Mummy Where Are You? (Revised Edition, new)

by Jeanne D'Olivier

  My uncle drove us to the nearest highway – along the side of which were numerous motels – some rather shady looking – others marginally better. I spotted a Travel Lodge and recognising the name as somewhere I knew, I asked for us to be dropped there. My uncle suggested it would be too expensive and we should go to one of the more dodgy looking places – I was not going to take my son to anywhere we did not feel safe. I was adamant. I did not know how we would pay for it, but once more I made a decision that I should protect my son first and foremost – for after all we had come there to escape fear, not seek it out.

  Our suitcases were thrown into the room hurriedly by my uncle. He drove off quickly and we barely saw him again in the next few weeks. My father had sent him a cheque for ten thousand pounds to help us to get started – he told me it had not come and it would take weeks to clear through his bank when it did – we were now alone in a room in a motel – with only a few dollars on which to exist.

  I tried to keep faith that it would work out. I attempted to call my father on Skype as it was the only way of talking safely and for free. But in the cheaper room we had taken there was no wireless internet - again I took a leap of faith, knowing it was essential to keep in touch with Dad, I went to reception and we moved into the main building near the reception area into a slightly bigger room that had Wi-Fi.

  This room was to become our home for the next few weeks. It contained a double bed, television, small bathroom, ironing board and iron and a small closet. It was the type of room that one might stay in for a night en route whilst travelling. It was not a room designed to be a home, but to us it was a small paradise because we were still together and the future stretched before us offering us promise, a life free of the endless Court battles – a life where anything was possible and in our wake lay several thousand miles and an ocean.

  And so we began our new life. We hadn’t had to pay any money up front. I dared not use any of my credit cards that may locate us or connect us to our previous life. I ran a small Ebay business and Dad was dealing with the few orders that came in each month. I had no American bank account at that time so couldn't access any of my funds. I didn’t have a fortune and couldn't touch the two thousand pounds I had myself in savings. I had only a few hundred in my Pay pal account. I would worry about money later. Meanwhile we just had to exist and think about how we might find a more permanent home than this room.

  I knew we needed people. The Church seemed the right place to start. We had never been religious, even though I had a brother who was a vicar – my faith in God had long since left when the evil that had prevailed in our old life suggested that Truth and Love did not necessarily protect a child from harm and had little to do with the Justice system that existed in the Family Courts.

  I persuaded my son we must attend Church and make some friends. There was a Pentecostal Church near to our motel. It was a start. It was large, noisy and very happy-clappy – nothing that we were used to at all. My son had only been to Church with me to attend my mother’s funeral. He had sung at her service of his own volition and I filled with pride when I remembered how brave he had been at just six years old singing “There can be miracles, when you believe”. He had shown tremendous courage in following me here and now I was responsible for fulfilling the miracle of a life without fear for him – could I live up to his faith in me? Only time would tell. We sang away next to the hundreds of strangers and I prayed despite my lack of faith – I longed for inspiration as to what to do next, but all I saw were people waving their arms in the air believing in the power of the Lord, whilst we stood amongst them – strangers in a foreign land – on the run.

  Keeping my son occupied was important. He deserved to have a summer holiday now that the schools were on vacation. I wanted it to be as close to normal as we could make it, but there was nothing even remotely normal about our situation. He bravely held my hand as we walked back to the motel. He saw the whole thing as an adventure. He knew that as far as people we met were concerned, we were visiting the United States to see relatives – that we came from London, England – not our real home. Although I doubt, had we told the truth, many would have known of the Island's existence. Such a small insignificant place, but omnipotent in its cruelty and power to destroy lives.

  The sun was shining, we decided to take a walk and explore our whereabouts. We had already located the buses and the shopping Mall and had a supermarket within walking distance, so had stocked up with a few food items which we could eat in our rooms in Tupperware boxes. We tried to only eat in the restaurant once a day to ensure our bill did not mount up too fast as we had no idea how long we would be there before taking another step. We filled our time with going swimming at the local YMCA – walking the two miles to the Mall for supplies – watching television in our room and swimming each day in the small pool attached to the hotel.

  When weather permitted we purchased a football and played on the grass. All the things we would have done at home in the holidays. We even found other children to play with who were on their way to Summer camps and staying at the Travel Lodge en route. I had the weight of our future on my shoulders, but to my son who trusted me to resolve the grown up problems, it was just a Summer holiday, not unlike holidays abroad we had had before.

  We walked out into the sunlit day and headed down the highway. We were going to catch a bus down town where various activities went on through the Summer - Some we had already been to, like a street festival that was an annual event – where a variety of buskers travelled from far and wide to show off their skills.

  On our way to the bus stop, we took a left turn into a housing estate that was advertising open house days. There seemed no harm in looking, so we walked through it. There were some beautiful elevated bungalows – mostly a new development, the beginning of which was mainly a quiet neighbourhood of retired people, leading into houses just built that seemed from the children playing out in the street, to be more family homes. It struck me how quiet, safe and well appointed these little houses were. Small front and back yards, well- equipped parks and play areas nestling between the estates with children happily playing. It seemed an ideal place for us and I wondered if it might be possible to somehow make this happen. I had no idea how, but willed that the answers would come.

