Mummy's Still Here

by Jeanne D'Olivier

  It was the early hours when I eventually left them and went to bed. I slept little and fitfully but I had survived another day and looking back there had been moments of a lessening of the heaviness in my heart. I had to admit that coming away was starting to do me good, despite my resistance.

  I did not see the family during the day nor made any arrangement to do so. We were evening companions and went our separate ways the rest of the time. This suited me well as I wanted to find the sea, wander round Ischia Porto and discover more of the Island. I had a particular yen to visit Mortella Gardens, a haven of peace which had been donated to the people of Ischia by the composer William Walton and his Argentinean wife Suzanna, who had lived there and had created a spectacular garden and amphitheatre where young aspiring musicians could perform and get their first break.

  I had done a little research into the Island before I came but I had doubted my ability to leave the hotel. I arrived feeling so tired and fragile, that I had imagined myself curled up on a lounger by day and in bed by nine each night. Somehow though, Ischia was working its magic and I found myself keen to see what this special place had to offer beyond the hotel gates.

  The following morning I set off into Ischia Porto and found a beach - stripping off my shorts and pumps, I got into the sea and felt the immediate refreshing waves against my skin. The sun shone hot in the sky and I swam out briskly before lying on my back with my arms and legs outstretched to take in the rays of the sun and feel my body absorb the healing light. It felt good to lie there - completely alone - and it reminded me of times I had done exactly this in the Caribbean when on holidays with M. I sent a silent prayer to the universe for M's safety and for strength for myself to carry on fighting and breathing.

  After some time, I swam back to shore to be met by an Italian who was caretaking the beach. Apparently it was private and attached to one of the hotels. I made my apologies and left. There are actually few beaches in Ischia where this is not the case, as I was to later discover but if you are prepared to walk far enough, you can find places to swim in the ocean and so long as you don't use sun-loungers that are dedicated to a particular hotel, you can swim on most of the beaches. My mistake had been to leave my beach bag on a sun-lounger.

  I went back to the hotel for a light lunch in my room of salad and fruit and then settled down with my book by the pool. I was surprised to feel rested and refreshed and this time I was left to my own devices. Intermittently I went into the pool and swam a few lengths to cool off. I cannot say that my grief or anger at the situation had left and M was constantly on my mind, but my body was determined to take a vacation from the horrors of what had happened, even if my mind refused to do so.

  Brad arrived to join me for dinner once again and talked about his divorce, his longing to reconnect with the solo travellers, who he knew of old, but had allegedly had a disagreement with the tour guide due to a mix up on travel arrangements and was now banned from travelling with the group. I wondered if there was more to it, but frankly I did not care or want to know. I was content to let him chat on, so that I did not have to and after our first meal together, the subject of my son was not raised again. I could eat in peace and nod at intervals and then make my excuses.

  The food in the restaurant was excellent - as it is almost everywhere you go in Italy. There was usually a pasta starter but as I do not eat wheat, I would opt for the sumptuous hors d'oevres from the buffet which included every kind of shell fish, salmon and a variety of salads. The main course was usually fish or chicken and there was plenty of fruit, wonderful gelatos and gateaux to choose from for dessert. I found myself eating with appetite for the first time in ages.

  Brad and I would share the cost of a bottle of wine, which he seemed happy for me to select and after dinner, I would join my newfound friends from the first night for coffee and a cocktail. They were enormously generous people and would never let me pay, so I sent over a couple of bottles of wine to them to show my appreciation on their last evening.

  It was on the third evening, that I at last found myself opening up to Jennifer and Ron who I had been talking to. A large and quite powerful cocktail loosened my tongue and I suddenly felt the urge to share my story with someone. I knew I would likely never see them again after the week was over and away from all that was familiar, I felt safe to open my heart.

  The subject of children had inevitably come up, as it was likely to do, given my age. I explained to Ron that I had a son and that I had lost him cruelly in an unjust custody battle. He and Jennifer listened attentively and without saying anything. I could not read whether their concerned expressions represented judgment or compassion and when I eventually came to the end of my sorry tale, I anxiously waited for their response. My final words had been the inevitable mystery as to why this had happened to me.

  Ron spoke first. He told me he knew exactly why myself and my son had suffered this fate. To my surprise, he had seen injustice of this nature many times before.

  Ron was a retired Police Sergeant and notoriously the police were often involved with Freemasonry. He told me that, whilst not being a Freemason himself, many of the senior officers in his force had been and he had seen rapists, paedophiles and domestic abusers, walk away from serious crimes against women and children, many times. He told me that Freemasonry was usually at the heart of why certain abusive men were protected.

  He talked of a particular case where one man had been brought into the station under arrest for battering someone unconscious, but he had been told by the inspector to put it down as a pub brawl and let the perpetrator go. He said this was one of many such incidents he had witnessed and he was convinced that the missing key to our case, was Freemasonry - either the Judge or someone who had played a pivotal role in our case, had been a Freemason and he was adamant that M's father was also a member. I told him that I was appealing the Judgment and that I believed I had a very strong case for procedural unfairness - supported by precedents.

