Playing Nice

by Delaney, JP

  “God, I don’t know.” I think. “I suppose, if you do take him, at least it’ll be a chance to talk to Lucy. Find out where she stands.”

  “Or there might be a massive row. If Miles is there, I mean.”

  “Maybe a massive row is what’s required right now.”

  “Um,” Pete says. “In front of Theo?”

  I glance at him. If Pete has a weakness, it’s that sometimes he’ll try to smooth things over when what’s really required is a bit of shouting. But he’s right, of course—we shouldn’t be teaching Theo that shouting is how adults resolve disagreements, at least not while his own behavior is still so erratic. “Then why not keep him home for a day?” I suggest. “That might give Miles a reason to get back in touch, after all.”

  47

  PETE

  SO I KEPT THEO home.

  Around eleven, while Theo was drawing what he claimed were dinosaurs on the giant pad we kept especially for rainy days, my phone rang. I glanced at the screen. MILES LAMBERT. Slightly apprehensive, I answered it. “Hello?”

  “Pete, mate. What’s up?” Miles said cheerfully. “Is Theo all right?”

  “Theo’s good, thanks. Why?”

  “Lucy texted to say you hadn’t turned up this morning.”

  “That’s right,” I said cautiously. “You hadn’t replied to our email, so we weren’t sure if you were expecting him.”

  “Of course we were. That was the deal, right? Daytimes at ours, nights at yours.”

  I frowned. “I don’t think we exactly formalized that into a deal, Miles.”

  Silence.

  “Did you read our email?” I added.

  “Yes. Well, the first few lines anyway. It was a bit long, to be honest. But I got the gist. Look, apology accepted. Water under the bridge. And let’s face it, I probably spoke a little hastily as well.”

  I took a deep breath. “Miles, we need to sort this out.”

  “Consider it sorted. Anyway, now we’re all good, how soon can you get Theo over to Highgate?”

  “I need to think about that,” I said firmly. “Definitely not today, and as for tomorrow…Look, you should know that we have reservations about how this whole nanny-share thing is going to work. Whether it’s really the best thing for Theo. In the long term, I mean.”

  There was a brief silence. Then, in the calm, distant voice I was getting so familiar with, Miles said, “Well, don’t think too fucking long, Pete.”

  And then the phone went dead.

  * * *

  —

  I RELATED ALL THIS to Maddie when she got home. “It’s like a switch inside him suddenly gets thrown. Then, when the switch goes back again, it’s as if it never happened.”

  Maddie nodded. “I think Lucy’s scared of him, too.”

  As if on cue, our doorbell rang. We looked at each other. “Speak of the devil,” I said quietly.

  I went and pulled the door open, determined that this time I wasn’t going to give any ground.

  But as the man on the doorstep moved his umbrella, I saw it wasn’t Miles. It was Don Maguire, the private investigator. He was holding out a thick white envelope, rapidly spotting with raindrops.

  “I need to serve you this,” he said. When I took it, he added, “I’m sorry it didn’t work out.” Then he turned and walked away through the rain.

  Mystified and slightly alarmed, I took the envelope indoors and opened it. It contained a thick bundle of documents. At the top were two sheets, slightly damp, both headed Notice of Proceedings. I saw Miles’s name.

  “What is it?” Maddie asked.

  “I’m not sure. But whatever it is, it doesn’t look good.” Quickly, I pulled the papers out and flicked through them. An official-looking document headed Declaration of Parentage. A photocopy of a birth certificate—Theo’s. Something about mediation. And several blank forms headed Respondent’s Copy.

  “They’re legal papers,” I said, baffled. “There’s a date for some sort of court hearing. But I don’t understand. When I spoke to Miles, he didn’t say anything about this.”

  Underneath the Notice of Proceedings was a form headed C1: Application for an order, Children Act 1989 except care and supervision orders, Section 8 orders and orders related to enforcement of a contact order. None of the words meant anything to me. I went through it line by line, desperate to understand what was going on. The first section was headed About you—Person completing this application. Miles had filled in his own name and address.

