All My Fault: The True Story of a Sadistic Father and a Little Girl Left Destroyed (19 page)

That night, after a lot of hesitation, myself and Mary decided to go out for a few drinks in Malahide. Heads started turning the second we walked into the pub. People were reading the day’s newspapers, with my face splashed across them, and they now kept looking from their newspaper to me, and back again, trying to figure out if it was definitely me. One woman spent the entire night staring at me, her head twisted at what looked like a very awkward angle. Myself and Mary just laughed at her. Many people put their newspapers aside to come up and give me a hug and tell me how brave they thought I was. I was happy people came over and spoke to me—it was much better than just being stared at. At least then I that knew they were on my side and thought I had done the right thing.

One lady decided to start a singsong later on in the night but her choice of song wasn’t the most appropriate. She chose ‘Tie a Yellow Ribbon Round the Old Oak Tree’, which is a song about someone in prison. She didn’t even realise what she was singing about until she was halfway through the song. She was going to stop but I was laughing so hard I nearly fell off the chair. Even in my mixed state of grief and triumph, I was still able to appreciate the irony of the song.

The following day, I’d had my fill of the royal treatment and was dying to see my kids again. I dropped Mary to Dublin Airport for her flight home and went straight to my friend’s to pick up the kids. We passed by Mountjoy Prison on the way home and I pointed it out to Robin and Tyrone.

‘Now kids,’ I said, ‘We are passing by a big prison where people who have broken the law are put. See that big grey building? Isn’t it huge?’

I never called my father their granddad because in my eyes he hadn’t earned that privilege, so Robin and Tyrone always called him ‘Mammy’s da’.

‘God Ma, it is huge. There must be an awful lot of bad people in the world,’ said Robin.

‘There are but once they’re sent there you’re safe from them. Even if my father ever was to escape, he still wouldn’t be able to hurt anyone because Mammy made sure to get his name and face all over the news so that everyone will know what he looks like and be able to keep their babies safe like I do.’

‘You’re brilliant, Ma. You helped save a lot of children. Why doesn’t everyone do that?’

‘I can’t speak for everyone, pet, but I want to help change that.’

‘Cool, can I tell my mates?’ Tyrone asked.

‘You sure can, honey, and be proud,’ I told him smiling at him.

Over the next few days, I showed Robin and Tyrone a few newspaper articles along with some choice lines on how brave I was and their little faces lit up with pride. I wanted to explain things to them ’cause I wanted to make sure that they heard it properly from me rather than a Chinese-Whispers version in the playground.

I went into a state of shock when we got back to Virginia. I couldn’t leave the house for the first few days. I was so worn out that I felt like I could sleep for weeks. So I kept the kids close to me and waited till we ran out of food before braving the local EuroSpar. I was scared of how the locals would react to me after all the media coverage of the case. But I have to say, I never got a warmer welcome in my life. They couldn’t have been nicer and it certainly took the sting out of re-entering the community.

Life didn’t sit around waiting for me to be ready to deal with it after the court case. I just had to try and get on with things as best I could. My daughter’s First Communion became my next big focus. It took place a few weeks after the case and I was glad of the distraction.

She had to receive her first confession a number of weeks before her communion. It was done by a wonderful priest who is very good with the children, Fr Dermott. I decided to get confession with her in support of her big night. God knows what Fr Dermott thought when I went up.

‘Bless me Father for I have sinned. It is 25 years since my last confession…’

He didn’t even flinch. ‘Well, we will start from now,’ he replied gently.

I didn’t even get any penance. I expected to be on my knees for an hour doing 100 decades of the rosary. I felt good after confession. Not that I had felt bad before it. I just felt a little lighter and used it as a start for myself to be good.

The health board came to my rescue with money for a communion dress, and my godmother and one of my cousins threw a tremendous party for Robin in Dublin which she is still talking about several months later. Her daddy even made it to the church.

^*
Evidence given in the Dublin Circuit Criminal Court.

