I was thrilled when ITV2 wanted to sign us up for a third series of our reality TV show. Pete and me have got so used to being filmed that we definitely don't put on an act for the camera – we're ourselves and we're down to earth – and I think that's what people like about us. Whereas, when you see other celebrity couples – mentioning no names, but I'm sure you know exactly who I mean – they always look immaculate and you can never imagine them arguing – they're in their perfect little celebrity bubble. But with Pete and me, people can see that we have everything that we want, but we're still normal. We argue, we sometimes look rough – we're not perfect.
Our management team had been filming us throughout 2006 and had some great footage of all the things that had happened to us. But when we signed the new contract with ITV2, they said they didn't know where the footage would fit in. When they saw it though, they thought it was so good that they decided to use some of the footage for The Baby Diaries. I was a bit worried that by not using all of the existing footage, people wouldn't see us working on our album and promoting it, which had been so important to me. In fact, I was almost worried that the new series would end up being boring because not enough was happening in our lives, and that there wouldn't be enough drama in 2007. I couldn't have been more wrong . . . The start of 2007 was the stuff of any parent's nightmare. It is so deeply upsetting remembering Harvey's accident on New Year's Eve. I came close to losing my precious boy and it's something I will never, ever forget.
* * *
We decided to kick off the New Year by throwing a party for all our friends and family. I love dressing up, but didn't want to spend too much time thinking about what to wear, so I decided to have a pyjama party. I invited around seventy people and spent a couple of days getting the house ready, making sure all the guest bedrooms were furnished, buying loads of food and drink and new pyjamas for the family. I was completely organised and really looking forward to the party. On the afternoon of the party, everything seemed on track, and Pete's cousins were already at the house, along with my mum's friend Louise and her daughter Rhia, who had spent Christmas with us. Everyone was in the kitchen, getting on with the cooking and the nanny was looking after Harvey and Junior. As everything seemed to be going so smoothly, I decided that I would nip out and look at a horse I was interested in buying. People might think that New Year's Eve was a strange time, but I don't get much free time. The horse seemed great and, after I'd ridden it, I thought I would probably like to buy it. As I drove back home I was in a really good mood, thinking about the party ahead and looking forward to seeing all my friends.
As I walked inside the house, I said hi to everyone and was just taking off my wellies when I heard Harvey crying. He was upstairs and he sounded very upset, but at that stage I didn't think it would be anything serious, because he sometimes cries like this when he's frustrated with one of his toys. And so I asked the nanny if she could go and check on him. A few minutes later she shouted down to me, sounding panicky, saying that I'd better come up. What has he gone and broken now? I remember thinking as I walked upstairs to his bedroom. But his room was empty – this wasn't right. 'Where are you?' I called out, suddenly feeling panicky myself. She called back that she was in my bedroom and I ran there, my heart suddenly racing. It's all a bit of a blur when I try to remember what happened next, though, because I was so shocked by what I saw. Harvey was lying on my bed, crying and thrashing around in agony. As I tried to comfort him, I was frantically trying to work out how he'd hurt himself. His clothes were wet and, as I looked at his right foot, to my horror I could see blood and loose skin and I realised he must have burnt himself. But not knowing back then how to treat a burn, I quickly pulled his tracksuit trousers down and, as I did, all the skin seemed to peel away from his right leg and there was blood everywhere. Harvey was screaming, unsurprisingly, like I'd never heard him scream before. I can't tell you what it does to you to hear your child screaming in agony. I felt as if I was being ripped apart inside.