  Section 2 was headed The child(ren) and the order(s) applied for. For each child state (1) the full name, and (2) the type of order(s). Underneath, Miles had written:

  David Leopold Lambert—Special Guardianship Order

  Theo Riley—Child Arrangements Order

  “Oh my God.” I felt the blood drain from my face.

  “What?” Maddie said, concerned. “Is it Theo? He’s not trying to swap them back after all?”

  “It’s worse than that,” I said slowly. “I think he’s trying to get them both.”

  48

  Case no. 12675/PU78B65: CAFCASS “Welcome Pack” letter received by Peter Riley and Madelyn Wilson, signed by Lyn Edwards, Family Court Adviser.

  Dear Ms. Wilson and Mr. Riley,

  CAFCASS, the Children and Family Court Advisory Service, has been asked by the court to work with you and your child/ren. Our job is to provide the court with advice to help it decide on future arrangements for your child/ren.

  I understand that this is a difficult time for you and your family. At CAFCASS our job is to make sure children are safe and that their views and interests are taken into account. This means that I need to ask questions about your situation. In the first instance I will telephone you to discuss any concerns you may have about the safeguarding of your child/ren. I will also telephone other parties in the case to seek their views. Following those calls, I will write a letter to the court setting out whether there are any safeguarding issues that the court should be aware of, and if so, what I think should be done about them.

  We recognize that you may not be in agreement with recommendations I may make to the court and this can be challenged during the court proceedings. If, however, you are unhappy with any part of my practice, please tell me or my manager as soon as possible so that we can quickly understand your concerns and try to put things right.

  Yours sincerely,

  Lyn Edwards

  Family Court Adviser

  Wherever possible CAFCASS uses recycled paper and black ink to reduce costs and our carbon footprint.

  Case no. 12675/PU78B65, Exhibit 24, retrieved from DadStuff.net.

  HELP—NEED GOOD CHILD LAW SOLICITOR URGENTLY.

  Homedad85—Level 5 poster. Member since 2018.

  Need a lawyer who knows about family law. Just been served 2x Notice of Proceedings—first hearing is in THREE WEEKS. Received a bunch of forms (C1, C100, C1A, and a letter from some people called CAFCASS) and SOMEONE APPEARS TO HAVE GOTTEN A COURT TO CHANGE MY SON’S BIRTH CERTIFICATE WITHOUT US BEING TOLD ABOUT IT. The form has our name and address but one letter of our postcode has been changed. That makes it illegal, surely?

  Please help asap. Going out of our minds with worry.

  Graham775

  Your best bet is to find a solicitor using the search engine on the Law Society website.

  Onefineday

  Birth certificate is for recording child’s parents. Someone appears to have convinced a court that your DS isn’t actually yours. I wonder how that can have happened?

  Tanktop

  Went through court and CAFCASS with my ex. Horrible experience, but can’t recommend Anita Chowdry highly enough—child lawyer at Burnham Phillips. She’s not cheap but she’s worth every penny.

  Onefineday

  “Child lawyer,” Tanktop? Wouldn’t OP be b
etter off with a grown-up?

  49

  MADDIE

  “IT’S A HIGHLY UNUSUAL situation,” Anita Chowdry says, looking up from the bundle. She seems impressed, even fascinated, by just how unusual it is.

  “We’ve been so naïve,” Pete says, shaking his head. “I can’t believe how stupid we’ve been.”

  “Well, you’re here now,” Anita says briskly. “Would you like me to explain what the applicants have been up to?”

  I like Anita. She seems bright and capable and entirely at ease with her hijab and pronounced south London accent. “Yes, please.”

  “The first thing they did was to apply to the family court for a declaration of parentage order. That involved them getting a court-approved doctor to take DNA samples from Theo—”

  “Hang on,” Pete says. “They took Theo to a doctor? I thought they used a sippy cup.”