Chapter Fifteen

Having dealt with the most traumatic part of my life, I knew I would have the strength to deal with what I could not have done in the past. I realised that I could no longer attempt to fill the void inside me with medicine, drugs and drink and it was for this reason I decided to detox and take action to help me overcome my addiction to this crutch.

I figured it was time to lay my final ghost to rest, for my sake, and for the sake of my children. In the summer following the trial, I headed off for a three-week retreat to Thamkrabok Monastery Drug Treatment and Rehabilitation Centre in Thailand where I hoped to reconnect with the little girl inside me that I had lost contact with all those years ago.

I stepped off the plane in Bangkok, surprised that the 16-hour journey hadn’t been as hard as I thought. Then again when you’re pumped up on Valium and sleeping pills, everything seems okay.

The wonderful heat hit me as I stepped out of the airport, and I realised that I was in a different world. Thamkrabok Monastery sent someone to collect me, and after a two-hour drive, I arrived at 11p.m. in the centre of Thailand and into the unknown.

Two monks and a Thai female ‘patient’ who had a little English greeted me. They explained in broken English that check-in was not until 10a.m. the next morning, so they would do a temporary check-in; this meant basically all my belongings and clothes were taken from me.

I was body searched by the female patient, who was obviously trusted by the monks. I handed over the rest of my sleeping tablets, Xanax, antidepressants, morphine—every bit of medicine I had on me. I watched where the little monk put them into the desk drawer. A cotton pyjama-like outfit was given to me and I was allowed my flip-flops and that was it. I had nothing else, not even my toothbrush. The girl brought me to the dormitory for the girls; there was just one other girl there at the time, and she was also Thai. I was handed a blanket and shown where the toilet facilities were. I think I went into shock at this stage. I expected that everything would be basic, but it’s a different story when you’re reading about it at home, with the nice fuzzy feeling that Xanax gives you. Facing the stark reality was much more difficult. It was a cross between
I’m a Celebrity Get Me Out of Here
and
Big Brother
, the rough and tumble of the jungle with the security of being away from the outside world and its influences. I still had my tablets in my system and I was grateful for them at that moment, even though I knew that was the end of them once they wore off.

*

Ding a ling a ling
. I woke up fast, it was like the old-fashioned burglar alarms at home: loud and intrusive. Guided by the Thai girl I got up and was handed a sweeping brush. Jesus, it was 4.30a.m. It was still dark, but I was here for a reason and that was to overcome my addiction.

I put my trust in their system, and I swept the meeting room, and the girl’s dorm. Here is where I met some fellow inmates/patients. There were about 60 Thai boys, and 20 Westerners or
farangs
as we were called.

I felt lucky that I was there with a decent bunch of lads, who could all speak English. The Westerners had come from all around the world—Russia, Sweden, England, Germany, Australia, America, France and even Ireland. They made me feel so welcome and were very supportive. Even though I was the only girl in the group, they treated me fantastically well.

As I chatted to the other addicts, I realised that this was the first day in years that I hadn’t taken a tablet the moment I awoke. That realisation didn’t make me feel nervous. On the contrary, I felt good that I was taking control of the last part of my life that had been out of control for so long.

*

We had a timetable we had to stick to, which was kept by that flipping bell. Our day started at 4.30a.m., and went on until 9.30p.m., at which point I was locked into my room (although I had access to a secure courtyard should I need the outside air). It involved a lot of meditation, and drinking of herbal teas. One Irish lad told me there was also a time for vomiting, but I thought he was pulling my leg. Unfortunately, I was to discover the truth sooner than I liked.

By the time ten o’clock came around on the first morning, I felt as if I had been up for an entire day. It was finally time to check in and get all my stuff back, or so I thought.

I was brought to the office, where I had a chat with Phra Hans, one of the monks, who said a lot of things that made sense to me. According to him, the physical detox is only 5% of the Thamkrabok treatment. You must do the remaining 95% of the work in your mind and through your action. He also explained about the sacred vow that I was expected to take.