'Pete!' I shouted, 'Come up here quickly, we've got to call an ambulance.' As well as getting urgent treatment for his burn, I knew that Harvey needed his emergency cortisone injection as soon as possible, otherwise there was the danger he might go into shock; his windpipe could close up so that he wouldn't be able to breathe and he could die. I'm used to giving him a daily injection of growth hormones, but I really can't do the emergency cortisone one because the needle is so big and, in the shaken and panicky state I was in, I doubt I would have been able to do it. Pete and his brother Mike raced upstairs and I ran to call the ambulance. I had to be the one who did it because I needed to explain about Harvey's condition. I didn't know how much time we had before Harvey went into shock and I was feeling desperately anxious. Straightaway, when I dialled 999, I said, 'Please send an ambulance here, my son's had an accident — he's been burnt. And he needs an emergency cortisone injection now,' I thought I'd made myself clear, but the person on the other end said, 'Take your time, tell me your address and tell me what happened.' I haven't got time for this! I thought, My son could die! Just get the ambulance here. But summoning all my strength to be calm, I explained the situation yet again, and all the time I was struggling to contain the panic and fear inside me. The operator told me to put cold water on the burn. 'Please,' I begged them, 'This isn't a normal burns case. My son has all these other medical problems, he really needs this injection or he could die.' But the operator didn't seem to want to know about that and instead asked me how the accident had happened, 'I don't fucking know!' I exclaimed again, 'Just please get an ambulance here.'
As soon as I ended the call, I rushed into the kitchen where Pete and Mike had carried Harvey. It was a sight I will never forget. Pete and Mike were struggling to hold Harvey and to put cold wet towels on his leg. But he was going absolutely ballistic with pain and throwing himself around the room, screaming and crying. Harvey was covered in blood and there was blood all over the kitchen floor. I wanted to hold him, to comfort him, but he wouldn't let anyone near him. We all stood there helplessly, not knowing what to do. Finally the ambulance arrived. I think it took twenty minutes, which is a very long time when your child is in agony and you think he could die. Straightaway the paramedics wanted to get Harvey's leg under a cold shower. 'But we've only got those walk in modern showers' I said in despair, then realised that there was a shower you can hold in the cottage. As the paramedics carried Harvey there, I tried to tell them that he urgently needed his cortisone injection. And I held out the emergency pack for them. But they just looked at me as if to say, 'What are you going on about?' And they told me they had to deal with his leg first. In the cottage, they lowered Harvey into the bath and ran the cold shower on his leg. Harvey was still beside himself, crying and screaming and thrashing around. It took Pete, Mike and the other paramedic to hold him still.
'Please listen to me,' I said, trying to stay calm, 'He needs his injection now, because he's got all these other medical problems.' I showed them his Great Ormond Street medical passport that describes his condition and what medication he needs, but the paramedics were still more concerned with treating his burn.
'Don't you understand? He will die unless he has this injection,' I shouted, on the verge of losing it. In desperation, I got on the phone to the Endocrine department at Great Ormond Street which looks after Harvey and asked them to explain about Harvey's condition to the paramedics. I could see that Harvey was going into shock – he was still trying to move, but I know my son and I know when there's something wrong. Finally the paramedics spoke to Great Ormond Street and then, thank God, they gave Harvey the injection, saying that they would have to get him to hospital immediately. While they were getting him out of the bath, I raced back into the house, knowing that I had to pack a bag with his medication, the doctor's letters explaining his condition and his nappies, because hospitals don't have the special large nappy size that he needs. Afterwards, everyone who saw me said that I seemed really calm, but all I wanted to do was make sure that Harvey was all right, and I knew he needed his medication; I didn't care about anything or anyone else.
I travelled with Harvey in the ambulance and Pete followed behind in the car, as only one family member is allowed in the ambulance. It was the journey from hell. I was trying to comfort my son, but ended up having to ask the paramedic for a bowl because I was being sick from my morning sickness. As well as being desperately anxious about Harvey, I also thought, I'm going to lose the baby because of this stress. The paramedic was busy putting monitors on Harvey and by now he had calmed down and was no longer crying, but he didn't seem with it at all, which really frightened me. Suddenly the paramedic put an oxygen mask over his face. When I asked if he was okay, the paramedic nodded, but I thought, No he's not. I've watched so many real-life medical programmes on TV and this is never a good sign. The next thing I knew the paramedic was tilting Harvey's head back and asking if he has ever had any breathing problems. Struggling to stay calm, I said, 'Yes, Harvey had to have his tonsils removed because of his breathing and his windpipe can close if he suffers severe shock.' The paramedic replied that his tubes did seem to be closing and he asked the driver to pull over. For a few seconds I really thought that was it, that Harvey was going to die, because he seemed to have stopped breathing. It was the worst moment of my life. I was crying, but I tried to tell myself that Harvey would be fine, that I'd seen people come out of worse situations than this. 'I love you, Harvey,' I said, trying to blink back the tears while reaching out and holding his hand, 'You're going to be okay, I promise.' My memory of what went on at this time is very hazy because I was in such a state of panic, but the paramedic was doing something to help Harvey breathe. Then he told his colleague to carry on to the hospital and that we had to get Harvey there as soon as possible as his oxygen levels were dropping. Please be all right, Harvey, I kept saying over and over in my head, willing him to be okay. Please.
