Escape From Evil - Cathy Wilson [109]
The judge was obviously distressed that he couldn’t do more. ‘Wheels are in motion, but we need to go through the translatory process for it to apply under Scottish law,’ he said. ‘Then we’ll be able to act.’
‘How long does that take?’
‘About three or four days.’
‘But I don’t have three or four days! If I don’t get there today my son will be killed!’
It was incredibly frustrating. I had the full weight of English law behind me, but we were powerless to act for as long as Peter was in Scotland.
‘Of course,’ the solicitor suggested, ‘if you can get your husband to come across the border, then I can have bailiffs with you in minutes. You’ll get your son and Mr Tobin will be told he can’t come within a mile of you both.’
‘So that’s what I have to do then,’ I said and I left her office with renewed strength – a mother’s strength. I didn’t know how I was going to do it, but I would make it work. If I failed, there was a very real chance Daniel could die.
The clock was ticking and I still had to get to Bathgate. That’s when other members of my private army stepped in. ‘You’ll need to fly,’ Grandpa said, ‘so I’ve bought you a ticket from Gatwick to Edinburgh. I can come with you, if you want,’ he added. ‘It’s not too late.’
‘Thank you, but I have to go alone. If he smells a rat, that’s it.’
I phoned Peter to tell him my flight plans. I begged him not to do anything rash, but he sounded almost offended at the idea. There was me at my wit’s end with worry and he was acting like I was the one wanting to see him. Not for the first time, I seriously questioned his sanity. There was no emotion in his voice at all, no recognition of the hell he was putting me through.
Well, I thought, that could work to my advantage.
I caught the train to Gatwick and boarded an aeroplane for the first time in my life. I was already a mess and everything about the flight seemed to make things worse. I didn’t have a clue what I was doing. I didn’t know you were allowed to take your seatbelt off and I spent the entire journey gasping for a drink because I was too shy to ask the stewardess whether the contents of her trolley were free or not. I couldn’t afford to buy anything. It was such an ordeal, in fact, that it took my mind off the reason why I was flying in the first place. By the time I saw Peter’s van, I was calmer than I’d been for a long while. But then I spotted my son in Peter’s arms and my emotions exploded.
‘Daniel!’
I dropped my holdall and ran as fast as my four-inch heels would carry me towards the van. I didn’t say a word to Peter, didn’t even look at him. As soon as I was within reaching distance, Daniel flung himself from his dad’s arms and into mine.
‘Mummy!’
‘Oh, my precious boy, Mummy’s back,’ I said, desperately fighting back the tears. Then, remembering why I was there, I added, ‘And this time I’m not going anywhere.’
Peter hadn’t said a word. Eventually I looked at him and smiled. ‘Thank you for looking after him.’
I truly meant it. Daniel was obviously in fine spirits.
‘Don’t be daft,’ Peter said. ‘Of course I’m going to look after him.’ He paused. ‘That’s my job. Just like I’m going to look after you.’
Conversation during the drive back to Bathgate was stilted. While I just wanted to hug Daniel, Peter rabbited on about all sorts of rubbish, like he’d just picked me up from the shops. I replied when I could, but I wasn’t really listening. I was too relieved.
I assumed I was on top of my emotions, but the second we pulled up outside the house in Robertson Avenue, I thought I was going to be sick. I’d spent the unhappiest time of my life in that building. It only held bad memories. What the hell was I thinking going back in there? Suddenly the solicitor’s plan seemed like the most stupid idea in the world.
Each step up the path brought a fresh memory, each more grotesque than the last. And they all took place in that house. I began to sweat as the task ahead of me rose into my mind. It had taken me months to escape this prison the last time. What made my solicitor think I could pull this off?
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