It’s called
Sajja
, ‘the vow’. Sajja is first and foremost a commitment to a (new) life of Truth and Honesty. I was making a commitment to whichever God I chose to love and myself, never to take drugs again. He said that Sajja was a sacred act that, if I believed in it, would connect me to my willpower and with something ‘beyond’. Something that is far more powerful than the fight against the drugs, and it would be there for me in any moment I really wanted it strongly enough and when I was ready for it.

I took everything that he said on board, and said that I would be happy to take the vow.

Phra Hans said to me, ‘Drugs are not your problem Audrey, drugs are merely the voice telling you that you have a problem.’

That struck a chord. I knew he was right and I knew I was getting rid of all my problems so I was getting rid of my addictions too. No point in clearing out your head and life if you’re left with stupid dependencies that still control you.

They searched my case and didn’t even give me a pack of cards, as that was gambling in their eyes.
What am I going to gamble with?
I wondered. I was given my toiletries after everything was opened, smelt and tasted. I was not allowed to have my camera, but I was delighted they let me have my pens and jotters as I kept a diary every day. I was allowed to take my books too.

I was then taken to a small temple with another lad to do our Sajja. I had no idea what I was doing, but I tried hard to focus on my desire to be free of drugs. I had to light three incense sticks and put them into a bowl, while repeating the Thai words the monk uttered as we knelt on the floor.

In the middle of this sacred ceremony, I couldn’t believe it when I heard a mobile phone ringing. I was even more surprised when one of the monks answered the call. I tried not to giggle but I couldn’t help it. This place was so peaceful, yet mobiles had managed to intrude in it. After that we were taken in front of Buddha and had to repeat more Thai and light more incense. That was it. I had promised never to take drugs again.

*

To my astonishment vomiting time did take place at 4.30p.m. as predicted. The men put on sarongs, and about 15 of us knelt in front of a gully, where we were expected to vomit. The medicine man came and gave us a shot glass of the most disgusting medicine, which had over 100 different herbs. He said the ingredients were a secret. This sacred medicine was to take all the toxins out of us and free us physically of the harm we had done to ourselves.

I did not even know if I believed this stuff worked. Here I was with guys who were coming off coke, methadone, heroin, tranquillisers and alcohol. I felt as if I had signed up to la-la land. I was about to puke my ring up while a bunch of inmates who had already completed the detox sang a song to us and played instruments. The song was about how we had shamed our families and were basically shitheads for ruining our lives and other people’s lives with drugs. But now we had agreed to be good and stop.

I drank the disgusting mixture and then, as instructed, had to drink a bucket full of yellow-coloured warm water. I couldn’t drink all the water but I drank enough to make me join the others as they vomited into the gully. I had to keep drinking the yellow water, and keep getting sick till it ran clear. What had I let myself in for?

The following day had the same routine except now I knew how horrible the puking ritual was going to be. So the whole day I could not eat, I was so nervous.

This time after vomiting I was immediately flung into withdrawals. This was the idea, apparently; it brings on your withdrawal really fast and gets it all out of your system.

I can tell you it really works. The medicine detoxes your system allowing your body to get rid of any chemicals, which means you recover quicker. Traumatic as it was, it was the best investment I ever made for myself.

At the time, though, I didn’t feel close to recovery. My head was exploding, every bone in my body was sore and muscles were aching. That night I tried to get out of my room but, forgetting there was a courtyard out the back, thought I was entirely locked in. I started to freak out and banged on the door.

‘Just get me to the office so I can get my morphine for the pain.’

I didn’t care what they would do to me, Sajja or no Sajja, I wanted drugs to stop the agony.

The amazing thing was that people came to help. I thought I would be abandoned to work through it on my own, but an English nun got the medicine man to see me.

They spoke together quietly, and then for the first time ever, a girl was allowed sleep in the room attached to the guys’ dorm. I was watched by the English nun, who in turn was watched by a monk who then was watched by another monk. To finish this chain, he was supervised by a patient. It was all very above board.