Finally we arrived at the hospital and there were at least eight doctors and nurses waiting for us. Straightaway they injected Harvey with something, took blood and put what looked like clingfilm on his leg, while I tried to explain to the doctors about Harvey's condition and about his medication. Fortunately one of the nurses recognised Harvey and me from Brighton Hospital, where she'd treated Harvey, and she said to the doctor in charge, 'Listen to the mum, she'll explain to you about his condition and his medication.' I showed the doctor Harvey's Great Ormond Street passport, and went through all the doses of medication that he was on. By now Pete had arrived, it was such a relief to have him with me, hospitals can be so overwhelming, and he was being so calm and strong for me and Harvey.
The two of us sat at Harvey's bedside. Harvey was quiet now and just lay there on his back, not saying anything, not moving. While I was so relieved that he was in hospital, it was awful seeing him in this state. His oxygen levels still weren't stable, so he was on an oxygen mask and he had heart monitors on – he looked like he was a plug socket in a wall with all these wires coming from him. It was so scary. But at that stage I had no idea just how serious Harvey's burn was. It looked awful – his leg was really pink and raw where he'd lost the layers of skin, but we didn't know how deep and severe the burn was. But, after a couple of hours, the doctors said that they couldn't look after Harvey at that hospital because of his medical condition and that he'd have to go to Chelsea and Westminster in London. I asked if he could go to Great Ormond Street instead, because the doctors there had treated him, but they explained that there wasn't a burns unit there.
I realised that I was going to have to go home and get more things for Harvey. I told Pete that I would drive back and get everything because I knew exactly what was needed and, let's face it, men are useless at knowing what to pack. Pete would go in the ambulance with Harvey to the other hospital and I would drive there. By now it was early evening and, within the next few hours, our seventy guests were due to arrive at the house. Some of them were even coming from the North, so they would already have set off. Pete and me had to text everyone, saying that Harvey had had a really serious accident and was in hospital. We said that they were still welcome to come to the house, as everything was set up for the party, but that Harvey, Pete and me wouldn't be there. I also called my mum on holiday in Australia to let her know, though at first I think I underplayed how serious the accident was, as I didn't want to worry her.
Pete walked with me to the car park. By now it was pissing it down with rain. I've never seen rain like it and I drove the car back to the hospital entrance, planning to drop Pete off and then drive home for our things. But just as I pulled up, a car reversed straight into me. I wound down my window and shouted angrily to the driver: 'You dickhead, what are you doing? Can't you fucking see?' At the same time, Pete got out and was saying, 'Mate! The car.' Then a very heavily pregnant woman got out of the passenger side, looking as if she was going to drop there and then and I could see that the poor guy was obviously panicking as his wife was in labour. 'I'm so sorry!' I exclaimed, 'Our son's just had an accident. . . I didn't realise your situation.'
