in my heart, that any one of us could be in danger.
95
MADDIE
THREE DAYS BEFORE THE hearing, we go to a small, anonymous building in Camden to see Theo. The place looks not unlike a nursery or a small school, with rooms full of toys and play mats. But the sign outside says CAMDEN CHILD CONTACT CENTER, and the reception area is plastered with posters saying things like AT CCCC THE MOST IMPORTANT PERSON IS THE CHILD! and PLEASE LEAVE YOUR DISPUTES AT THE DOOR. WE WANT THIS TO BE A POSITIVE PLACE FOR OUR CHILDREN! along with advertisements for women’s refuge centers and Childline.
We’re led down a long corridor, past room after room of lone dads playing awkwardly with their kids. Despite the drawings on the walls and the jaunty, pastel-colored furniture, it feels like we’re walking ever farther into some bureaucrat’s version of hell—a surreal cross between a privatized prison and play school. This is where the detritus of broken families ends up, I think, looking around. They should send anyone who’s contemplating getting divorced here for an afternoon, not to couples therapy. Any marriage, however bad, would surely be more bearable than seeing your child somewhere like this.
Eventually we come to a door marked PENGUIN ROOM. AGE 2–4. Through the glazed panel we can see Theo squatting on the floor, engrossed in a marble run. A middle-aged woman with a notebook sits to one side. That must be Janine, our supervisor. Her job, we’ve been informed by email, is to write observations on “the quality of our interactions” with Theo for CAFCASS, who may then share them with the court.
I feel strangely nervous as we walk in. Which is ridiculous, I tell myself firmly. This is our son, and we’re simply going to play with him. Just like we’ve done a million times before.
“Hi, Theo,” Pete says eagerly. “How are you?”
Theo looks up briefly, then returns his attention to the marble run. “ ’lo,” he mutters.
Undeterred, Pete gets down on the floor next to him. “That looks fun. Can I have a turn?”
Theo shakes his head.
“Come on, Theo. Remember we talked about taking turns?” Pete reaches toward the plastic pot containing the marbles, but Theo snatches it away.
“Mine!” he declares.
I daren’t look at Janine to see what she’s making of all this. “Theo,” I begin, getting down on the floor as well. “Daddy really wants a turn with those marbles—”
For the first time, Theo looks at Pete. “You’re not my daddy.”
I feel my blood run cold. For a moment Pete’s too stunned to react. “Why do you say that, Theo?” he asks at last.
“Daddy Moles is my real daddy.” Theo glances at me. “You’re not my mummy, too. I was growed in Mummy Lucy’s tummy. Daddy Moles told me.” He turns back to the marble run and puts a whole fistful of marbles into the top so that they skitter down, one after the other, patter-patter-patter. One bounces out and rolls under Janine’s chair.
Pete swivels to Janine. “Write that down!” he demands furiously. “Write down that those—the applicants have been talking to him about the case. When we all agreed we wouldn’t.”
But even as he says it, I realize we didn’t all agree to that. It was just something Pete and I always assumed. Because telling Theo the truth about his parentage is so irrevocable, so final, that it has literally never occurred to us to do so. We were, I suppose, sticking our heads in the sand and hoping this would somehow go away before it became necessary. And while we’d made it clear to CAFCASS that we weren’t telling him, Lyn had never actually confirmed that she agreed with our position.
Janine says calmly, “The applicants asked the CAFCASS officer for permission to undertake some structured life story work with Theo. He has a right to know, after all. The officer thought it was a good idea to do it now, before…” She hesitates, and I have the impression she was going to say, Before he leaves you. “Before the hearing,” she finishes.
“He’s two,” Pete says incredulously. “Two. Years. Old. What kind of monstrous bitch would allow—”
He manages to stop himself, but the damage is done. “I’m going to terminate this contact now,” Janine says sharply, tucking her biro into her notebook to keep her place and standing up. Her hand hovers over a big red button on the wall. “Please go quietly, or I’ll have to call Security.”
96
MADDIE
OF ALL THE THINGS we’ve endured—Pete being made