  Anita glances down at the document. “The doctor came to their house. The court would need to be sure there was absolutely no chance of misidentification, so they repeated the tests. But the doctor would only have needed cheek swabs, so Theo probably wouldn’t have been aware of anything unusual going on. The Lamberts then asked the court to confirm that they’re Theo’s natural parents, and having done that, to direct that his birth certificate be amended.” She holds up her hand to forestall Pete’s protests. “Not sending the Notice of Proceedings to the correct address was sneaky, but there’s absolutely no chance the court will overturn it on that basis. The Lamberts probably just didn’t want to alert you to what they were doing.”

  “We had no idea,” Pete says, shaking his head. “No idea at all.”

  “In any case, being declared his legal parents means they now have the right to apply for a Child Arrangements Order—what used to be called custody.”

  Pete puts his head in his hands.

  “There was something in the bundle about mediation,” I say. “We didn’t quite understand it, but it definitely said mediation would take place.”

  Anita nods. “Actually, it’s already happened.”

  Pete’s head shoots up. “What?”

  “It’s a legal requirement that applicants for a Child Arrangements Order attend a mediation meeting. But there’s no absolute requirement that they attend with the other party—if they can convince the mediator they’ve explored all the possibilities and that further discussion wouldn’t work, the mediator can simply sign the certificate that allows them to proceed. Besides, you have to remember that mediation is primarily aimed at divorcing couples. Here you’ve got a situation where a husband and wife both turn up together, singing off the same hymn sheet and probably both saying how accommodating they’ve tried to be—it’s hardly surprising they were waved through.”

  Pete slumps again. He’d been pinning all his hopes on the mediation, I realize. It’s all part of his general belief that reasonableness and dialogue are the answer to everything.

  “The court can still order mediation at the initial hearing, if it chooses to,” Anita adds. “I wouldn’t get your hopes up, though. A judge won’t usually do that if the delay could lead to potential harm to the child.”

  “Harm!” Pete stares at her. “To Theo? What harm? That’s ridiculous.”

  “The definition of harm in the Children Act is pretty broad. The applicants have listed several examples on the C1A which they believe may qualify. One is that you let Theo wander off and get lost on a shopping trip. Another is that you allowed him to eat a tub of salt, resulting in a visit to the emergency room. They also say they have photographic evidence of bruising to his legs—”

  “He bruised his legs playing rugby with Miles!” Pete shouts.

  “Of course,” Anita says calmly. “I’m simply telling you what they’ve alleged, which is that the bruises were caused by you forcibly holding him down on a church step, in front of witnesses. Oh, and they’re asking for an accelerated process because they claim the three of you could be a flight risk.” She looks at me. “You’re an Australian citizen, I understand? And Theo has an Australian passport?”

  I nod. “We visited his grandparents last Christmas. And since Pete and I aren’t married, it was easier to get him an Australian one.”

  “Then I think it’s highly likely they’ll succeed in getting the process expedited. Which in some ways is unfortunate, because they’ve already stolen a march on you.” Anita turns a page. “They’ve also asked the court to make a Prohibited Steps Order preventing you from taking Theo abroad, on the basis that the people listed in his passport as his parents no longer have parental responsibility for him.”

  “What do you mean—‘no longer have parental responsibility’?” I say, baffled. “We’re still his day-to-day carers, surely? At least until a court decides otherwise?”

  Anita considers. “Have you told the council you’re private fostering?”

  “I don’t even know what that is,” Pete says despairingly.

  “Caring for someone else’s child. It might have given you some protection if the council had already looked into the situation and decided you were doing a good job. As it is, notifying them is a legal requirement that you’ve failed to carry out, which isn’t a big deal but probably doesn’t help us.” The solicitor puts her pen down. “I’m afraid you’re in a very unusual situation, legally speaking. Generally, you can only apply for court orders to do with children if you have parental responsibility for them—and while that would automatically include any child who’d lived with you for three years, anything less doesn’t count. If the child is two, and you aren’t his parents or legal guardians and you’re no longer listed as such on his birth certificate, you effectively have no rights over him whatsoever.” She pulls another document out of the bundle. “So when, for example, the applicants say they want Theo to continue coming to their house every day to be looked after by their nanny, technically that’s their decision to make.”

