Mummy's Still Here

by Jeanne D'Olivier

  It was July and the heat added to my fatigue as we waited to board the ferry that would take us to the Island. I sat on my suitcase. I had been suffering from a disc problem with my back and my sciatica was playing up from the travelling. It was nothing to the pain I was feeling inside.

  I sat alone on deck on board the ferry. It was balmy and the journey was pleasant with the gentle breeze. I let the warmth of the sun caress my bare arms and the breeze whisper on my face. It felt good. I could not fail to be enchanted by the beauty of the coastline as we neared Ischia - even in my fragile state, I could see that this was a jewel. Completely unspoilt and lush with greenery, it reminded me of some of the Greek islands we had visited on family holidays when I was a child, but it was even more magical and had an air of quiet calm that I had never before experienced.

  We stopped at various ports around the Island, Laco Amino, Casamicciola, San Angelo, Forio and finally Ischia Porto. Each time we pulled into one of the little ports, I marvelled at its beauty.

  Ischia Porto, or Porto as it is known, is the main town. It has the majority of the shops and restaurants. My hotel was up a hill about twenty minutes walk from the port and we dropped off two other couples at other hotels before eventually arriving at mine. I checked in and went to my room. It was small, as so often single rooms are at continental hotels, but it was clean and adequate. The bathroom was tiny but the hotel itself was well-appointed and there were three pools, a spa and a restaurant.

  I needed some basics for the room, such as water and I found there was a supermarket nearby, so I walked there and stocked up with a few things. Tea is something I cannot live without, so I had even bought a kettle with me and teabags and I bought a few salad vegetables and fruit to put in the small fridge. I didn't know if I would venture forth from the hotel and I was only half-board - in fact, at that time, I was not sure if I would leave my room. The thought of being amongst other people, still seemed too difficult. There would invariably be questions about whether I had children if got into conversation with anyone. How would I explain my situation? I had no idea - but I had to eat and I would have to face the restaurant at least twice a day. Perhaps no-one would talk to me. On that first day, I seriously hoped so.

  Even in such a beautiful place, I wondered if I had done the right thing in coming. I wanted to lie on the bed and sob out my despair but I somehow found the strength to don a bikini and shorts and head to the pool with my book.

  I noticed a group of women were clustered round the pool near me. It appeared that there was some kind of single person's holiday taking place. I had never been a fan of group anything, nor could much see the point of travelling in herds but I guess for those who like it, it has its advantages. Solitary confinement was more the order of the day for me in my current state. The very contrast of being amongst those who were seeking the opposite was like salt in a very deep wound and somewhat ungraciously, I vowed to avoid them at all costs. This had less to do with them, than with me. I was just not ready to share or open up about my life and the inevitable questions would almost certainly arise between women of a certain age.

  I started wondering if I had picked the wrong hotel. This one was rather large and I wanted to be alone with only my grief and loss for company. I wanted to let the sun soothe my soul and dry out my tears and wrap myself in a blanket of nothingness.

  This was not going to be allowed. The girl on the sun-lounger next to me, innocently began small-talk. The dreaded question of children arose and I was in the terrible predicament of those who have suffered this fate - do you lie, answer vaguely or tell the whole sad tale from start to finish, knowing the injunction means little when talking to strangers in the unreal circumstances of a holiday.

  In the end, I decided on option two. It was simpler and would bring the questions to a close more readily. "My son is with his father for the summer holidays." This was a version of the truth - the fact he was there for the next four years was not a necessary embellishment and did I really want to ruin their holiday by drawing them into my misery? These were not friends, but fellow holiday-makers and no doubt women who travelled in groups had plenty of sad stories of their own surrounding men, but I felt that mine would be something that would be neither acceptable nor understood.

  The fear of judgment from strangers was something I would live with for a long time yet and even more so, the judgment of former friends and family. My own had long deserted me. My mother had sadly died in the middle of the proceedings - maybe a blessing as she never knew I had lost M. My middle sister had died in her thirties, cut short of a life unlived and taking the light out of all our eyes. My eldest sister was the greatest casualty of this situation. She refused to believe in my innocence. We had never really been close so perhaps it was more understandable that she would damn me now but I felt her judgment deeply and it hurt. I had tried to mend the angry words that had passed between us when I judged her for judging me. She, however, refused to let it go and may carry a grudge forever. I can only hope, for her sake, as much as mine, that this is not the case but I feel it most deeply because of how it has fragmented our family. My father is elderly and has stood by me through all of this, but he longs for the unification of us all - for his sake most, I wish my sister would meet me half way.

  My brother and I have reached an understanding. For some time I could not forgive him for not coming to my aid when we needed a testimonial to my parenting for the US Court when M was found and taken. He had given his reasons as not knowing my parenting skills, but I guess that also says much. It shows the distance between all of us - it was oceans deep and wide and whilst my brother and I are civil now and I believe we tolerate each other more for Dad's sake than our own, it is a relief to have one less enemy. He has no children of his own and I don't think he can truly relate to the unbearable loss I feel.

