What to do when your child discloses sexual abuse: The first court appearance

How the Family Courts worked for me and ultimately allowed me to protect my children (at a cost of £150,000…). After discovering that the systems meant to protect my children were failing us, I had no choice but to take matters into my own hands and apply to family court. What follows is the story of that first hearing - what I knew, what I didn’t, and how it felt to finally be believed.

Why I turned to the Family Court

Once I had established that the police and social workers were far more damaging than useful, and that they didn’t have the inclination, time or clout to actually see what was playing out before them (one wonders how they are not trained to see through the paedophiles’ facade, and work out that allegations I was ‘emotionally abusing’ my children were part of a calculated plan…), I had to make an application to the family court to instigate proceedings.

I had worked with a family law solicitor through my divorce; she had come via a recommendation at the time, and I am ever thankful I took that recommendation, as she was a legend when I really needed it. If you're looking for legal support, I’d suggest asking for recommendations and ideally going with a larger firm that has the network and experience for more complex cases.

Filing the C100: Where it all starts

The first step is to complete form C100 under the Children’s Act 1989 to apply for a Child Arrangements Order. It’s the standard form used for applying to the family court for orders related to children. It’s used to stop or limit access, and crucially, gives you the chance to explain why a specific access arrangement is in the best interests of the child. Once completed, it needs to be submitted to the family court in the area that you live. You then wait. And wait. In my case, that wait was two months.

It wasn’t the longest wait I had, but it still felt interminable.

Meeting the Barrister

Once the hearing was scheduled, my solicitor shared a list of suitable barristers. To be honest, the process felt a bit like online dating—reviewing profiles and pics— and it was arranged that I would meet them at the court an hour before the scheduled time.

Looking back now, I was so green. I naively hadn’t done any research into the process, although I think lay descriptions of the process are quite hard to come by. I showed up in a black pencil dress, channeling Alicia Florrick, with no real idea what would unfold.

I was scheduled to sit in front of a magistrate, and I hadn’t a clue what the process would be.

The Reality Check

As I met my barrister, he explained—in hindsight, not very clearly—that I didn’t have a strong case. That it would be hard to stop access with the evidence I was presenting. Whilst I had a stack of pictures drawn by Lola detailing sexual acts, and my notes from the snippets of weird disclosures the girls had told me, it was all considered hearsay. Evidence couldn’t be admitted if the girls had disclosed to me—it had to come from an impartial professional. But they had been groomed for 12 months not to say anything. At this point, I hadn’t realised the full extent of the grooming.

My barrister was the archetypal privately school-educated white male in scruffy shoes and a dishevelled suit—a look only the entitled get away with in court. As my father and I listened to his cold dissemination of the case, it was chilling.

The Waiting Room & CAFCASS

We were in the waiting room—an area I’d become far too familiar with—and I soon became friendly with the security guards, who came to know I always had a plethora of nicotine vessels in my bag. Sat at the opposite end to him and his family, I was still in shock. When I saw him, I didn’t feel the rage or revulsion or sadness. Just disbelief. His sisters, who had never liked me, stared with daggers.

Despite the fear creeping in, I was told I’d meet a CAFCASS officer before court. That moment is imprinted on my brain. I showed him the pictures. Told him how the police and social workers weren’t interested in the childish references to blow jobs and oral sex depicted in felt-tip pen.

He heard me. He believed me. And I could tell he’d seen it all before. Unbeknownst to me, he would speak on the girls’ behalf in court. (CAFCASS act as the children’s voice, a fact I hadn’t realised then.) And he did.

I can still feel the relief—after five months, someone believed me. I could hear the disgust in his voice. He recognised the signs.

Inside the Courtroom

Not long after, we were called in. I’ve sat in many courtrooms now and know the protocols of who sits where.

The counsel sit in the first row. We, the parents, sit behind them. This means two things:

First, you are sat on the same row as the abuser. The paedophile. The father of your child. Your husband. I was numb at that first one. But as the shock wore off over time, the emotions became far more real. The revulsion. The anger. The disgust. The grief.

Second, you should be close enough to tap your counsel on the shoulder or pass them a note if needed. I often had to. But in some courtrooms the rows are too wide, so check this when you enter. I learnt that the hard way.

Water and tissues are normally available. Make sure they’re within reach - days I thought I was steely were often undone by tears, and my Good Wife look tarnished with mascaraed cheeks.

The Performance

It was a blur. I always take copious notes in court (and it’s a good excuse to visit Homesense beforehand for the ‘right’ notebook). At the beginning, legal terminology meant nothing to me. Note-taking gave me control, focus, and something to do with my hands.

You’re asked to rise before the Judge enters, and then it’s game face on. My solicitor had briefed me: be composed. The Judge is watching your face, your body language—it all builds a picture in the ‘he said, she said’ narrative.

I’d honed those acting skills while living with him, pretending everything was fine to friends and family. Still in shock, the performance came easy. Later, it wouldn’t.

The Judge Speaks

I remember the CAFCASS officer reporting to the Judge. He believed that police and social services hadn’t investigated thoroughly. The Judge agreed and instructed that action should be taken.

At the time, I felt huge relief. In reality, it did nothing.

The Judge said it would be listed in front of a DJ—a District Judge. Because of the seriousness of the allegations and my application to stop access, it needed to go to the elevated court. They mentioned Fact Findings, which I now know is the equivalent of a trial without a jury.

Before that could happen, a Section 7 report was ordered—by the social worker (I think we were already on number four). It would be presented at the next court date.

I remember thinking: finally. Some action. A legally instructed report would surely reflect the truth.
But I couldn’t have been more wrong…

To be continued…