  "It won't do you any good." He said frowning. "The Judge who made the wrong Judgment, will be protected by any Freemasons now involved with your case, as will M's father. You might as well give up the fight now and hope to see him again when he is eighteen."

  This was such a revelation that I was stunned. On the one hand to have a reason to hang on what was so cruelly unfair and unbelievable was a relief, but on the other it took away any hope I may now have of ever winning the case through the Courts and worse still the hope of seeing my son for the rest of his childhood.

  This was not the first time, it had been suggested to me that Freemasonry was at the root of our case, but I had not really believed it entirely until now and I didn't want to accept that there was nothing that I could do to fight against the injustice.

  I found the information hard to digest and a bitter blow. What if Ron was right? All hope would be gone. I dared not allow myself to give up because I did not know how I would carry on, if my life and M's was now in the hands of a secret organization that protected the wicked and that infiltrated all the main factions of the establishment - from Government through to the Courts, Social Services and Police.

  Jennifer tried to soften the blow and was somewhat angry with Ron for telling me this, but he stood his ground and was determined that I was up against a powerful and corrupt machine, against which, no lawyer or parent could hope to fight. To say I was devastated would be putting it mildly, but whilst wanting to go on believing that he was wrong, in my heart I knew, it was the first thing that had made sense to me for some time. It explained everything that had happened and why even the top QC's that we had employed at huge cost, had failed to make even a dent in the case.

  I was not comforted by the fact that I knew that at least two of the lawyers who had represented me, were self-confessed Masons. One had claimed to be non-practising, but the other, the first barrister on our case, was still an active member. Had this had a bearing on the outcome? I had no way of knowing but I remembered when M and I had run from
our fate to the US that this particular barrister had advised us to go. He had told us we would be safe and that it would take at least five years to bring us back, even if we were found. He had even provided me with a list of countries that were not signed up to the Hague Convention. He had told me that our only hope of justice was in fleeing.

  When we at last decided to act on his advice and go - a decision that was made in a split-second following a final meeting with Social Services who had told me they were going to take my son and there was nothing I could do, despite the more the numerous testimonials to my good parenting, he had advised that we had time and invited my father and I to come into his office for a final consultation.

  At this time, our barrister told us that whilst R's lawyer was seeking a Prohibitive Steps Order to prevent us leaving, on penalty of arrest, that they could not hold a hearing for this without my being represented. At the same time as we were in his office, that very hearing was taking place.

  When we suggested to the barrister that we intended to go to Florida, where I had relatives, despite it being a Hague country and because I refused to take M anywhere I did not consider safe, which left few options open to us, my lawyer had conspicuously left the meeting to make a call, he said, to ascertain from a London QC what it would take to bring us back, should we be found.

  Only a short time later a bailiff had arrived to serve me with the Prohibitive Steps Order. The barrister had told us he knew nothing of this, but in the light of what Ron had now told me, I had to at least consider the possibility that our own legal counsel may actually have been working against us. I would never be able to prove it and it was of no use to me going forward, but a tight knot of fear was growing inside me and I was again overwhelmed by a feeling of powerlessness.

  That night I barely slept at all, churning Ron's words over and over in my mind and feeling like I was falling into a deep cavern of despair from which there was no way back. Should I give up on my Appeal now? It was tempting to do so. I was already worn out from the endless litigation that had been going on now for five years. I hated having to pour through evidence and prepare briefs but there was still a small voice inside me that knew that I could not give up without trying. What if Ron were wrong? I could not let myself off the hook on the words of one man. I would never forgive myself if there was still a chance of overturning the Judgment - but it cast a large black cloud of doubt over what I was planning to do. Having said that, we were no worse off than before. I knew that I had to at least try the only route left open to us. I knew that not giving up, was the only thing that kept me alive.

  That night was a turning point in my relationship with the strangers with whom I had shared my first evening. My soul bearing had turned us into friends and brought us close. I may not have liked what they had to say, but I knew instinctively they were on my side and most of all they did not believe I was to blame for any of this. I could now be myself without fear and whilst I had no wish to empty my grief out to them endlessly, for my own sake, as well as theirs, I felt more relaxed in their company and they all showed me enormous compassion.

  The next day I decided to go to Mortella Gardens. I needed distraction and to think. I booked a trip through Ina the tour guide and after lunch, I was collected by a mini-bus to take me to Forio where the gardens were situated. The trip would last from 2pm - 9pm in the evening and I wondered if I would last a full day in the gardens which would culminate with an evening concert in the amphitheatre - but I was committed now and the others on the trip, three retired English couples, were friendly but non-intrusive. We talked a little on the journey and then went our separate ways once through the entrance gate, planning to meet up to eat in the tea rooms at five before the concert began at 7pm.

  It was a hot July day and I was glad that I had donned shorts and a T-shirt. I had my book and sunscreen and a lightweight summer dress in my bag for later on.

