“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 na?ve,” 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 actually 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.