by Jo Bailey
The moment I made my decision to leave, I closed the door on my Spanish life and started to dream about the English countryside and all the things I missed about my home.
The first thing I did was to find a lawyer in the city: Jaime and I were partway through our divorce and I knew such a major decision about the children’s future would need professional handling. Thank goodness I acted so quickly as the woman I hired, Juana, advised me that if I wanted to go to the UK at any point in the future, I had to apply to do so now, during the divorce proceedings. All decisions regarding the children, such as visitation rights, maintenance costs and – crucially – where we would live, had to be established in this one court order, which would be issued at the point of our formal divorce. If I missed this window of opportunity, I might never get my boys to the UK.
My stomach clenched. I had just over a month to build my case. The divorce hearing was due to take place in September 2007.
‘What do I need to do?’ I asked my lawyer.
Juana warned me that the judge was likely to rule in favour of the children staying in Spain. After all, I spoke the language, had been here for almost two decades and had a network of support with my family living in the country. Plus, of course, Spain was where the boys’ father lived. Juana told me I had a real battle on my hands: the only way I could win was to prove that Spain couldn’t offer Sam the provisions he needed.
I launched into action. First I gathered lists of schools in the UK that specialised in autism, such as Treehouse in London, and mainstream primary schools that catered for children with assisted needs. I wanted to prove that the UK was decades ahead of Spain in the treatment of autism. I also lined up two jobs in the UK to demonstrate that I could afford to look after the boys: my cousin and my best friend’s brother both offered me work. I even drew up a list of all the things Britain has to enhance the life of a child with autism, such as the Donkey Sanctuary Assisted Riding Therapy, sensory rooms and no end of other therapies, including art, music and occupational therapy, aromatherapy, reflexology, and speech and language therapy.
I wanted to prove that I had a support network as soon as I landed, so I also drew up a list of UK-based friends I knew who had children with autism. I approached the National Autistic Society for brochures and explanations about autism so that I could show the judge I knew what I was talking about. I collected brochure after brochure, documents, magazines . . . I had a massive pile of paperwork towering on my desk. I was channelling the same determination I’d put into finding out what was wrong with Sam into putting together a watertight case. I was a woman on a mission.
And my next mission was to show that Spain lacked the provisions to help Sam.
I asked one autism charity for their help. Their reply? ‘God gave you a son like Sam because he needed a mother like you.’ Although very kind, their response angered me and just added fuel to my fire.
I approached three state schools and two fee-paying international schools in the area – these were the schools most likely to provide Sam with his secondary-school education, if we remained in Spain. The first three said no to Sam outright: they wouldn’t even admit him. One of the international schools said that I would need to employ a speech and language therapist to accompany Sam to every class – so I’d be paying school fees as well as the salary of the specialist. The final international school had the most straightforward approach.
I didn’t walk in thinking it would be a lost cause – far from it, as from the outside the school looked magnificent. It was clean, neat and orderly. There was a nice playground with hanging ropes and slides to the right as you walked in.
I was shown into the headmaster’s office, which was huge. The headmaster was sitting behind a giant glass desk.
‘How do you do?’ He held out his hand.
I explained my situation. How Sam had been rejected from three Spanish state schools, how I hadn’t even received replies from schools further afield and how the other international school had told me I would need to employ an additional therapist every day of Sam’s school life.
‘Would you be able to provide an education for my son?’ I asked, breathless from all my explanations.
The headmaster leant forward across his desk.
‘There is nothing to discuss,’ he stated bluntly. ‘I think you should return to the UK.’
Yes! I thought. For it was another weapon in my arsenal. It was also incredibly reassuring. For an education professional such as him to say categorically that my son would be better off leaving the country cemented what I had felt all along.
Every time I got another email from a school, or something to further my case, I forwarded it to my mum.
‘You must be so proud of yourself,’ she often replied. Mum was always encouraging me, telling me to believe in myself. She was also incredibly self-sacrificing – for she had told me that she would also move back to the UK if it helped to strengthen my case.
‘Mum, you can’t do that!’ I had exclaimed. ‘All your friends are here, you have such a busy social life! I wouldn’t want you to say goodbye to all that.’
But Mum had lifted Sam on to her knees and combed her fingers through his blond hair. Both Sam and Will adored my mum. She kissed his little head and looked up at me. ‘He needs help and if you can prove to the judge that you have a family network back in the UK, that could swing the decision,’ she explained simply.
My eyes welled up. ‘I love you,’ I said. There were no other words.
All the incredible support I was receiving made it feel like I had an army behind me as the court date approached: 12 September 2007. Nonetheless, I was a bag of nerves the night before as I studied my prepared documents from cover to cover, memorising all the answers to all the questions my lawyer would be asking. My stomach was full of butterflies as I ran through all the possible outcomes.
I was also dreading seeing Jaime again. We hadn’t spoken in weeks, while the only time I’d seen him was when I’d spied him from the kitchen window as he dropped the boys off outside the house one weekend. I was worried that he would think I was doing this out of revenge, which couldn’t be further from the truth: it was all about helping Sam.
