At last the eight day hearing came to an end and I made my final drive back to the prison to await our fate which would be delivered on the same day as the result of my Appeal against Conviction.
Time seemed to stop in the next two weeks. It was a waiting game. I knew the result but I feared it would kill me. I feared even more what it would do to M.
I knitted, I wrote, I watched television - the only punctuations to eternal days. I wrote letters to supporters and enjoyed a visit from the girl with the almost identical case who came from the UK and stayed with my father. She was heavily pregnant with her second child and facing her own Final Hearing at the time. I think she came over as much to have a break from her own pain as to hear about mine. Nonetheless we were to become close friends once the case was over.
Soon after the last day of the Final Hearing in the Family Court, there was a third Application for Bail Hearing by Philip. I had twice before packed my few belongings into bin bags and gone to court hoping for release, only to return again. This time I no longer expected a positive result but went through the motions once again and the long tedious journey to Court.
I sat huddled in the box as the Appeal Judges, Phillip and the Prosecutor argued the case. I no longer listened or tried to pass notes to Phillip, having long since given up hope and too exhausted to fight anymore.
I was so dazed that I barely heard the Judge grant bail and I did not immediately move or respond, but when Phillip turned round beaming, tears coursed down my cheeks as he mouthed the words "your free."
I clambered back down the stairs, weak and weary to my cell for what would be the last time to wait for the formal release once the paperwork was done and the jail had confirmed I had not broken any of the in-house rules. It would be another two hours before I could finally breathe outside air again, but whilst I excelled in the heady feeling of release from prison, I knew in my heart, that I was anything but free and never would be again. So long as they held my son, I could never know anything close to freedom. Nonetheless, I could look forward to seeing Coco, sleeping in a comfortable bed, having a bath and some proper food. On the surface anyway, I could re-enter the world.
The G4 guard allowed my friend Liz to join me in the car park at the back of the Court whilst we waited and smoked a cigarette in celebration. I took the opportunity to see my friend and was struck by the image of a man driving past us in a red BMW mini, wearing a smug look of bitter satisfaction as he saw me in my weakened and battered state standing in the shadows of the cars. He had eyes of steel that flashed with cruelty as he looked for a fleeting moment at me, before revving the engine and driving off at speed. It was the familiar face of the Family Court Judge and I felt a chill down my spine. It was as if he was warning me that my freedom was an illusion.
The Final Appeal hearing brought my formal release and total quashing of my conviction, but not before I had been read the Final Judgment, handed down that morning, by the Family court Judge, giving the inevitable conclusion that sealed my fate and that of my son. M's father had not even waited for its delivery. He was already on the ferry leaving with my beloved son.
Our case went so far as changing the law. The finding of unfair trial that had been the conclusion, was as helpful to us now as a large bolt on a very wide open stable door. The galloping horse was far in the distance and with it my very soul, and everything that had been good and true.
All that I had now was the skeleton of a world that gone before.
-
I had seen M days before he left, after I had got bale, at my home with the two wicked stepsisters in tow. We had gone through a pretence of make-belief that he would come home as he said goodbye silently to his old life, his little room, his rocking horses, his painted blue mural and Coco. We had put up a tree together in readiness for the Father Christmas who would not come to our house that year - his gifts secreted in the attic and bought hurriedly on release, would soon be packed in a suitcase ready to send to his new life.
We had both held our breath as we held each other for that last time. Knowing that the few hours of contact that were granted would be ceased by the father with the help of all in a very short time. I would still go through the motions - I would still fight every inch of the way forever - but little by little I turned to stone, as I watched us both turn into shadows.
Jeanne D'Olivier thanks all those who have bought the book, supported mothers going through this ordeal and have broken the silence to give voices to those who have none...the children.
If you have been touched by the story, please review on Amazon and leave feedback and comments on Jeanne D'Olivier Facebook page.
I cannot stress how much reviews help to spread the word and raise awareness of what is sadly happening to so many women in Britain and other English speaking countries in the world right now. One line of support, by way of review, can do wonders in encouraging others to read and debate these issues and to all those who have found the time to do this, I offer my deep gratitude.
Together we can bring our children to the world...and back.
Jeanne D'Olivier
Mummy Where Are You? (Revised Edition, new) Page 39