  The following weekend my uncle and aunt arrived to drop off a parcel of clothes I had asked my father to send out. We had left with so little in our cases, having packed so hurriedly, we needed some essentials and didn’t want to have to buy things we already had. My aunt and uncle were still fearful and reluctant to be associated with us but agreed to come and look at the development with us. They insisted it would be out of our reach, but curiosity must have got the better of them because we drove to the estate and I walked into one of the show houses that was the show home for some still being built. The price was extortionate. I had gifted our home to my father some weeks before we left when the Court costs were mounting – and I knew he would help us financially now – but even so, it seemed completely out of our reach. We had already looked into renting and had drawn blanks. We had no history in America and no references and the places my aunt and uncle picked out for us to look at which included a camp site in the middle of nowhere that was barely fit for a dog, let alone any human, had been rejected out of hand.

  I had to find a proper home for us. My little boy deserved to have a home he could be happy in. I walked out of the show house with a heavy heart and was about to turn back to our motel, when I decided to walk into one more. I was not expecting anything, but the Realtor who greeted us was positive and upbeat and without going into too much detail, I told her I needed a small house for my son and I and that whilst I loved the location of this estate, it was well beyond our means. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow morning at ten.” She said positively. “We’ll find you a home. It’s what I do best.” I was soon to find out just how well she did do her job.

  Miriam was true to her word and collected us at ten a.m. She was
driving a silver Ford Escape – appropriately named. She bundled us in and we began a day of going from house to house – some were suitable, but none felt like 'the one'. After lunch we headed back to the estate near our hotel where we had first met her and she drove to a modern, two bedroom elevated bungalow that had windows reminiscent of the Arched Window from Playschool. It was in a road of houses, all about two years old. There was a football net outside the adjacent house hinting at the presence of children which seemed a positive sign. I walked into the house and knew straight away that this would make an ideal home for my son and I. It was beautiful - maple floors throughout, a large basement, generously sized bedrooms with good-sized built in closets and a large open-plan kitchen, dining and living room. I immediately fell in love with it and so did my son. I could see us living here happily and there was a well-fenced back garden – or yard as the Americans call it and double garage. It was amazingly good value, compared to property in the UK and I decided there and then that this was going to be our new home and our positive start for the future. My son loved the basement and could see the possibilities of having a large play area for a pool table, table tennis and the like. He was as excited as I was. I had no idea how I could make this happen, but Miriam's positivity had rubbed off and I just knew that we would find a way.

  We left the house and looked at the others on Miriam’s list but we had already made up our minds and later that day I made an offer on what was to become our new home. In America people do not bid on the furniture, but I was determined to start out with as much as we could and so I asked her to do things the British way and ask for the dining and breakfast table and all the chairs. Much to Miriam’s surprise the owners agreed and by that evening we had started the wheels in motion. We were jubilant. All we had to do now was arrange the funds through my father and have them transferred to a bank in America. Miriam was fantastic – helped us with everything and even took us furniture shopping for our beds and a sofa. We managed to negotiate on everything and by some small miracle, within three weeks of finding the house we had a moving in date at the end of July – only five weeks since we had left the Island.

  Things were coming together. It all seemed meant to be and we both fell in love with Florida. The people were warm and kind and within a few days Miriam had introduced us to her old boss and his wife and another couple involved with a Baptist Church – a retired school teacher and his wife – also very kind and they all offered to help us move in. We began attending their Church and felt safe for the first time in three and half years since our nightmare had begun.

  James, the retired school teacher was a man in his early sixties with grey hair, a twinkle in his eye and a good sense of humour, His wife Hillary was a very well-dressed lady, extremely polite, sweet and kind. He was of Italian descent and Hillary was American. Miriam’s former boss, Bill, was slightly older, a tall man, again with a good sense of humour and hail-fellow-well-met attitude. His wife Julia was tall and of Dutch origin and both were extremely kind and willing to help us. No one asked us any questions, so there was no need to tell lies. It was accepted that I was a single Mum who had come to the States to build a new life for myself and my son. They assumed as a writer that I sought new adventures and experience for my novels and certainly we were to have those – but not quite in the way we had planned. We went to Church with the two couples and had lunch with them afterwards and life seemed quiet, uncomplicated and full of promise in our new found land of opportunity. My little boy was in his element, looking forward to starting an American School where sport was a major feature – especially ice hockey and basketball and much to his delight there were no uniforms.

  Each night we would walk from the Travel Lodge and look at our future home with longing and anticipation of our life to come. We couldn’t wait to move in and I had never seen my son happier. He was confident, full of energy and all his stress had lifted. At last I began to relax too. It seemed nothing now could go wrong.