Yet it wasn’t just Jaime’s opinion I was worried about. I was very concerned about how the judge and everyone in the courtroom would view me – would they think I was some kind of monster who made Jaime leave me and his children, and was now robbing a father of his boys? I still carried that irrational feeling of shame for the family breaking up wherever I went.
I tried to calm myself by laying out my outfit on the bed. It didn’t help much but it focused my mind: in the end, I settled for an all-black shirt-and-trousers combination.
I then called Darren. By now, I couldn’t go a day without chatting to him on Messenger or on the phone; we sometimes chatted for up to three hours straight. We hadn’t seen each other in two months but our constant contact had helped us build up a strong relationship – perhaps stronger than if we had been going out on actual dates because we had laid the foundations for a friendship first. I couldn’t wait to see him when he returned from the rig in October. But, for now, I just had to focus on getting through the next twenty-four hours. I couldn’t mess this up – Sam’s future rested in my hands.
‘Don’t be so hard on yourself,’ Darren said as I poured out all my worries to him. ‘You’ve chosen a good lawyer, you’ve researched all you possibly can on the subject. There is nothing more you can do. Try and get some sleep.’
Of course, I didn’t catch a wink.
It didn’t seem to matter, though. I had so much adrenaline pumping around my body that I practically sprang out of bed the next morning and raced around the house getting myself dressed and the boys ready for school.
We all bundled into my Jeep Cherokee and I drove up the mountainside. This was Will’s second week at primary school (in Spain children start school at three years old) and he seemed to be settling in fine. As I walked my boys to the school gat
es I felt a wave of dread wash up my throat. It occurred to me that by the time I returned to pick them up, their fate would be out of my hands and in those of the judge. I cuddled and kissed them until María took Sam and Will by the hand and led them towards the big hall.
Sam turned back once to look at me. It was the first time he had looked me in the eye for ages. Does he know that today is an important day? I wondered.
Once I was back in the car, I felt the all-too-familiar tears welling up. But I told myself firmly that this was no time for crying: it was time to be strong for Sam. I looked in the rear-view mirror to check my make-up, dabbed my tears away and turned the keys in the ignition. It was time to save Sam.
I’d had the same CD stuck in my player for weeks. It was a really naff pop compilation from 2001, but there was one song on it that was particularly significant for me.
‘All rise, all rise,’ I sang, cranking up Blue’s smash hit. The words were apt considering my impending court case, but it had more meaning than that. It had been the soundtrack to my research mission and over the past few weeks it had become my fight song. I wound down the window and drove back down the mountain to the courthouse in Torremolinos with the song blaring out. I had butterflies in my stomach and my heart was pounding. I had to keep telling myself that I was going to win, that we would get through this.
It didn’t help that I didn’t have a clue what to expect when I got to the court – I didn’t know if it would just be me and Jaime and a judge across a desk, or a full-blown courtroom like in the movies. All I knew for sure was that I’d be meeting my lawyer and my mum down there.
It was an overcast, windy day so as I got out of the car and made my way to the courthouse, I couldn’t quite work out if I was trembling because of my nerves or because of the chill sweeping through the side streets. I crossed my arms protectively and leant into the breeze.
The courthouse was a beautiful, grand old building with four huge colonnades holding up the sandstone architecture. There were two Spanish flags marking the entrance. I took a deep breath and stepped into the unknown.
I hadn’t expected the waiting room to be so small. It was a tiny narrow room with four plastic seats lined up against either wall, forming a corridor into the courtroom. My lawyer and her assistant were sitting on one side, mirrored by Jaime’s lawyer and her assistant on the other. We were only feet apart from each other; it couldn’t have been more claustrophobic.
Juana dipped her head and started to whisper instructions in my ear. My mum was also going to be giving a testimonial, so Juana filled me in on what questions she planned to ask her, such as, ‘What are Sam and Will like?’ ‘What’s Joanna like as a mother?’ ‘What’s Jaime like as a father?’
And then Jaime himself walked in. My whole stomach heaved.
‘Buenos días,’ he greeted the room confidently in his deep voice.
Everyone stopped what they were doing and looked up at him. He had always possessed a great deal of charisma. I couldn’t bring myself to say hello, even though I knew it was rude; my eyes were glued to the floor. My hands were trembling so much I was clutching my notes to stop them falling out of my hands.
My mum was the next person to appear. I immediately felt stronger having another ally there: it was four–three to me. Then the interpreter for my mum turned up, so the room was really beginning to fill up. Every time I looked up, Jaime’s lawyer’s eyes were on me. Jaime was leaning against the wall in a nonchalant way. I couldn’t even force myself to look at him due to my feeling of shame. The whole situation felt incredibly tense.
I spent the final moments before we were called in testing myself in my head on what I was going to say. I had prepared for the judge a very simple explanation of what autism was and how Sam behaved. I imagined myself on the stand, and mentally drew up a list of all the possible questions they might ask me and my respective answers. I felt as if I was revising for an exam, but at least I was prepared.