Leaving Pete to sort out insurance details, I typed my home address into the Sat Nav and wearily drove home. It was a horrendous drive because the navigator directed me down narrow country lanes and the rain was so torrential I could only go at 15 mph as I couldn't see where I was going. To make matters worse, I suddenly noticed the petrol gauge was on red. Shit! I thought, now I'm going to run out of petrol! I couldn't find a petrol station anywhere and, because it was New Year's Eve, everything was shut. Fortunately I found one just in time and made it home. Some people had already turned up in their pyjamas and I repeated my offer that they should stay and enjoy the food and drink, otherwise it would all have been wasted. But they all said that they couldn't possibly enjoy themselves under the circumstances. It was so weird returning to the house. After the noise, bright lights and frenzied activity of A&E, it was so quiet and warm. Everything was set up for the party, and for a second, as I walked in, it was almost as if the hospital scenes were a terrifying nightmare . . .
I quickly packed the extra bags with clothes, nappies and toys for Harvey and clothes and wash things for Pete and me. My clothes were still covered in blood from the accident, but I didn't give a shit what I looked like. I got back in the car and this time drove to Chelsea and Westminster Hospital in London where Harvey had been transferred to the specialist burns unit. I arrived around eleven o'clock that evening. Harvey had obviously been given morphine because he was calmer. I hugged him, telling him how much I loved him, then I put some of his toys beside him, tried to make his room look more homely and sat next to him kissing his head and holding his hand. Although I was still desperately worried about Harvey, I felt reassured that he was in a safe place now, where the doctors would know how to deal with his condition and treat his burn. He was in an isolation room where the temperature was kept at a certain level to help the skin heal and there were strictly sterile conditions, because there is such a high risk that the burn could become infected. But little did I know, as Pete and me sat by Harvey's bedside, that we would be staying here for the next month and that, for a further three months, Harvey would be an inpatient needing trips to the hospital three times a week to get his burn treated.
By midnight Harvey had finally fallen asleep. Pete and me saw in the New Year by drinking cups of Appletiser with the nurses and sharing some champagne-filled chocolates. Then, later, as we lay on the spare bed in Harvey's room, Pete said, 'This is why we are so close and why we are so good as a couple, because look at all the things we've been through and look at how strong we are.' And he was right. Sometimes it's like someone is testing our relationship and emotions to see if we can last . . . As I lay in bed that night, all I could think about was poor Harvey. We worked out how he must have had his accident. Our house is completely baby-proofed — we have stair gates to prevent Harvey and Junior going upstairs on their own and upstairs we keep all the doors locked. But as we had guests staying for the party who maybe weren't as careful as us about keeping the gates shut and the doors locked, we can only imagine that someone left the gates open. It would only have taken Harvey a few minutes to find that the gates on the stairs were open. Then he must have wandered upstairs to my bathroom. I'm not saying that I blame anyone, it was an accident and it only goes to show that a few unsupervised minutes can lead to tragedy with a child like Harvey.
Before his accident, Harvey was obsessed with water, and I mean obsessed. Every night, just before bath time, when we were getting him and Junior ready for their bath and while we were supervising him, he liked to run the cold tap and flick the water with his hands or feel it running against his tongue. So when he discovered that my bathroom door was unlocked, he must have gone in there to play with the water, but instead of turning the cold tap on, he turned on the hot one. The taps in my bathroom only need to be moved slightly to be fully on. Once he'd turned on the tap, Harvey must have leant over the bath and tried to touch the water, but I'm guessing he couldn't quite reach and so he must have decided to get in, not realising that, by now, the water was boiling hot. And then, as the scalding water hit his right leg, he must have panicked and stood there with the water burning his leg. Somehow, even though he was in absolute agony, he must have dragged himself out of the bathroom and on to my bed. It breaks my heart to know that, for a few minutes, while he was screaming in pain, he was on his own, that no one was there for him. And, without meaning to, I had made his injury worse by pulling down his tracksuit bottoms – apparently you are supposed to leave the clothes on a burn victim because the air hitting the damaged skin hurts even more. Then you are supposed to run cold water on the burn. As Harvey was wearing thick tracksuit bottoms that must have absorbed a lot of boiling water, I instinctively wanted to get the material away from his leg, not knowing that was the wrong thing to do. A few months after his accident I took and passed a first aid course because I never want to be in a situation like that again where one of the children hurt themselves and I don't know what to do.