  My whole life was based now on judgment and scrutiny. For those who have been through the system, you will know what I mean. Nothing is sacred. Something you may have said in a heated moment, a random email, a thought shared with a medic even - could be taken, twisted and presented as truth. The amount of scrutiny placed on a mother in this situation, is tantamount to a woman who cries rape - did you ask for it? Did you provoke it? Is it really all your fault?

  The balance of probabilities used to decide what should be a criminal offence, such as sexual abuse of a child - is as tentative and dangerously unfair as one can imagine for children do not lie about abuse and if a child of six, as M was when questioned, says something happened, then it is almost certain that it did. I don't care what the mother was like in her teens, what problems she had in her twenties - and I consider myself to be as good as any other - the fact remains, that children of tender years cannot lie about abuse and nor can they be coached to lie. They simply would not be able to carry it off. They cannot even sustain a lie about whether they have washed their face or not.

  Children are open books and you should read them more seriously than any adult. Adults become skilled over the years at the art of lying - one only had to look at R to see how clever adults can be - but children simply have not had time to learn the art of deception. Whilst those that judged me for losing my son failed to see, was that in judging me, they were calling my son a liar. Whilst I myself had no reason to lie and nothing to gain by it, M had even less reason to do it and he had had no points of reference on which to base his allegations.

  I managed to disentangle myself from the woman next to me and stared blankly into the pages of the book without absorbing a single word - all I could think about was the fact that I would not see M now for another four years - at the very least. I did not know how to get through another four minutes without him - how would I get through this sentence? For compared to my five and a half weeks in jail for abduction, this was a sentence like no other - years that I would never get back - years that I would not see him play rugby, win prizes, lose prizes, participate in every aspect of life - the inches he would grow, the knife marks o
n the door that showed his ascendance into teen years and the tears and laughter we had shared that I would not witness. I was acutely in agony and I wondered how M would survive what I did not know how to.

  As far as the abuse was concerned, I could not even think about that or I would have gone crazy. I could not bear to imagine that he might still be enduring the horrors of what he had told me, my father, the Foster Carers and Social Workers in the States, the Police, the GP and the Child Psychologist, not to mention the long chain of Court Experts who had refused to listen or believe the horrific things that his father had done to him, whilst an inexperienced Judge with a misogynistic nature called both my son and myself a liar.

  Even against the strong medical evidence before him, the testimony of two experts, my son, my father and myself, he ruled that nothing had happened - but the question of why any of us would pretend it had, he could not answer and fortunately for him, he did not have to. All he had to do was decide and this was our fate - M's, mine, my father's and the ripples of people that surrounded us.

  We had been sucked into a whirlpool, a mire, a hole that was deep and unfathomable, swirling downwards into endless black.

  People were swimming up and down the Olympic sized pool. The kind of swimming that people do on holiday, gentle, unhurried, their heads up like turtles as they saunter slowly up and down and pretend to themselves they are burning enough calories to enjoy a guilt-free dinner.

  I could not stare at the book anymore and I was hot, nor did I want to answer any further questions that may arise, having successfully fielded the first. I plunged into the cool water and began to pound up and down the pool - thrashing at the water with harsh strokes of fury and anger - why do they call it crawl? What I was doing was anything but. I was churning the water aimlessly into a frenzy, beating my already tired body into unaccustomed exercise - gathering momentum as I covered length after length.

  Then something happened - it was not exactly a feeling of anything even close to happiness - but more relief - my pent up anger and frustration began to dissipate just slightly - I realised that my negative energy was being absorbed by the water and I was letting go. I was working out the knots in my body - I was experiencing something, only for a brief moment, but it was a release - a few minutes of time off from my grief - a reprieve for my exhausted soul.

  I knew in that moment that I had to use this week to fight my way back - to gain strength for the Appeal and regardless of the group of single women or any other holidaymaker, the tiny bathroom or the less-than-perfect bedroom, I had to get into the ocean and remember that I was still connected to this earth and had to breathe - I had to breathe and swim and claw my way back to earth and survive.

  I got out of the pool, tired but in a better way than before. I had not slept more than two or three hours a night since the Judgment, but I felt momentarily refreshed. I vowed that tomorrow, I would find the sea and let the expanse of the ocean wash over me and save my life.

  Chapter 15

  An answer to the question

  It was the opening ceremony of the Olympic games being held in Britain, the night of my arrival in Ischia. I was so caught up in my own momentous problems, that I was oblivious even to this historical event. It was not that I was completely unaware that it was happening, but I had no more interest in it, than anything else that might be going on in the world - for me the world without M, was simply not a world.

  I did not feel like going for dinner and nearly went to bed, but the body has a way of demanding you participate in the normal activities of life and hunger eventually dictated I get something proper to eat. I had not eaten since the synthetic breakfast on the flight and after my stint in the pool, I felt the first pang of appetite I had had for some time.

  The effort of getting showered and dressed, not-to-mention having to face other people, nearly defeated me but as there was no such thing as room service in the hotel and the supermarket was now closed - the thought of the twenty minute walk into Ischia Porto being even more overwhelming, I pulled on an ancient sun-dress from years ago and happier times and a pair of sandals and headed for the dining room with extreme trepidation.

