In a vain attempt to help, our former GP who remained stalwart in her support, had written direct to the Judge to say that M had always been a well-looked after little boy and that she had witnessed first- hand his love for his mother on many occasions when we had had to visit her for the inevitable illnesses of childhood, along with the more serious Urine infections and bowel problems which had begun after M's first overnight contact with his father and which coupled with M's allegations, had led her to involve Social Services in the first place.
The current and recently appointed Minister of Social Care on the Island had also written to say that he had met me when he was first appointed an MP and prior to taking over the Department, had viewed some of my evidence and could vouch for the fact that at the time when Social Services had been involved in our case, there had been many failings by the Department and they were currently under serious review for the mistakes they had made. Furthermore that the particular Social Worker on our case and her manager had both been suspended for misconduct since their reports - the very ones that were being held in such store by the Judge - had been written.
My local vicar had written a character reference for me and alluded to my help with Sunday School and whilst he had never seen me with my own son, he had witnessed my work with the children in his Church and was able to say I was popular with all and had a natural empathy with children. He also alluded to the meeting he had witnessed with the school Headmaster when I had been told I could not come to Parents Evenings at the school and had done his best to plead with the Judge to allow M and I to maintain our relationship.
Whilst the Judge had made cursory acknowledgement to these testimonials to my good parenting and character and the damning remarks of the Minister of Social Care, she discredited them, saying as they were not there to give evidence on their letters, she could not give them much weight. Yet the Social Worker's reports, the same woman who had damned us so long ago, the very one who had since been demoted, was considered valid and fully accepted.
Having not yet had a chance to put my case for contact in any real way, I asked if I might again read out from something I had prepared in relation to this and the reasons why I felt that I must be allowed to stay in M's life, but the Judge cut me off. I insisted that we were there to discuss contact for the future and that was all I wanted to do, but she stood up and called for an adjournment for lunch, right in the middle of my evidence in chief.
The Judge adjourned for an hour and we headed to our usual pub across the road from the Court Room to eat a quick lunch and further scrutinise my evidence in chief.
Christopher was pleased at the way Dad had handled his evidence, but Dad was not. He felt that he had been seriously restrained from saying what he knew in his bones to be true. I tried to reassure him that at least I would end up with some contact, should we stick to Christopher's strategy - although Christopher did concede that what I had just experienced was something of an ambush and he could only hope that I would be given a chance to talk about contact after lunch, which was, after all, the basis of my application.
I had raised the issue of the "alleged email" that Dr T had referred to - the fictitious one that I was said to have sent to M's father. The Judge had asked the Guardian to produce it when we went back into Court as he purported to have seen it and had made reference to it in his report. I knew that unless they wrote it themselves, they would not be able to produce it and naturally they could not. This would not stop the Judge later referring to it in her Judgment.
We headed back to the Court and waited to be called to go in. R was sitting with the Guardian and they looked chummy. It was deeply concerning, but no surprise.
The Judge then further delayed the proceedings by taking another "short" hearing from an earlier case. This meant that by the time we got into Court an hour later, we were running out of time. It was already 3.30pm and the Judge had stated at the beginning of the hearing that she must leave by 4.15pm to catch a train. It was my application for contact and would affect the course of the remainder of M's childhood and yet I had now barely 45 mins left on the stand to make my case and both R and the Guardian's lawyer had yet to question me.
I asked again to read out my statement in regard to contact, the Judge having wasted so much time already dwelling on a subject that she herself, had said was taboo; refused me, saying there was no time and she would now hear the cross-examination by R and the Guardian's lawyer.
I looked over at Christopher, who frowned and shook his head. He was clearly horrified at the way this was being handled. He would later tell me that he had never seen a case so unfairly managed in his thirty years of going into Court with parents.
The first question I was asked by the Guardian's barrister, was again in relation to my beliefs around whether or not M had been sexually abused. I asked the Judge if we could please now focus on my application for contact with my son, but she insisted, once again that I answer the question. I felt like I was being interrogated on a point on which I could provide no acceptable answer. They seemed determined to push me to retract what I knew to be true, but I could not and would not. Even if I blatantly lied under oath and said I no longer believed it had happened, I would not only compromise myself but also M. It would turn us both into liars and again make me susceptible to an allegation of coaching which would have left me with no contact. Whichever way I went, I would be damned and yet they insisted on quizzing me endlessly on the very subject, the Judge had said was taboo. I repeated over and over that I felt that something had happened but we must now put it behind us and move on.
No mother can put the sexual abuse of her child behind her but this was a forum in which I had to keep contact with my son at all costs. It was the only answer I could give that would give me the slightest chance of seeing him. I had already realised that Shared Custody was something that was now a completely unrealistic dream.
I was being backed into a corner so that the Judge could say that I had a belief that was not shared by the Court and that was harmful to my son. I knew the writing was on the wall and I had reached stalemate. All I could do was try and make a strong enough case for M wanting to see me but no-one was allowing me to demonstrate that.