Because of Harvey's medical condition, this wasn't a straight-forward burns case. His burn was so severe – running from the top of his thigh all the way down to his foot – that the doctors would normally have treated it by giving him a skin graft. Harvey's condition was too unstable, though, and, because of the concerns about his breathing, they were unable to give him a general anaesthetic – it really was too risky. The doctors were also worried that if Harvey had a skin graft it might not work and then he would end up with two wounds to heal.
The morning following Harvey's accident, the doctors explained that they were going to have to scrub Harvey's burn to stop the infection and to encourage the new skin to grow and that it was going to be agonising for him. I clutched Pete's hand and looked at Harvey as he slept, oblivious to what was in store for him. I couldn't bear the thought of Harvey having to suffer anymore. He woke a few minutes later and he was obviously in pain from his burn. And what he didn't realise was that it was about to get a whole lot worse . . .
In most instances, someone who had to have this procedure on a burn would be given a general anaesthetic or so much morphine that they would be completely out of it. But Harvey couldn't have a general and, although he weighed the same as a twelve-year-old, he could only be given the morphine dose for a five-year-old, which meant the medication had little effect on him. I tried to tell Harvey that the doctors were going to help his leg get better, but I knew he didn't understand, and I was feeling more and more apprehensive about what was going to happen. An hour or so later, a group of five doctors and nurses walked into the room. They carefully lifted Harvey from the bed into a wheelchair and then wheeled him into the bathroom. I thought he would have had his own bathroom, as he was in an isolation room, but he didn't and he had to use the ward bathroom, which immediately made me worry about the risk of infection. I was by his side all the time, wanting to be brave for him, telling him that it was going to be all right. He was lifted into the bath, which freaked him out straightaway because it was full of water and, of course, thanks to his accident, his obsession with water had gone and he was extremely wary of it. They then removed the dressing and he went berserk as they touched his leg. I put my hand over my mouth in shock because I couldn't believe how terrible the burn looked now. And then they began scrubbing hard at his leg with gauze. Harvey let out a piercing scream and carried on screaming. I have never heard screams like it. He was struggling to get away from them and away from the pain. It took four people to hold him down. He was absolutely terrified and in total agony. I think I've blanked much of this time out of my mind and, when I look back, all I can remember is seeing Harvey's eyes nearly popping out of his head in horror as he looked for me, as if to say, Help me, please! Why are you letting them do this to me, Mummy? And yet I knew he wouldn't understand if I told him they were trying to help. All he knew was that he was being pinned down by people who were hurting him and he couldn't understand why. I had wanted to be strong for him, but I was completely overwhelmed by seeing my son in that much agony. After a few minutes, I just had to leave the room and Pete went in to be with him. I ran as far down the corridor as I could, but I could still hear Harvey screaming, even through all the fire doors. One of the nurses came and found me and led me to the ward office. I collapsed on a chair sobbing. Why has this happened to Harvey? I thought to myself. I don't often cry, but now I couldn't stop, because there was nothing I could do to help and I didn't want my son to be suffering so much pain. There are no words to describe how awful it was watching him go through it. It was the worst thing I have ever had to experience in my life.
Harvey had to endure fifteen minutes of his leg being scrubbed. Then it was bandaged up again and he was wheeled back into the room. 'Mummy,' he said, 'I want Mummy,' and I hugged him tight and tried to stop myself crying. I said, 'I'm here now, Harvey, it's all right.' But it wasn't all right. Every day for the next month Harvey had to endure the excruciating pain of having his injury scrubbed and every time, as he was wheeled into the bathroom, he knew what was coming next and he'd be screaming in fear, clutching on to me, looking at me as if begging me to save him from the pain. After that first time, when I'd had to leave, I summoned all my strength and stayed with him. I'd hold his hand and talk to him and I would try to distract him by holding his toys in front of him. Harvey was so brave, because he got to the point where he'd even say, 'Bath now,' as the doctors came in the room, but he never stopped screaming when they scrubbed his leg. But, as soon as they'd finished and his leg was bandaged up again, he would be calm, because he knew the pain had stopped for a while. What he was having to endure would have been terrible for anyone, but just imagine how much worse it was for Harvey, without enough pain relief, unable to understand why this was happening to him and unable to tell anyone how he was feeling. When he couldn't take anymore, he couldn't say 'Please stop!' to have a short break from the agony. No, he had fifteen minutes of the worst pain ever.