  Suzanna Walton had made the garden her life's work since she and her husband had moved to the Island and years of devotion and love shone from every bright and exotic flower and plant. Humming birds and Chaffinches chirped happily in an enclosure lush with greenery and natural foliage. One could not fail to feel peaceful and transfixed by the beauty of this hillside paradise. Whilst both Suzanna and her husband had now passed on and had memorial water features and stones in the garden, their presence could be felt in every stunning part of this idyllic landscape.

  I quickly lost all sense of time as I climbed the winding stony path through the various stunning settings of rainbow coloured tableaus, I was again amazed at how peaceful I felt, surround by tropical flowers of all shades and varieties and with only the distant sounds of the sea, the cicadas and chirruping birds to break the silent.

  Eventually heat got the better of me and I found a spot in the shade next to a gorgeous water feature and read for a while. The hours passed in the blink of an eye and it seemed like no time at all until it was time to meet the others.

  We ordered salads and a glass of Prosecco and sat in the shade. Conversation was limited to our various experience of the Island so far and was of the polite variety of acquaintances who are thrown together for only a short time and who know they will not meet in the future. It was easy and founded in formality. Nothing to threaten the peace I had found by the water-feature and the magic of the evening concert in the gently darkening sky lay ahead of us. None of us had been to the garden before, so we were all anticipating it with excitement.

  The amphitheatre in Mortella is a sight to behold It is built into the hillside and seats several hundred on the natural stone tiers carved into the sloping terrain, hundreds of metres above sea level.

  The orchestra playing that night was from the UK and was made up of about fifty young people. It was heavenly looking out over the Island and seeing the twinkling lights of the whitewashed houses below. The classical music was soothing and uplifting, a selection of Chopin and Bach and culminating with Walton's own music. It was cooler now and we sipped our drinks and I was overwhelmed by the spectacular meeting of music and stunning scenery, against a velvet dark sky, studded with twinkling stars.

  The sheer beauty of this moment would stay with me for years to come and would place Ischia and this garden in my heart forever as a diamond in the dark.

  I had gone from an Island that had destroyed me, to an Island that I believe to this day, saved my life and would again.

  Chapter 16

  From the light to the dark

  Ischia is best known for being the location where they had filmed the notorious Talented Mr Ripley, but it has so much more to offer by way of beauty and tranquillity.

  Mine was a spa hotel, but having paid on plastic, I could not afford to indulge in the Smorgasbord of therapies on offer – from mud bathing to elaborate sinus drainage through the use of thermal steam masks. It was a place to cure all ills, at least physical. Although I could not indulge in the luxuries of seaweed wraps and elaborate pummelling to my already bruised torso, I could enjoy the food, the geographical distance from my rapidly expanding library of lever arch files and a garage that resembled a QC’s chambers. I could pretend for one week to be just an English woman abroad in a place that was as pretty and full of the essence of everything Italian and fulsome with life that I somehow hoped could wash me with its beauty and stroke my injured heart.

  To some extent Ischia did serve its purpose. Whilst I left to seek solace alone, I returned with memories of the lovely British family who befriended me at my time of need and in whom, I had confided my story. I remained, and still remain in touch with these people and recently spent New Year’s Eve with them. Sometimes when you need friends most, the kindness of strangers provides a warm blanket to wrap you in and this was one such time.

  The week had passed quickly but with unexpected moments of peace. I visited Capri on one of the little boats that went to various destinations around the coast. Brad asked to accompany me and I could hardly refuse him. He was no more of a threat to my so
litude than a stray dog that attaches itself to you and only asks that you occasionally acknowledge that he is there.

  I was glad when Brad decided to take a cable chair and took off into the air, his large sandaled feet hanging in space and his pork pie hat pressed firmly over his wide forehead. It allowed me to wander the streets alone and look at the enchanting views. Whilst Capri is beautiful and very exclusive, it did not compare to Ischia for me. Ischia is more peaceful, less known about and attracts Italians as well as many Germans - and whilst my particular hotel was one of the few offered up by English Tour Operators and had a number of British guests as a result, they were mostly older people seeking peace and relaxation and apart from the British Family and Brad and the occasional nod to a fellow guest, I had no-one to interrupt the silence I sought.

  There aren't too many Brits who go to Ischia or even discover it and for me, that meant less conversation which was my choice at that time.

  My newfound friends left the day before me, having ended our evenings together with a few drinks and a rather ill-advised race up and down the pool, fully clothed with their fourteen year old son, who had challenged me to this. I could not refuse him. The family were all urging us on in their cups and as one of the very few young people staying at the hotel, I felt it was only fair to let him have his fun. The fact that I was even capable of taking him up on this, showed how much the Island had brought back a fragment of the person I used to be and the many times I had enjoyed little moments of harmless mischief with M. How he would have loved this little dare and he would have been the first into the pool, swimming energetically and determined to win, as he had been on the many races we had had on holidays before. He had swum like a fish since he was only four years of age.