R's line of questioning was aggressive and in a similar vein to what had already gone before. It was ironic that having been barred from raising the subject of abuse myself, here we now were, discussing only this.
If only I had been allowed even one of my witnesses, I would have had a slight chance of getting some contact, but even my character witnesses had been denied. I simply had no one to speak for me - no independent voice to confirm the good relationship that M and I had always shared. The Court was playing with loaded dice and I knew in my heart that I was likely to lose everything.
I made a final impassioned final plea to the Judge to let me talk about contact, but she then adjourned the proceedings, saying she must catch her train and she would hear from R and finally the Guardian the following day. Giles was the person most hostile to me having contact with my son and he would have the final word. I could only wait in horror and prepare what questions I could to try to derail him under cross-examination.
Christopher, Dad and I left the Court drained and despondent. Christopher had no words of comfort or optimism left to offer me.
Chapter 11
On the Edge of Reason
R's evidence was aggressive, predictable and purported to be demonstrative of M's wishes. He lambasted myself and my father, stating that M wished no further contact with either of us. Even though I had expected all of this, it hurt me to the quick. I knew that R was determined to cut me out of M's life and had been from the moment my son had disclosed to me in 2007, at the tender age of five years old.
Back then, we could not have foreseen the terrible injustice that would follow, from the appointment of the first psychologist who had admitted to seeing R privately before the proceedings began and could never have been impartial, to the many people from t
hen on who had passed the baton on, reinforcing the lie.
Here we were five years later fighting not just R, but a whole army of people now determined to protect the mistake that had been made. The Court proceedings were a charade of one expert protecting the one that had gone before and a Judge determined to ensure that the truth was never considered, let alone prevailed. I was hanging on by my fingernails, offering silent prayers to a God who I felt had lost our address long ago.
I challenged every lie that came out of R's mouth. He produced emails supposedly written by my son that I was convinced were not from him. He fabricated evidence and painted a picture of me as someone who had poisoned his son against him, despite the Island's Judge having never found me to have influenced my son, he relied heavily on the former Social Worker, Miss Whiplash's view that I had done so. The same woman who had said I had coached M without meeting him or seeing us together for even five minutes. when she made the accusation. The fact she had since been discredited and had left the Island was not something the Judge was remotely interested in. The lie grew bigger with every word he spoke.
I passed photos up to R of M and I smiling and happy together on various holidays, but the Judge repeated ludicrously that his happiness was staged. How could I force a child to show the natural joy he expressed in each of those pictures? Yet, the wheels of injustice spun on to their terrible conclusion.
I produced the email that R had written, copying in M, saying that he wanted his mother and grandfather "buried in a box". The Judge, like Giles before her, said this was regrettable but understandable that R should feel this way towards me. How could she think a man who felt so much hatred towards me and my father, would not deliberately alienate M and yet in my heart I still believed that M, always a bright and intuitive child, knew little of what was being spouted hear as his views. I knew he still loved me and no matter how confused and damaged he may now be, I knew that they could do nothing to sever the close bond we had always shared.
The most astonishing remark was when R stated that M, now ten years old, had asked to be reborn through R's wife's stomach. Christopher almost laughed out loud at this. It was clearly so far-fetched, that anyone could see it was fabricated, but the Judge accepted it as legitimate nonetheless.
Giles took the stand that afternoon. It was late on in the day and it seemed unlikely that I would get a chance to cross-examine him as the Judge decided to let R do the first cross.
Giles looked at me with pure vitriol in his eyes as he gave his evidence. He described a scene where M had allegedly lain on the floor screaming at the suggestion of seeing me. This was incredible. He was nine years old at that time and not of an age to throw a tantrum. I didn't believe this for one moment, but nor could I challenge it, as I had not been allowed to see M with anyone present other than his father, since Giles had reported the "most enjoyable contact" at my home.
Once Giles had finished tearing strips from me, referring repeatedly to the reports of the former Social Worker that he had filed so late that I had had no chance to go through them or challenge them, I was petrified with horror.
R had few questions for Giles. He did not need to ask him anything as this man was so blatantly biased in his favour, that he need only wait for his views to be endorsed.
I began my questions, asking Giles about the "positive" contact he had witnessed. The reason for allowing R to stay throughout, now became clear. He stated that M had only been happy to be there because his father was present. I knew this was nonsense. I pushed on with fear in my heart. I reminded him that M had left the house with me to collect his football but Giles said he did not remember that. "It may have happened, but he could not be sure." I knew he remembered full-well, but taking an oath to tell the truth meant nothing to him.
I tried to pass evidence to Giles that demonstrated our happy relationship. He said that even if we had had a good relationship in the past, it was not the case now. I firmly stressed that if this was the case, it could only be because we had not been able to see each other and maintain our relationship, since he had lived with his father. He tried to say that the seven and a half years I had raised M alone had meant nothing and that what M felt now, or at least what we were told he now felt, was his true feelings. It was cruel beyond anything and each of his statements cut me deeper.