  “Over my dead body,” Pete says, clenching his fists.

  Anita glances at him. “You might want to think through the possible ramifications before you decide not to comply,” she says mildly. “As you’ve probably gathered, there’s an organization called CAFCASS that’ll be involved—independent social workers who’ll make a recommendation to the court based on what they think is best for the child. It’s very, very rare for the judge not to go along with their views. If the applicants can argue you’re not acting in the child’s best interests, and the CAFCASS officer agrees, it may not be helpful to your case.”

  Pete shakes his head. “This nanny share isn’t in Theo’s best interests. He needs to socialize with children who are the same developmental age as him. Being at the Lamberts’ with a nanny who barely speaks English and a child with special needs isn’t helping.”

  “And can you offer him an environment where he will be with other children his age?”

  After a moment Pete sighs. “Not right now. He was thrown out of nursery for hitting.”

  “So where is he today?”

  “At a neighbor’s house. She homeschools, but her kids are older. She’s just doing us a favor so we could both come to this meeting.”

  “Well, I strongly suggest you talk it over with the CAFCASS officer before you go against the biological parents’ wishes. But if Theo’s been violent with other children, be prepared for them to ask some tough questions about your own parenting style as well.”

  “Jesus,” Pete says. “Jesus. I can’t believe this is happening.”

  “That’s not to say the Lamberts will succeed in taking Theo away from you,” Anita adds. “Usually, the courts work on what’s called the no order principle—in other words, when in doubt, leave things as they are. This is clearly a very unusual case, but the bottom line is that the court will have to decide returning Theo to his birth family is in his best interests. Hopefully, they’ll conclude that the status quo is a
ctually better for all concerned.”

  “Well, it obviously is,” Pete says. “And that’s what Miles and Lucy thought, too, before it all went crazy.”

  “Did they put anything in writing?”

  Pete shakes his head. We’ve been back over every email, looking for something that might prove what the Lamberts agreed to, but there’s nothing specific, just vague protestations of friendship and goodwill.

  “When did they start all this legal stuff?” I ask.

  Anita checks one of the forms. “About eight weeks ago.”

  “You see?” I say quietly to Pete. “Eight weeks. That would have been just after our first meeting with them.”

  He doesn’t reply. His eyes look haunted.

  I turn back to Anita. “And David? What does this mean for him?”

  “David’s case is completely different from Theo’s. The Lamberts are asking the court’s permission to apply for a Special Guardianship Order. SGOs are quite a recent invention—they’re sometimes called super guardianships, because once you have one, you can overrule the wishes of everyone else connected with the child, even the natural parents—in other words, you. However, it’s not clear whether the Lamberts actually qualify as potential guardians under the Children Act—just as you have very few legal rights over Theo, they have very few over David. They’re arguing that, as he has such complex needs, they’re already his de facto guardians and it’s in his best interests for that to be recognized in law. Again, I think the social worker’s report will be crucial.”

  My head is swimming, but I force myself to remain calm. “Will we still be allowed to see him? If they get what they want, I mean?”

  Anita consults the bundle. “To a certain extent. One of the things the judge has to consider is whether the natural parents can meet the child’s needs. The Lamberts have written a statement to address that point.” She reads aloud, “ ‘The respondents have consistently shown little interest in their birth son, visiting him only when pressed to do so, or when dropping the applicants’ birth son off for free childcare. They have displayed little awareness of his medical condition, on one occasion giving him chocolate, which would have necessitated hospital treatment had we not intervened. They have never bought him gifts, apart from some secondhand books the applicants’ birth son had grown out of that were stored in their attic. The books were later found to be moldy, causing a chest infection which required hospital treatment. Nevertheless, recognizing the importance which the courts place on parental contact, the applicants will offer the respondents access to David by means of a supervised two-hour session at a registered contact center once a month.’ ”