I Did Tell, I Did (11 page)

I struggled with all my might, but he managed to pull my nightie right up and started touching me between my legs, poking his finger inside me and hurting me badly. That horrible whisky smell was on his breath again. I began to sob but my tears didn’t seem to make any difference as Uncle Bill continued his onslaught. By this time he was groaning and writhing around on top of me. He grabbed my hand and made me touch him.

‘I don’t want to,’ I cried through my tears. ‘I don’t want to touch it.’

He wasn’t listening; he was past listening. He was pushing my hand up and down on his love toy, his awfulness. Then he took my hand away and I thought it was over—but it wasn’t. He fiddled between my legs and then there was that terrible,
tearing pain as he pushed himself inside me and began to pound away. He grunted and moaned as he pushed harder and harder, hurting me somewhere deep inside my belly. I sobbed bitterly all the way through, my face turned to the wall, the pain making me want to die. I wanted blackness, nothingness. I wanted not to be able to feel any more.

He was sweating heavily and slobbering all over my face and neck with his fat lips, then with one last grunt he collapsed in a satisfied heap on top of me.

By this time I was numb. I couldn’t cry now. It was too bad for tears.

Uncle Bill got up and went into the kitchen. I lay still, unable to move, listening to the sounds of him running the tap to wash his hands, then the cupboard door opening.

When he came back with a glass of juice in his hand, he said, ‘I do love you, you know.’ That word again: love. This was love? ‘You don’t know how lucky you are to have me love you as no one else does.’ He smiled that awful smile.

‘This is our secret and if you ever tell anyone, your punishment will be too frightening to even think about.’ He fastened up his shirt and trousers and tucked himself in. ‘Anyway, no one would believe you.’

He sounded relaxed and confident and I knew he was right. After all, I had already told and Mum didn’t believe me. I wondered what kind of punishment could be worse than what had already happened. Was there anything worse? I couldn’t imagine it. If this was lucky, if this was what it was like to be loved, I wished with all of my might that I would become the
unluckiest and most unloved child in the world, for the rest of my life.

Uncle Bill grinned and went into the kitchen again. I was completely shattered. I pulled the blankets over my head and tried to shut out the world. Some time later I heard my mother return and I pretended to be asleep. I listened to their muffled whispers in the hall and heard them laughing and joking with each other. I had never felt so alone as I did at that moment. I was utterly isolated, utterly bereft.

When Uncle Bill had gone and everyone else was having tea, I called through and told them I was going to have a bath. The memories of the afternoon’s horrors were too much to bear. I couldn’t spend the night downstairs in the place where they had happened, so I decided I’d go back to sleep in my own bed afterwards.

In the privacy of the bathroom, my sanctity, I tried desperately to wash away the awful memories of the day. It was sticky between my legs and my private parts were burning really badly, with a pain that seemed worse than last time. My tummy was hurting and felt swollen. My whole body ached where I was bruised from being held down in his firm grip and crushed by his pounding frame. He was a big man, not fat but muscular, much bigger and stronger than my dad.

After the bath I crawled into my own bed, scared, confused and in a great deal of pain. I felt totally alone and broken, like an old discarded toy.

For days after this attack, I refused to leave my room and my dad was very concerned. ‘What’s up, Cassie?’ he asked,
sitting on the edge of the bed, stroking the hair back from my forehead. ‘You’re not yourself at all. Are you really poorly? Tell me how you’re feeling. Does it hurt somewhere?’

I nodded my head, tears welling up at his concerned tone. ‘Yes, everywhere,’ I whispered.

‘Why don’t you come downstairs and watch some television? Or we could draw.’

I shook my head.

‘Is there anything you’d like to eat or drink? Maybe some hot chocolate?’

‘I’m OK, thanks.’

I just couldn’t tell him anything and it broke my heart that he was being so kind and gentle with me.

‘Why are you wasting your time?’ Mum snapped at him. ‘She’s only sulking to get attention.’

She had no idea the trauma I was going through because she didn’t care enough to look below the surface. She never once asked me what was wrong and why I was so upset. Maybe I would have been able to tell her if she’d asked the right questions, if she’d encouraged me to open up to her. After all, I’d told her before. But she was happy to let me linger in my bed so long as I kept out of her way and didn’t interfere with her precious social life.