I wasn’t ready, however, for so many people to be in the courtroom when the doors finally opened. It was packed with at least a dozen ushers, legal staff and some members of the public. Benches branched off the aisle that led to a giant wooden table, which stretched the breadth of the room. Mounted on the wall were gold-framed portraits of the King and Queen of Spain. In the far left-hand corner was a tripod with a camera. Not only was I under the watchful eye of the Royals but I was also being filmed.
Come on, Jo, you can do it. I pumped myself up.
I was shown to a bench right next to Jaime and took a seat just along from him. There were only about three feet between us but it felt like a mile – we’d become that detached from each other. It was crazy to think how close we once were. Jaime felt like a stranger now.
‘All rise,’ announced the clerk as the judge swooshed in with his draping robes. He had bushy silver hair and half-moon spectacles that he wore halfway down his nose. He took a seat on his throne-like engraved chair.
I could hear my heart pounding in my ears and glanced across at Jaime. Even he was looking stressed. From his body language I surmised that, like me, he hadn’t expected so many people to be present for a divorce hearing.
The judge peered over his spectacles at each of us in turn. I suddenly became very conscious of the way I was sitting. Is the judge evaluating me on my posture? I wondered. I straightened my back, crossed my legs and folded my hands neatly into my lap. I tried to look as prim and proper as I possibly could to make a good impression.
The judge cleared his throat and then rattled off a list of formalities, including the reason he would be filming us – he would look at the evidence again when making his final decision. Luckily I was fluent in Spanish or I wouldn’t have been able to follow a word of what was going on.
‘Would Joanna Bailey please stand up!’ the usher bellowed.
My heart almost stopped as I heard my name being called. I had to squeeze past Jaime’s knees to get to the stand, which was awkward, to say the least. Fortunately my lawyer, Juana, started off the proceedings, which put me at ease.
‘How long have you lived in Spain? How old are the boys?’ Our rehearsed questions flew thick and fast as she warmed me up for the main event: the challenge of explaining what autism was to a room full of people who had probably never heard the term before. And all in Spanish!
At the appropriate moment, I launched into my spiel. Midway through, I looked up to find everyone watching me intently as I described all the impairments associated with autism and how they affected Sam. I could tell they were fascinated by what I was saying. I carried on, determined to get through every bullet point marked in my memory.
Eventually I stopped, took a breath and turned to my lawyer. ‘Is that sufficient?’
‘That’s sufficient.’ She nodded, and there was a rumble of laughter across the courtroom. I think those in attendance could tell by the look on my face that I was ready to go on – for hours if necessary! – to tell them absolutely everything I knew about autism and communicate my son’s needs.
It was the icebreaker I needed and for the first time that morning I relaxed a little bit.
‘Why do you want to go back to the UK?’ Juana asked me next.
That was an easy question. I explained clearly how the schools in Spain wouldn’t have Sam; how I’d been met with obstacle after obstacle.
Every now and again, the judge would throw in a question to challenge me, but I always had an answer ready for him. I was very careful not to bad-mouth Jaime. I thought it would be silly to criticise him as the case was about Sam, not him. The only thing I did say was that Jaime hadn’t been around much, which was completely true.
It was then Jaime’s lawyer’s turn to cross-examine me. She looked formidable in her stilettos, black tailored trouser suit and crisp white blouse. Her dark Spanish hair was bleached blonde and flicked out at the bottom. She was also a lot older than my lawyer, so came across as if she had a lot of experience.
I braced myself.
&nbs
p; The woman cleared her throat and then waded in. Her MO was much more aggressive than anything I had faced so far, but I had every answer prepared. I thought it was playing out well for me.
And then, just as I was starting to think that things were going to plan, she caught me off-guard.
‘What objection would you have, if any, to spending half a day with the children and for Jaime to have them for half a day?’ she asked, referring to my new work schedule.
‘Ah, um,’ I stuttered. A wave of heat rolled up my neck. I hadn’t been expecting her to suggest joint custody. I had no answer in my arsenal prepared.
She saw the chink in my armour and went in for the kill.
‘Do you have an objection to that?’ she barked.
I looked at my lawyer for help; I could see her squirming. What’s the right thing to say? I wondered. I didn’t want to put a foot wrong that could jeopardise the case, so I wasn’t thinking clearly. I didn’t want to say the first thing that came into my head, which was: I have a massive problem with that! I wanted to scream it. The simple fact was, you can’t do joint custody with a child who has autism. It went against everything I was trying to achieve – and everything I had just outlined. Sam needed predictability and security, not to be shuttling back and forth between his mum and dad every day of his life.
But the words had somehow got trapped in my throat as I dithered and stressed about how to express myself. And so, in the end, the very last thing I wanted to say came out.
‘Ah, I guess not.’
‘That will be all.’ She smiled, smugly, as I felt my heart sink.
I couldn’t bear to look at Jaime. I couldn’t bear to think of Sam.
I’d blown it.
CHAPTER FIVE
Big Cats and Court Fax
I HAD MY head in my hands as Jaime took to the stand after me.
I was convinced that I had lost my chance to save Sam. The odds of winning had been against me in the first place, but now I’d driven the nail into the coffin by stupidly saying I’d be happy for us to share joint custody, when that couldn’t have been further from the truth.