  The single crowd were seated at a large round table - in King Arthur fashion - with a woman in the middle who looked Italian and was obviously the ring-leader. I was thankful to be seated alone at a small table for two and was soon brought a bottle of very welcome white wine and some water. I intended to eat fast, drink a couple of glasses to help me sleep and then head to my bed.

  An older rather rotund man who looked the image of the late Harry Secombe entered the dining room and approached the single set. I assumed he was one of them and I watched him chatting to the tour organizer, more because I had nothing else to do and no-one to talk to, whilst I awaited my starter.

  Much to my horror the man then headed my way and asked if the seat opposite was taken. Clearly it was not and without invitation, he sat down and offered to keep me company for the meal. This was the last thing I wanted. A total stranger to have to make conversation with, when all I wanted was a quick meal and even quicker departure.

  He introduced himself as Brad, told me he came from Leicester and began questioning me on myself, my life and horror of horrors, whether I had any children. I answered monosyllabically and tried not to sound rude. I so badly wanted him to leave me in peace but strangely having to make the effort to talk was not such a bad thing in the end. Brad was clearly harmless and just lonely and didn't want to eat dinner by himself. He had been coming to the same hotel for years and no doubt would love to have found himself a romance, but without meaning to sound unkind, I doubt this was going to be on the cards and I was certainly far from interested.

  I struggled to converse but converse I had to. It was that or be downright rude and ask him to leave but it was already too late for that. I was stuck with Brad - unfortunately for the week, for the waiters assumed we were a couple and each evening after, he would appear and join me for dinner.

  I am too well brought up to tell anyone to go away - especially when undeserved but I realised later that I had the solo travellers to blame - they had told him I was alone and in an effort to oust him from their table, they had landed him on me. I was unimpressed but also felt sorry for him - so much so, that in the end, I confided my terrible story to him over our second glasses of wine. His reaction was so ludicrous, it was almost funny. He simply said, "well if you haven't got your son, you can have one of mine. I can't stand either of them." This firmly closed the subject for the rest of the week - thank God. In some ways this made him the ideal dinner partner - no flirting, no attraction, no danger of him getting the wrong idea and no awkward questions about children.

  There was a limit to how much of Brad I could cope with each day and that was not his fault. I wanted my solitude. I felt guilty for anything that felt close to enjoyment - no matter how fleeting. I was grieving hard for M and to spare myself one moment away from my grief, felt like a betrayal. I was caught between the devil of what had happened to us and the deep blue seas of Ischia that called me to partake in some refreshment for my weary body and even wearier soul.

  After dinner, I made my excuses and headed out of the restaurant. I told Brad that I had had no sleep the night before due to my early flight, which was true. I did not elaborate into the months and years of no sleep I had been enduring now for so long.

  As I walked across the terrace in front of the hotel dining room, I was suddenly captured by the clear sky and warmth on my arms. I decided to have a coffee on the terrace before going to my room. I was now alone and relieved to be so, I sat down at a table to admire the beauty and tranquillity of my surroundings.

  Brad was still eating dessert in the restaurant and I felt safe to spend some quiet moments. I had rushed my meal and there were few people around - no-one except for a table of four sitting at the far side of the terrace. I could hear from their laughter and their voices that they were British. There was a woman who I guessed was about
my age, a young lad and an older couple. They were drinking cocktails and I caught bits of their conversation - they were talking about the Olympic ceremony and it seemed from what they were saying that the hotel had set up a screen in one of the lounges for people to watch.

  Unfortunately, they spotted me seated alone and out of kindness asked me to join them. I was reluctant. I wanted an early night and having already told Brad I was going to bed, I felt it would look rude if I now joined these people for coffee. However, they were insistent and friendly and I could think of no good excuse, so I went to sit with them and learned that they were a divorced mother called Carla, a boy of fourteen called James and Carla's parents Ron and Jennifer.

  We made small talk about the hotel to begin with. They were surprised I was travelling alone and concerned that I had no-one to talk to. They could not have guessed that this was my preference. They were visiting the Island for the first time from Warwickshire and had arrived the day before. They offered me a cocktail and asked me to join them to watch the opening ceremony of the Olympics. This meant that we could go inside and avoided the risk of running into Brad, so I accepted out of courtesy, more than real desire.

  Much to my amazement, I found some kind of solace in their company. They were well-spoken, good humoured and very hospitable.

  Fortunately all conversation turned to the impending ceremony before any awkward questions were asked and as the sound from the screen was very loud, even this was limited. They ordered champagne and more cocktails and insisted I stay. I knew that going back to my room meant facing my demons and was suddenly wide awake. I even found myself laughing - although somewhat superficially, as we downed drinks and saw the humorous aspect of the scenes on the screen which were somewhat distorted by the poor satellite signal on the Island. Unwittingly, I seemed to have made some friends and my attempts to stay alone, had been completely thwarted. I would spend each evening with them for the next five days and in many ways I was grateful to have found myself amongst the kindness of strangers.