Eventually I dragged myself up and back to school again. It was the last term of the year and that was always the best term, with concerts, sports day and the school play. I still didn’t feel completely well but I went back so that Uncle Bill couldn’t visit any more and try to repeat his horrific attacks.

I tried my hardest not to be in the house when he visited, and for a while I succeeded. I could take the dog out for a long walk, go to Claire’s house on Fridays and sometimes on other nights if I argued that we needed to do homework together, or I could disappear off to choir practice. It was inevitable that our paths would cross eventually, but in the meantime Uncle Bill kept demanding of Mum where I was and why he hadn’t seen me until she accused me of being rude to him, and ungrateful for all the attention he gave me.

I looked at her and wondered what on earth was going on in her head. I’d told her about the kind of ‘attention’ Bill gave me and she didn’t want to know. Why did she still persist in trying to force us together? I couldn’t make head or tail of it.

One evening while I was in my room doing my homework, I heard someone on the stairs and I glanced up nervously. My bedroom door opened and there stood the man I loathed more than any other living being. He grinned. ‘Hello, Cassie.’

I sat very still without speaking and hoped I would be safe since the family were all downstairs.

Uncle Bill came over to where I sat writing an essay and placed his hand over my mouth then he bent down to kiss me on the neck.

I jumped up, pushing him away, but he just laughed and stood between me and the door, blocking my escape. My heart was beating hard as all the awful memories came flooding back. I had tried to block them from my mind but they were never far away, making me shudder with revulsion as they came to the surface.

He moved forward, pressed his body against mine, then tried to kiss me on the lips. I felt sick and turned my head to the side.

‘No one will hear us,’ he said. ‘They’ve gone next door to see the new puppy.’ Before I had a chance to push past him, he grabbed my hand and thrust it inside his trousers.

I struggled, but he just pushed his body into me, jamming my hand between us.

‘Yes, yes,’ he slurred, moving himself up and down against me and making the groaning noise I hated so much. I used to hear that noise echoing in my head at night while I lay in bed: in my quiet, dark moments, in my dreams.

As I struggled to get away Bill became more excited. The more I struggled, the more he seemed to like it. I was so petrified that I hadn’t uttered a word so far but suddenly he gripped me so tightly that I couldn’t help but scream at the top of my voice. He jumped back and I seized my opportunity to run out into the hall. I couldn’t decide where to go but, fearful that he was following, I ran into Tom’s room and hid down the side of the bed. My heart was pounding as I heard Bill come out onto the landing and hesitate, but then his footsteps trudged slowly down the stairs. He wasn’t trying to find me.

Once I was sure the coast was clear, I skipped back into my own room and lay on the bed, feeling shattered by what had happened. My room had always been a refuge before, and now even there wasn’t safe. Wherever I was, Bill could always find me and abuse me. There was nowhere he couldn’t reach me.

After this last horror, I spent even more time out of the house, walking the dog down to the seafront and staying out
for hours on end. I loved the sea. I could just stand and look at the waves and pretend that I was far away from all of this. No one ever asked where I was going or when I would be back. I lived in the same house as them, we sat down to meals together, but otherwise they treated me like an outcast.

I’d restarted violin lessons, and what with them, choir practice and all my household chores, I didn’t have much time to reflect, which was fine with me. I didn’t want to think about my life. If I didn’t think, I could pretend that all was well and things were perfectly fine. I didn’t have to think about the uncle who abused me and the mother who hated me so much that she refused to listen to my complaints and protect me from him.

And then a miracle happened. At last God answered my prayers. I heard from Rosie that Mum had fallen out with Uncle Bill’s wife Gwen, and as a result Uncle Bill had to promise that he would never come round our house again. I had no idea what the row was about, as Gwen was usually a quiet, mild-mannered lady who I had never heard utter a cross word. Then, when I thought about it some more, I decided it must be because Mum had realised what Bill was doing to me and had belatedly decided to put a stop to it. Surely that must be it?