Pete and me did not leave Harvey's side during his stay in hospital. Our world shrunk to that hospital room. Harvey was all I thought about. I spoke to my mum every day to update her on Harvey and Pete was absolutely brilliant during that time, so strong for me and Harvey. I really don't know what I would have done without him. Meanwhile, Junior was in Cyprus with Pete's mum and dad, so we knew he would be well looked after and have plenty of love. Right now all our attention had to be focused on Harvey. After a few nights of sleeping at the hospital, Pete insisted that I should stay at a hotel overnight because of the risk of infection while I was pregnant. So I booked into one nearby and would go there late at night, while Pete stayed with Harvey, and return first thing in the morning. Nothing else mattered but Harvey and getting him well again. We were supposed to be filming for our new reality TV show, but my mind was on Harvey.
I told my manager 'the only time they can film is when Pete and me are going to lunch, because, apart from that, I'm not leaving Harvey's side.' And that's exactly what the production team had to do. They did understand what we were going through, though, and they didn't pressurise us to film any more than that, which Pete and me were grateful for. Because they weren't getting that much footage they wanted me to talk about Harvey's progress but I wasn't really happy about going into details about my son, it was just too personal . . .
* * *
I had to tell Dwight about the accident, of course. After I'd explained what had happened, he wanted to know how bad the burn was, asking what degree it was.
'I don't know,' I replied, 'They don't measure burns like that anymore,' and I explained how hard it was for the doctors to treat Harvey because of his medical condition. I really didn't like Dwight's attitude and felt he might somehow be blaming me for the accident. When Dwight was ready to see him, he rang to tell me.
'Okay,' I replied, not looking forward to his visit. 'I need to know exactly when you'll be coming and, I'm sorry, but you can't stay in the room for very long because Harvey really needs me with him, and I don't like to leave him.' The fact was that Harvey didn't know Dwight well enough to be left with him, especially when he was so ill and feeling so vulnerable. I know Dwight's his biological dad and entitled to see him, but this really wasn't the time for him to try and bond with Harvey. He needed me and Pete with him. And part of me wanted to tell Dwight that I didn't want him seeing Harvey, that it would confuse him too much. It was such an emotional time for all of us, and Dwight hadn't seen what Harvey had been through and was continuing to go through. But, I thought, I can't argue, I'll have to let him come down. I also needed to know when he was coming so that I could tell the hospital to expect him. We had so much press attention and I had to protect Harvey from any journalists who might try to see him. Dwight visited Harvey twice and I made sure that each time Pete and me were having lunch. I didn't want to see him myself, as I was convinced he'd have a go at me.
But I really didn't have head space to worry about Dwight because, in spite of everything, the doctors were doing, Harvey's leg wasn't healing. It became infected. It looked horrific and the smell of it was appalling. At one point it even looked like he might lose his toes. The doctors had warned me about the risk of infection, because the hospital had such a high rate of MSRI. Harvey didn't get that, but he got another infection and it destroyed all the new skin. They then used a particular kind of cream on his burn, which was supposed to help with healing, but it had the reverse effect on Harvey and destroyed all the new skin cells instead. The doctors explained that it is usually straightforward to treat a burn, but because of Harvey's condition, they really didn't know how his body would react to what they were doing. In fact, things got so bad that the doctors considered doing a skin graft after all, even though it carried so many risks.
Harvey's recovery was made even slower by the fact that he wouldn't eat anything. We couldn't get him to eat at all – he wouldn't even eat his favourite meal of chicken nuggets and chips. It was understandable, I felt, because he was in pain and who wants to eat when they feel that bad? But he became so weak and dehydrated that he had to be put on a drip, which he kept trying to pull out. He looked awful, yellow almost, and at one point they thought he had pneumonia. It was so upsetting seeing my son deteriorate in front of me. I had some pretty dark moments when I thought he was never going to get better.
