Mummy Where Are You? (Revised Edition, new) (3 page)

              We arrived at my relatives' home in the early hours of the morning -  tired and cold, even though it was June and scorching heat, we were happy to crawl into the guest bedroom double bed, snuggle up closely and my son went back to sleep with his head on my chest – safe, with the person he loved and trusted most in the world.  I breathed freely for the first time, the enormity of what we had just done hitting me in waves, but grateful that we had made the leap and started our journey into a future that was unknown, but held promise, expectation, excitement and most of all freedom to be together.  The American dream, that we hoped, would rescue us from our nightmare.

Chapter 3

              I slept fitfully for a few hours and then crept out of bed and went into the small kitchen and made a cup of tea.  I took my laptop out of its case and began to write.  It had always been may way of trying to make sense of things and I knew it was important to log our escape, as it would be important to log our progress.   What had happened to us had happened to other innocent mothers and children in the Britain. We were not the only ones who had suffered at the hands of the Family Courts.  The Local Authority were guilty of heinous crimes against the rights of children and I knew it would be important one day that our story was told.   I did not know then where we were headed or where it would end, but I knew that as a writer, I had an obligation to share this - the pen is mightier than the law and only when wrong is voiced, can it be challenged.  For what had happened to us could happen to many – it had happened to some that we already knew of, but would go on happening unless the world became aware.  I had little means to change wrong but I had a duty to bring it to the attention of those who could.

              It was now just the two of us.  No lawyers.  I had released mine before departure.  No home of our own in this country – only the kindness of these relative strangers on which to rely and with only two hundred pounds to our name in cash, hurriedly gained from a cash machine before we left and converted to dollars at the airport.  We had nothing more than we held in two small suitcases. 

              My aunt awoke and we talked a while sitting at the kitchen table.  I tried to fill her in on the gaps of our story of which she was unaware.  She told me that my mother had contacted her some months before she died and had asked if they would help us.  

              My mother did not know then what we were about to find out – that that offer of help would be meaningless in the face of their own fear – a fear that was instilled in them by the arrival of my female cousin who arrived two days later and insisted we leave.   The apple of her parents’ eye - loud, brash and totally in control of my aunt and uncle – she was aggressive to us – uncaring of our plight and accusatory of the danger we had placed her parents in.   I could not argue with her – nor did I want to – I was not about to change one level of control and bullying for another – I offered to go to a motel with my son that day.   They could not get rid of us fast enough.  We had been in Florida exactly four days.

              My uncle drove us to the nearest highway  – along the side of which were numerous motels – some rather shady looking – others marginally better.   I spotted a
Travel Lodge
and recognising the name as somewhere I knew, I asked for us to be dropped there.   My uncle suggested it would be too expensive and we should go to one of the more dodgy looking places – I was not going to take my son to anywhere we did not feel safe.  I was adamant.  I did not know how we would pay for it, but once more I made a decision that I should protect my son first and foremost – for after all we had come there to escape fear, not seek it out. 

              Our suitcases were thrown into the room hurriedly by my uncle.  He drove off quickly and we barely saw him again in the next few weeks.   My father had sent him a cheque for ten thousand pounds to help us to get started – he told me it had not come and it would take weeks to clear through his bank when it did – we were now alone in a room in a motel – with only a few dollars on which to exist. 

              I tried to keep faith that it would work out. I attempted to call my father on
Skype
as it was the only way of talking safely and for free.  But in the cheaper room we had taken there was no wireless internet - again I took a leap of faith, knowing it was essential to keep in touch with Dad, I went to reception and we moved into the main building near the reception area into a slightly bigger room that had Wi-Fi. 

              This room was to become our home for the next few weeks.  It contained a double bed, television, small bathroom, ironing board and iron and a small closet.   It was the type of room that one might stay in for a night en route whilst travelling.  It was not a room designed to be a home, but to us it was a small paradise because we were still together and the future stretched before us offering us promise, a life free of the endless Court battles – a life where anything was possible and in our wake lay several thousand miles and an ocean.

              And so we began our new life.  We hadn’t had to pay any money up front.  I dared not use any of my credit cards that may locate us or connect us to our previous life.  I ran a small
Ebay
business and Dad was dealing with the few orders that came in each month.  I had no American bank account at that time so couldn't access any of my funds.   I didn’t have a fortune and couldn't touch the two thousand pounds  I had myself in savings.  I had only a few hundred in my
Pay pal
account.  I would worry about money later.  Meanwhile we just had to exist and think about how we might find a  more permanent home than this room.

              I knew we needed people. The Church seemed the right place to start.  We had never been religious, even though I had a brother who was a vicar – my faith in God had long since left when the evil that had prevailed in our old life suggested that Truth and Love did not necessarily protect a child from harm and had little to do with the Justice system that existed in the Family Courts.

              I persuaded my son we must attend Church and make some friends.  There was a Pentecostal Church near to our motel.  It was a start.   It was large, noisy and very happy-clappy – nothing that we were used to at all.  My son had only been to Church with me to attend my mother’s funeral.  He had sung at her service of his own volition and I filled with pride when I remembered how brave he had been at just six years old singing “There can be miracles, when you believe”.  He had shown tremendous courage in following me here and now I was responsible for fulfilling the miracle of a life without fear for him – could I live up to his faith in me?  Only time would tell.   We sang away next to the hundreds of strangers and I prayed despite my lack of faith – I longed for inspiration as to what to do next, but all I saw were people waving their arms in the air believing in the power of the Lord, whilst we stood amongst them – strangers in a foreign land – on the run.

