disappear further – the dream M and I had share.  My freedom diminished with each passing mile and each step of the journey I had wanted to turn back.  In fact, my American friends did not want me to leave and thought I was crazy to give up my own freedom.  They thought I should stay in America and fight from there, but the tug to see M was too great.  I could not stay away from my son.  I had to be near him. 

              As I finally boarded the long haul flight back to England, I already felt like a convict.  I had broken the law after all, but for all the right reasons.  The law was rigid though, reasons of love, motherhood and trying to protect your child were not enough.  The law dictates in black and white and does not allow for the colours of the heart.  

              Throughout the entire seven hour journey I sat white-knuckled and terrified that I would be met by the police and not my friends.  I tried to watch the onboard film, but it was just flickering images. I barely remember the journey.  I only remember my terror.

              I landed at Heathrow exhausted and still shaking.  I was going on to Gatwick from there.  As I walked through Arrivals, I saw airport police and my heart began to race.  Were they coming for me?  My palms were sweating and my mouth was dry.  I wondered if I looked guilty.  I felt I had stamped on my forehead, “Mother who ran.” The police ambled past.  They were not looking for me.  They didn't see my fear or even know who I was – they did not see the words etched on my forehead – my visible pain and then to my relief, a familiar face.  One of the most welcome sights I had ever seen – my friend Shaun standing on the other side of the gate,  his face beaming.  I hurried towards him and flung myself at him with joy and relief.  “Thank you, thank you for being here.  I was so afraid.” I stuttered.  Shaun laughed, “Well I’m glad to see you too.” 

              We decided to go and get coffee.  Andrew had had to work, so Shaun had come by himself on the train.  He needed to get back himself before too long, but he saw me safely onto the bus to Gatwick and I breathed a huge sigh of relief that I had made it to the UK with my freedom still intact.  Shaun promised that he and Andrew would come and see me at the hotel once I was settled.  Exhausted and able to breathe again at last, I settled back for the journey to Gatwick to my hotel where I was to meet my new lawyer for the first time.

              Even now, I had not let my Advocate know my definite travel plans.  That was how much I had lost trust in the system.  I did not know whether he would tip off the police or M’s father’s advocate.  I knew nothing about this man, other than he was quite young.  I dared not place my safety in his hands. 

              The hotel I had picked was on the outskirts of Gatwick.  It was mainly an airport hotel but was in its own grounds and had something of a country feel to it.  It also had a swimming pool which I thought might help to ease my stress.  I checked in at reception and went to my room.  It was rather shabby and basic but it was to be my home for the next few weeks whilst I planned my next move and my return to the Island.  The first priority was to email the Department and let them know my contact number at the hotel so that I could arrange to speak to M.  I did this almost immediately.  I then went into the reception area to await the advocate who was due to arrive shortly after me.  I was very nervous, very tired, but knew that the important thing was to take what legal advice I could as soon as possible.