The doctors had been in constant contact with Great Ormond Street, getting advice on how to treat Harvey's medical condition. All the doses of his medication had been doubled, except the growth hormones. When things got so bad that the doctors were considering doing the skin graft, my mum, who had just returned from Australia, suddenly had an idea and said, 'Why don't you double the growth hormones and see if that helps the leg heal?' At first the doctors didn't think that would make a difference, but they decided to try it anyway because they seemed to have run out of other options. After a day doubling the dose, to our huge relief, Harvey's leg finally showed signs of healing. Greg Williams, the brilliant consultant who was overseeing Harvey's treatment, actually asked if he could use Harvey as a case study, because he had never had to treat a patient with his medical condition before and this was a kind of medical breakthrough.
Once the healing process had begun, Harvey had to have physiotherapy every day to encourage him to stand on his leg. We were told that, unless he started moving it, the new skin would grow in a stiff way which would make walking extremely difficult. We had to persuade him to try to move his leg and do exercises, which he was extremely reluctant to do because it hurt so much. He was also unwilling to get out of bed because he wasn't confident in his surroundings, as he couldn't see them clearly. But the longer he stayed in bed the worse the situation became. We had to encourage him to literally take one step at a time, so one day he would maybe stand up for a few minutes longer than the day before, and so on. It really was such a slow recovery process. It took him a long time – probably three months – before he was able to walk again. The worst thing was that he had only just become confident enough to walk and run about and now it felt like he was back to square one. And while he wasn't eating, he was just getting weaker and weaker.
* * *
We decided with the doctors that it might help Harvey's recovery and encourage him to eat if we brought him back to his home environment for a few hours one day. If he felt safe, he might feel like eating. We were just organising things for Harvey's trip back when Greg Williams, the consultant, asked if he could have a word with me.
He looked serious. 'I'm afraid that you're not allowed to take Harvey out of the hospital.'
'What?' I exclaimed, looking at him in disbelief.
'I know this is absolutely ridiculous and I'm embarrassed about saying this to you, but you've been reported to Social Services.' I couldn't believe what I was hearing as Greg went on to explain that one of the doctors or nurses who had treated Harvey at the first hospital suspected us of deliberately causing Harvey's burn and had reported us.
'I know what great parents you are,' Greg continued. 'I would hold my hand up and say how good you are.' He said that he knew the kinds of parents we were, how we obviously loved our son, how we had never left Harvey's side the whole time. I hadn't realised that, in cases involving children, the doctors make a note of how often parents visit their children and what they're like around them, but it was obvious that the doctors had been monitoring us, seeing how supportive we were. He also said that he knew from the type of burn Harvey had suffered that we had not been responsible, that it had been an accident. He knew all these things, but he was not allowed to let us discharge Harvey from hospital while Social Services investigated. I couldn't believe it. I was absolutely fuming. Straightaway I wanted to speak to someone from Social Services; I wasn't going to stand for this. So Greg called up the woman in charge for me and then I spoke to her. Trying very hard to keep my cool, I said, 'You can come to my house any time you like, you can turn up unexpectedly and you will find nothing wrong. We are not the kind of parents who would do something like this to our child. Why don't you go off and do your homework about Harvey and me.' We had recently moved to Surrey, so maybe she didn't know about Harvey's condition. We'd had a whole team of people looking after him in Sussex: speech therapists, health visitors, doctors, etc, and when you move you get a different team. 'I'm in the public eye and I'm being watched all the time. Harvey sees doctors every single week and has done for the last five years and not once have they ever seen any signs of neglect. Go to his school and ask his teachers and they will say the same. Plus Pete is an ambassador for the NSPCC. I'm so upset that you think I could have hurt my son and I think it's disgusting that you are wasting time over this when there really are cases out there where children are being abused.' I can hardly remember what she said, but it was probably something about how they had to follow up the case because it had been reported and that someone from the police and from Social Services would have to come round to the house. 'You can come round,' I said, 'but if you think you're stopping me from taking my son out of the hospital, then you've got another thing coming, because this is stupid.' And the upshot was that we did take Harvey home for a few hours. Straightaway he started eating because he felt happy in his home environment, which is exactly what I thought would happen.