              Keeping my son occupied was important.  He deserved to have a summer holiday now that the schools were on vacation.  I wanted it to be as close to normal as we could make it, but there was nothing even remotely normal about our situation.   He bravely held my hand as we walked back to the motel.  He saw the whole thing as an adventure.  He knew that as far as people we met were concerned, we were visiting the United States to see relatives – that we came from London, England – not our real home.   Although I doubt,  had we told the truth, many would have known of the Island's existence.  Such a small insignificant place, but omnipotent in its cruelty and power to destroy lives.

              The sun was shining, we decided to take a walk and explore our whereabouts.   We had already located the buses and the shopping Mall and had a supermarket within  walking distance, so had stocked up with a few food items which we could eat in our rooms in
Tupperware
boxes.  We tried to only eat in the restaurant once a day to ensure our bill did not mount up too fast as we had no idea how long we would be there before taking another step.   We filled our time with going swimming at the local
YMCA
– walking the two miles to the Mall for supplies – watching television in our room and swimming each day in the small pool attached to the hotel.  

              When weather permitted we purchased a football and played on the grass.  All the things we would have done at home in the holidays.  We even found other children to play with who were on their way to Summer camps and staying at the
Travel Lodge
en route.  I had the weight of our future on my shoulders, but to my son who trusted me to resolve the grown up problems, it was just a Summer holiday, not unlike holidays abroad we had had before.

              We walked out into the sunlit day and headed down the highway.  We were going to catch a bus down town where various activities went on through the Summer - Some we had already been to, like a street festival that was an annual event – where a variety of buskers travelled from far and wide to show off their skills.  

              On our way to the bus stop, we took a left turn into a housing estate that was advertising open house days.  There seemed no harm in looking, so we walked through it.  There were some beautiful elevated bungalows – mostly a new development, the beginning of which was mainly a quiet neighbourhood of retired people, leading into houses just built that seemed from the children playing out in the street, to be more family homes.  It struck me how quiet, safe and well appointed these little houses were.   Small front and back yards, well- equipped parks and play areas nestling between the estates with children happily playing.  It seemed an ideal place for us and I wondered if it might be possible to somehow make this happen.  I had no idea how, but willed that the answers would come.

              The following weekend my uncle and aunt arrived to drop off a parcel of clothes I had asked my father to send out.  We had left with so little in our cases, having packed so hurriedly, we needed some essentials and didn’t want to have to buy things we already had.   My aunt and uncle were still fearful and reluctant to be associated with us but agreed to come and look at the development with us.   They insisted it would be out of our reach, but curiosity must have got the better of them because we drove to the estate and I walked into one of the show houses that was the show home for some still being built.  The price was extortionate.  I had gifted our home to my father some weeks before we left when the Court costs were mounting – and I knew he would help us financially now – but even so, it seemed completely out of our reach.  We had already looked into renting and had drawn blanks.  We had no history in America and no references and the places my aunt and uncle picked out for us to look at which included a camp site in the middle of nowhere that was barely fit for a dog, let alone any human, had been rejected out of hand. 

              I had to find a proper home for us. My little boy deserved to have a home he could be happy in.   I walked out of the show house with a heavy heart and was about to turn back to our motel, when I decided to walk into one more.  I was not expecting anything, but the Realtor who greeted us was positive and upbeat and without going into too much detail, I told her I needed a small house for my son and I and that whilst I loved the location of this estate, it was well beyond our means. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow morning at ten.”  She said positively.  “We’ll find you a home.  It’s what I do best.”  I was soon to find out just how well she did do her job.

              Miriam was true to her word and collected us at ten a.m.  She was driving a silver
Ford Escape
– appropriately named.  She bundled us in and we began a day of going from house to house – some were suitable, but none felt like 'the one'.   After lunch we headed back to the estate near our hotel where we had first met her and she drove to a modern, two bedroom elevated bungalow that had windows reminiscent of the Arched Window from
Playschool
.  It was in a road of houses, all about two years old. There was a football net outside the adjacent house hinting at the presence of children which seemed a positive sign.                 I walked into the house and knew straight away that this would make an ideal home for my son and I.   It was beautiful - maple floors throughout, a large basement, generously sized bedrooms with good-sized built in closets and a large open-plan kitchen, dining and living room.  I immediately fell in love with it and so did my son.  I could see us living here happily and there was a well-fenced back garden – or yard as the Americans call it and double garage.  It was amazingly good value, compared to property in the UK and I decided there and then that this was going to be our new home and our positive start for the future.   My son loved the basement and could see the possibilities of having a large play area for a pool table, table tennis and the like.  He was as excited as I was. I had no idea how I could make this happen, but Miriam's positivity had rubbed off and I just knew that we would find a way. 

              We left the house and looked at the others on Miriam’s list but we had already made up our minds and later that day I made an offer on what was to become our new home.  In America people do not bid on the furniture, but I was determined to start out with as much as we could and so I asked her to do things the British way and ask for the dining and breakfast table and all the chairs.  Much to Miriam’s surprise the owners agreed and by that evening we had started the wheels in motion.  We were jubilant.   All we had to do now was arrange the funds through my father and have them transferred to a bank in America.  Miriam was fantastic – helped us with everything and even took us furniture shopping for our beds and a sofa.   We managed to negotiate on everything and by some small miracle, within three weeks of finding the house we had a moving in date at the end of July – only five weeks since we had left the Island.

              Things were coming together.  It all seemed meant to be and we both fell in love with Florida.  The people were warm and kind and within a few days Miriam had introduced us to her old boss and his wife and another couple involved with a Baptist Church – a retired school teacher and his wife – also very kind and they all offered to help us move in. We began attending their Church and felt safe for the first time in three and half years since our nightmare had begun.