  Chapter 4

  At last we had the keys to our new home. We were going to spend one more night in the Travel Lodge as our beds were not due to arrive until the following day, but we were able to spend the evening at the house and James helped us move in the few belongings we had with us and the items of cutlery and crockery we had bought for our home – towels and other essentials. Our ten thousand pounds sent to my uncle remained as elusive as our relatives. I had called them only once to show them the house, but they had been less than positive. There seemed to harbour a slight jealousy at what we had achieved without them. Showing them where we lived was a decision I was later to regret.

  We had spent the last couple of weeks walking to the Mall, about a two mile walk, laden with duvets, pillows, household items and the basic essentials needed to get us started on our new life. Dad had managed to get some money to us now that we had an account set up.

  I had been astonished at the kindness of a shop assistant who had on finishing work for the day at a Department store, offered us a lift back to our hotel armed with pots and pans. I vowed to go back and buy her a coffee – as soon as the opportunity arose.

  Our Solicitor who had been found for us by Miriam to convey the house was also a lovely man. I was a little nervous when I met him as I thought if anyone was to ask awkward questions, it would be him and I had become fearful of anything that smacked of the legal profession. But Lenny and his wife Tania were kind and generous spirited. They did all they could to advise us on schools, (they had 13 children between them.) Lenny had been married before and there was nothing Tania did not know about the local schools, the bus routes and all the things that parents needed to understand when coming from a foreign culture. Whilst America is obviously similar in some ways to the UK, including language, there were things that were very different.

  Eating, for example was a quite different affair. Vegetables seemed of much less importance and there was an abundance of fast food restaurants. My son and I both liked Sushi, so before we got the house we would often go to the Food Hall in the Mall and buy a tray of Sushi and a couple of root beers and have that for our lunch. At least it was healthier than a Big Mac.

  I looked forward to being able to cook proper meals again in our new home and not have to eat salad out of plastic containers, in an attempt to keep my son vitamin packed. He was so strong and brave and didn't complain once when living in the poky hotel room. However, whilst it was not luxury, we had the pool and the grassy area behind the hotel to play games and often we would spend our evenings at a large bookstore close by where there were toys for the children and a wealth of books to choose from. Having struggled with reading all his life and suffering from the stress the Court had been putting him through, I saw him grow from a white-faced frightened child into a little boy that was learning to see the world through new and hopeful eyes and at last he was showing an interest in books and with a little help from me, he was reading each night and enjoying it.

  Somehow everything seemed more vibrant again. We felt energised, excited and exhilarated at what we had achieved. We were riding the crest of a wave with our whole life ahead of us and it seemed full of hope and joy and without fear. It was ironic, that on the run, we felt more free than we had been in years and despite it all, astonishingly, there was a complete absence of fear.

  The next morning we left the motel and walked to our new home. Immediately a young boy of about fourteen came out of the house carrying a basketball. He was off to the park to play. He introduced himself to my son and within a few hours they had become firm friends and were playing together. He was already at the school I had picked out for my son and they would travel on the big yellow school bus together in four weeks time when term began. Things couldn’t have been more perfect.

  James and Bill arrived later that morning armed with tools to put together our beds which had now arrived. We managed to put together my son’s bed and decided that we could sleep on that for our first night as it was a much longed for bunk bed comprising
of a single bed on the top and double below that converted into a couch for daytime use. Having at last received the cheque from my uncle, we had also bought an office chair and desk and a small flat screen television. It was to be a real boy’s den and he was thrilled. The men left later, promising to come back the next morning to assemble my bed.

  That evening we walked to the Supermarket and stocked up with food for our first proper meal in our new home. We couldn’t believe how lucky we were and the horrors of the last few years melted away as we anticipated our future. We fell into the bunk bed later that night exhausted and happy and slept deeply and without worry – we had made it.

  _

  We woke early, keen to start the day. We ate breakfast with the French windows open out onto the wooden deck – the sun shone brightly and we waved at our neighbours who were out on their decks. Each house looked across to the back yards of the other houses and people were sitting outside eating breakfast, putting out washing, with children playing. There was a gentle hum of life around us - a good life that held much promise.

  We dressed quickly. M pulled on shorts and a baseball shirt. We decided to ring our friends on the Island and share our good fortune. Sarah was a girl I had met when I first came back to the Island. We had met at a Mums and Tots groups when our children were toddlers. She was a lot younger than me, another single Mum and lived at home with her mother and her little boy. M and her son had become best friends and she had been like a younger sister to me. She lived nearby and we met regularly and the two boys played together. She had been with me the night before we left and had helped us pack, hiding things in bin bags and taking them up to my father’s house to pack into suitcases so as not to draw attention to the fact we were about to run. We had then spent the evening crying together, hugging, sharing memories and a bottle of wine and stayed up all night whilst M slept in my bed. We didn’t know if we would ever see each other again. It had been a sad night for us all and we had clung to each other when we said goodbye, maybe forever in the early hours of a June day in 2009 – the day we ran for our lives.