We were now almost at the end of the day. The Judge said she had heard enough and brought my cross-examination to a close. Once again I had not had a chance to put even a quarter of the questions I had prepared.
She then asked Giles for his recommendations. He reiterated what he had said in his statement, that M should not see me for four years and have only phone calls and letters in that time. He specified that these, however, should be regular. I could see my life with M vanishing into the distant past. If Giles got his way, I would not see my beloved son again until he was almost an adult.
The Judge then repeated to Giles the question she had put to the Expert. How should she go about writing a letter to M to say he would not see his mother for four years? My legs started to go from under me, the tears came and I could not breathe. I ran from the court room sobbing my heart out. I could not bear to hear another word. It was apparent now, as it had been from the beginning of the hearing, that the Judge was about to cut me out of my son's life for the rest of his childhood.
Chapter 12
Broken
I sat on the floor of the basement toilets in the Royal Courts of Justice with my head in my hands, sobbing uncontrollably. I knew they would be looking for me so I had come to an unused part of the building that I had discovered by accident when I had got lost on an earlier occasion. I did not want to be found. I could not go back into that room to hear the Judge say out loud, what I could not hear.
I must have been there for close to an hour and I had no idea what was going on in the court room, but I realised that they would eventually search the basement. I peeled myself off the floor, splashed my face with cold water and left the building. I knew my father would be worried and I cursed the fact that in my despair, I had not picked up my handbag with my phone and purse in it. I headed to a cafe that had a view of the main entrance and waited at a street table with my eyes peeled so I would see them come out. It was not long before Dad appeared and I waved at him to join me.
Dad looked white as a sheet as he approached. He told me his angina was giving him pain and we had to try and find a chemist. Both of us were in deep shock. Once we managed to get an emergency prescription filled for Dad, who was close to falling over, we went back to the nearby pub so that he could tell me what had transpired. I had assumed she had already given her Judgment but apparently the Judge had adjourned for a week to allow me to put in a closing statement by email. I tried to believe that anything I could now say to her would make any difference.
Christopher had already left and gone back to his hotel. He would not be able to stay for the Judgment hearing the following week, as he was flying back to France that day, but there was really nothing now for him to do, other than hear, what seemed to be an inevitable outcome.
We thanked Christopher, who left hurriedly, visibly shocked and unusually quiet. He had nothing left to offer.
We headed back to St Pancras shortly afterwards and sat in silence on the train going back. Various friends were texting me to see how things had gone but I was unable to communicate with anyone. My mind was racing - what on earth could I say to this Judge who had not allowed me to present my case, to stop her cutting me out of my son's life for the next four years at least?
I spoke to Christopher later that night and he dictated me my final speech. We reached out with every drop of mother's love to someone I no longer felt had a heart. Twice she had watched me impaled on the despair of her cutting words - telling me that I would play no part in my son's future for the remainder of his childhood. It had been unspeakably cruel by anyone's standards and especially as the first time, was before I had run any part of my case. She appeared to have prej
udged the case, in the same way as the Island's Judge had done. There was not a shred of compassion for the effect that such a harsh and devastating judgment would have on my beloved M or myself. To her we were not people, just a case to be dealt with - one to tick off the list.
To say that the system for judging Family Court matters is unjust, is a massive understatement. Parents innocently try to get justice for their children and walk blindfolded before a firing squad of so-called appointed Experts who make decisions based on a couple of short meetings and sometimes without meeting the family members at all. No one had seen me with M alone for even a few minutes, yet they allegedly knew what our relationship was from people who had never seen us playing together, doing his homework, cuddling up watching a film, making things out of paper and paste, drawing and painting pictures for endless hours.
No-one had seen him smiling with joy as we picnicked on the beach, his laughter as we cycled, wind in our hair, to the lighthouse near our little Island home, his excitement on Christmas morning as he realised that the fairy from Lapland had sprinkled glittering dust through the house - the security blanket of love I had wrapped him in for the first seven and half years of his life. None of these people had seen me nurse my son through the inevitable childhood illnesses or watched me get up every two hours to feed him, even after I had just had my tonsils out - to ensure I gave him the best possible start of breast milk. Not one of those things made me anything other than a natural mother - and what was better for any child than his birth mother who loved him? How would R's wife fill that role? No-one had assessed her or expected anything other of her than to say that she would take my place. I had been scrutinised over and over and still no-one had found me at fault. This stranger would now raise my son and I knew nothing about her - nor, for that matter, did the Court. She had not even come to the hearing to show support for R, which no-one questioned. The Judge had never seen her. Yet, she had already indicated that this woman was more fit, in her opinion, to raise my son, than his mother who loved him more than life.
Mummy's Still Here Page 15
