The Guilty Couple(48)
I told myself to calm down and think clearly as I crossed the street and headed towards Crouch Hill overground. By the time I reached the station I’d come up with two possible explanations for the flight and the listing: one innocent and one that made me feel sick.
Explanation one: Dominic had decided to move house – possibly because he’d discovered that I’d broken in and he didn’t want me to know where he lived. Either before, or after, that decision he changed his mind about Dubai and decided to take Grace out of school to get her away from the bullies and give her a nice holiday.
Explanation two: Dominic told his parents he was moving out of Oakfield Road but he lied about where he was going to live instead. That would explain why he told Grace not to tell them about the flight to Dubai. Because he’s not taking her on holiday, they’re moving there permanently and they’re never coming back.
Explanation two is why I’m sitting in a lawyer’s office. The only way to stop Dominic from taking my daughter out of the country is to pursue the legal route and I need to know exactly what rights I have.
Amir Ghavi, the family law solicitor sitting opposite me, is in his early forties with a neat beard, receding hairline, a slightly crumpled grey suit and thick-rimmed glasses. Behind the sheen of his spectacles his eyes wear the weary exhaustion of a man who’s heard it all before. However, he listens intently, leaning forward in his seat as I explain my situation and the fact my ex-husband may be considering taking our daughter out of the country permanently.
‘Okay.’ He nods thoughtfully as I stop speaking, scribbles on his notepad for a few seconds then looks up. ‘Did your daughter mention if the trip to Dubai would be a holiday or a more permanent move?’
‘She thinks it’s a holiday.’
‘I see. And your ex-husband has confirmed this?’
‘Well, no, I’m not allowed to contact him. My licence—’
‘Yes of course. I understand. Well, as the law stands your husband doesn’t require your permission to take your daughter on holiday, assuming it’s for no more than twenty-eight days. But if he’s planning on living abroad with your daughter he must consult you, regardless of the child arrangement order.’
‘I don’t think he will tell me. What would happen if I objected anyway, via you?’
‘Your ex-husband could apply for a court order to be granted permission.’
A shiver passes through me as he says the word ‘court’. The last time I stood before a judge I lost Grace for five years.
‘Would I be able to fight it?’ I’ve got just under two grand in my bank account but this conversation alone is going to cost me nearly two hundred pounds. I haven’t got anywhere near enough to get my own team together and, after a quick google after I got home from seeing Grace, I know my chances of getting legal aid are slim.
‘Yes. You can object to the application.’
‘Okay. If I could get the money together, what do you think my chances of winning might be?’
Mr Ghavi opens his hands wide as though to say, ‘your guess is as good as mine’. ‘That would be for the judge to decide but, if I were representing you, I’d argue that a move abroad would damage your relationship with your child, a relationship that you are currently trying to rebuild. Also, as your daughter is twelve years old her wishes and feelings on the matter would have weight attached to them. If she didn’t want to relocate abroad the judge would take that into account.’
‘Really? Oh that’s such a relief.’ All the tension I’ve been holding in my body since I left Ayesha’s flat this morning leaves in a rush and I slump back in my seat. Getting the money to fight Dominic is still an issue but I’ll do whatever it takes to get it. I’ll beg, borrow or steal.
‘Do you have any other questions?’ Mr Ghavi asks.
I’m about to say no but a thought needles at me, demanding an answer. ‘The tickets I saw are for two days’ time. If my … if my ex-husband were to pretend it’s a holiday then I wouldn’t be able to stop him, would I?’
Mr Ghavi presses his lips into a thin tight line. ‘Legally, no.’
‘Would I be able to get her back though, if that happened? Could the courts force him to return Grace to the UK?’
‘Unfortunately, unlike many other countries, there is no possibility of enforcing English court orders concerning children in the UAE. The country is not a signatory to the Hague Convention on Child Abduction and, if your husband does take your daughter to Dubai without your consent, it will be very hard, if not impossible, to have her returned.’
Somehow I make it out of the solicitors’ office dry-eyed and composed but, the moment I step into the street, angry, panicked tears start to flow. Dominic destroyed my life once and he’s going to do it again. I’m as powerless as I was in prison. If he tricks Grace into permanently moving to Dubai with him there’s nothing, legally, that I can do to get her back.
I lean against the small patch of wall between Tooby Davies and Partners and the kebab shop next door and watch as the world passes me by: a woman in a hijab laden with shopping bags, a man with a thick black beard and sunglasses holding hands with his young daughter in a pretty pink dress, two friends laughing and chatting, a road worker attacking the pavement with a drill. My gaze settles on a young man, no older than eighteen or nineteen, carrying a white bucket and mop, and an idea sparks in my mind. I dismiss it, but it returns a split second later, like a scene from a film.