Mum was sitting on her bed crying as I crept into the room and threw my arms round her neck, overcome with gratitude. Normally I wouldn’t have dared to hug her. Whenever I’d tried in the past she’d always pushed me away sharply, but this time I was convinced that she finally believed me about Uncle Bill and that was the reason for her tears. ‘Thank you! Thank you for believing me. I knew you would really,’ I cried, overjoyed
that at last she had taken my word for it and had seen that evil man for what he really was.

Seconds later, I was hurled to the floor and Mum was screaming at me furiously.

‘What are you talking about?’ She glared at me. ‘Of course it had nothing to do with
that
.’ She was utterly furious. ‘Do you really believe that I cared about what you said? Do you really think that anything you said would have made Bill and me row?’ She shook her head in disgust and spat out her words. ‘Your feelings and your welfare are the furthest things from my mind right now, you selfish, horrible girl. Get that into your head. I don’t care tuppence about you. OK?’

I lay on the floor, stunned.

‘Get out of my sight.’ She turned her back. ‘Don’t come near me again.’

I crawled out of the room, completely devastated once more. How could I have been so stupid as to think she had had a change of heart and decided to protect me? She really didn’t care. She wasn’t anything like all my friends’ mothers, who adored them. I was nothing to her. Worse than nothing—she actually hated me.

I heard her sobbing bitterly in her bedroom and wondered what she was so upset about. Maybe she felt bad about the row she’d had with Gwen. I supposed she would miss Uncle Bill, since she seemed to be such great friends with him, but as far as I was concerned it was the best thing that had ever happened in my life. I wasn’t safe from my mother’s bullying and emotional cruelty but at least I was safe from that monster who
had terrified me and hurt me so badly. At least I didn’t have to keep looking over my shoulder and wondering if I was safe every time I was left in the house on my own. If I heard a creak on the stairs, it wouldn’t be him coming to attack me again.

The relief was so overwhelming that it drowned out any worries about why my mother might be crying in her bedroom and why she hated me. I got down on my knees and thanked God over and over again for rescuing me. I had known all along He would listen and eventually He had. I was safe at last.

A
lthough I had lots of other friends, Claire and I were still bestest friends and I still spent every Friday night at hers after the Brigade meetings. We had so much in common that we never ran out of conversation. We chatted about what was happening at school, about other friends there, and about the programmes we watched on television. Claire had a crush on Robert Horton, who played Flint McCullough in the TV series
Wagon Train
. There was a bus driver on her local route who looked just like him so sometimes, after school, we would wait at the top of her road just in case he was driving and she could steal a glimpse of him. My hero was Edd Byrnes, who played Kookie in 77
Sunset Strip
, and I’d style my hair in a ponytail just like the girls in the show. On Saturday mornings, we would go down to Littlewood’s department store and try out the pink shiny lipsticks in the cosmetics department or go into the changing rooms to try on new outfits. When I was with her, time flew. I felt like a different person: relaxed, happy,
normal. These were the in-between times, the times that kept me sane.

We were similar in lots of ways, but unlike Claire I wasn’t good at meeting new people. I tended to distrust all men, except Claire’s lovely dad, and I would never stay in a room on my own with a man. If Claire stopped to talk to a family friend in the street, I shrank behind her, anxiously stepping from foot to foot until we moved on. I just didn’t feel safe in the company of men. I never knew when I might meet another man like Uncle Bill who might want to do these things to me, and it terrified me.

My relationship with Mum went from bad to worse and I started asking if I could stay at Claire’s more and more often. Usually she’d agree because it got me out from under her feet but sometimes she refused, just to spite me, because she didn’t want me to enjoy myself. I loved staying there. If I was at Claire’s house, I wasn’t at mine. Everyone at school knew that Claire’s and my friendship was special but no one knew just how much I needed her. Claire was my safety, my soulmate, closer than a real sister could possibly have been.

At the end of our first year together at the secondary modern, disaster struck. Claire’s parents announced they were moving home and that the move would take them outside the catchment area for our school. Claire would have to move to a new school and we’d be separated. After they made the announcement I sat in complete shock, unable to speak.