What hurt the most was that Pete and me work so hard to be good parents and we would never do anything to hurt our children. And, I thought, I'm desperately worried about my son, I'm pregnant and now I've got to deal with this stress. I was also really missing Junior, who had been away from us for two weeks. A date was arranged for Social Services and the police to come to the house and so, instead of me spending the day with Harvey, I had to waste my time with this crazy-accusation. I asked Nicola from my management to be with me as a witness, as Pete was with Harvey. One police officer turned up with the head of Social Services for my area. The reason we got her was that they didn't want the story getting out because of who I am. I remember thinking, J don't care if this gets out! I've got nothing to be ashamed of because I've done nothing wrong! They told me that they had to follow up the case because I had been reported, but they admitted they were embarrassed about having to do it, because they had seen what we were like with the children from our TV shows and from the press.
I said, 'You can go round my whole house and check everything, but as you'll see, we are totally baby-proofed – we've got safety gates everywhere, all the sharp edges on our tables are covered up, we've got socket covers, you name it we've got it.' And I went on, 'What about all those cases of child neglect that I've read about where Social Services have been involved but they haven't stopped the child from being killed by its parents? Shouldn't you be dealing with those instead? This accusation is such an insult, because we try so hard with Harvey – ask any of the doctors who see him.'
I knew the woman from Social Services was embarrassed, but I just had to have my say. They wanted to know how I thought the accident had happened, so I took them upstairs and showed them what I thought. I guess they wanted to see if my story fitted with how Harvey's injury looked and it obviously did because that was the end of the investigation. Afterwards, everything was fine between us and Social Services. In fact, the woman in charge was really nice and has helped me with various things for Harvey since then.
I would love to know who had reported me. It must have been someone who didn't like me and who wanted to stir up press attention. But the story, or rather lack of it, never got into the press and, believe me, if it had, I would have sued their arses, as I can just imagine how some of the tabloids would have treated the story. It was such a stressful and emotional time and I really hadn't needed this on top of everything else. However, the most important thing was that Harvey was starting to make more progress and that finally we were allowed to bring him home. It was so wonderful to have him back with us, to be a family again and to see him smile, to see him get stronger, and to see him enjoy life again. He needed a lot of extra attention and love after everything that he'd been through, though, and he kept asking for 'mummy cuddles'. But he wasn't discharged from hospital for another three months. We had to take him back to the hospital three times a week to have his burn scrubbed and bandaged; then, gradually, this was reduced to twice a week; then once. He had to have regular physio on his leg as well, and that has to continue for two years after the accident. He also has to wear silicone patches on his burn and a pressure garment on his leg to keep the skin flat and protect it, as it cannot be exposed to the sun. He's only allowed out of it for an hour a day and he will have to wear it for two years. I have to massage his leg twice a day with aqueous cream to try to make the skin smooth, which he loves because the skin itches so much. His body has produced too much collagen, which is making the skin bumpy — ironic when you think of women wanting collagen pumped into their faces to make them look younger. Nearly nine months on from the accident as I write this, Harvey is able to walk and run around again, but his leg still looks awful. The new skin is so uneven and rough. The only way I can describe it is to say that it looks like crocodile skin. I can see improvement as the months go by, but sadly he will be scarred for life.
He was also emotionally affected by his accident and for a while he was terrified of having a bath. I would have to run the cold tap and let him feel that it was cold before he got in, and throughout his bath I would have to leave the cold tap running, so he would know there was nothing to be afraid of. He had been such a good swimmer, and I was really worried that he wouldn't want to do it anymore, but fortunately by the summer he wanted to get back in the water. It helped that the water was cool, as it didn't frighten him. Poor Harvey, I can't believe how much he has been through and yet, throughout it all, he has been so incredibly brave.