Mummy, Make It Stop (9 page)

I knew that Paul and his gang built dens and had secret hiding places. I was envious - I longed to be included, but they didn’t even notice me. Then one day I saw Paul and several boys running out from an alleyway between two houses.

‘Paul,’ I shouted. ‘What you doing? Can I play?’

He looked over at his mates. I expected them to burst out laughing and shout ‘No chance,’ but to my surprise they beckoned me over. I ran after them, back up the alley. There were lots of empty houses on the estate back then, and Paul told me they had made a den in the back yard of one of them and I could come and see it.

Dead excited to be included, I grinned like a Cheshire cat.

‘You’ve got to wear a blindfold,’ Paul said. ‘We can’t have you telling everyone where our den is.’

‘OK,’ I said, nervous but determined to do whatever he said.

He took out a grubby scarf and tied it over my eyes, and then he and another boy, one each side, pushed me along the street, until we suddenly stopped.

‘Here it is,’ Paul said. ‘But you can’t look yet.’

‘No,’ another lad joined in, sneeringly. ‘We need to make sure you won’t remember where you’ve been.’

They started spinning me around and pushing me from one to the other. I began to feel sick and dizzy and scared.

‘Paul, stop, I feel sick,’ I said. But he laughed and then rough hands pulled my t-shirt up.

‘Not much there, is there, lads,’ one of them laughed, and they all started laughing and jeering.

Hot tears ran down my cheeks as I stood, dazed and confused.

‘I don’t understand,’ I sobbed. ‘Where’s the den?’

‘Stupid little idiot,’ Paul spat. ‘Do you honestly think we’d let you hang around with us? You’re just good for a laugh, that’s all.’

The boys ran off, laughing, leaving me to pull off the blindfold. I was standing in an empty house, with bare walls and some old cardboard on the floor. Still crying, I tried to straighten my clothes and wipe my eyes. They had just wanted to make a fool of me, they thought I was a joke. My brother had simply used me to amuse his mates.

I walked slowly out of the door into the street and looked round. I had no idea where I was. I set off up the street, looking for something I recognised, but it was another hour before I finally found my way home.

Later Paul came home and said to me, ‘Not a word to Mum, do you understand? Or you’ll be for it.’ He looked so threatening that I just nodded silently.

A few days later, it happened all over again. Paul told me I really could see their den this time, he said they wanted to make up for frightening me. I went along with him, so desperate for attention that I didn’t see what was coming. Once again I was blindfolded, taken to an empty house, and then shoved around and jeered at. They pushed me so hard that I fell over several times, and one of them tried to pull off my skirt. They carried on until they grew bored and ran off, leaving me to find my way home, sore, bruised and upset.

The whole thing was repeated several times over the next few weeks. Each time Paul said sorry and promised me sweets or a treat and, desperate to believe him, I went with him - only to find his mates waiting to shove me around and laugh at me.

I would go home and throw myself on my bed, crying into my pillow. Why was my own brother being so cruel to me? It just confirmed in my mind that I was boring and ugly and no-one wanted to be around me.

Then one day the police arrived at the door and said they were looking for Paul. Mum began shouting at them, asking what he’d done and telling them to get lost, but they ignored her and two policemen took Paul’s arms and began marching him out towards their car.

Paul was crying and screaming at the top of his voice, pleading with Mum to help him. Seeing him in such a state, being dragged away from us, upset me dreadfully. I didn’t have a clue what was happening or what it was about. All I knew was that he was crying for help and I couldn’t help him.

Paul was taken into custody, along with several of his friends. It turned out that they had robbed a number of houses on the estate. They’d got away with it until someone lay in wait and caught them coming out of a house with their hands full of stolen goods.

Mum swore Paul didn’t do anything wrong, and when he was found guilty and sent to a young offenders’ unit, she was livid. She went round to the house where he’d been caught, banging on their door and yelling at the top of her voice, accusing them of lying.

Although it had been dreadful seeing Paul taken away, in some ways life without him was better - and not just because he wasn’t tormenting me any more. Mum was much more relaxed and seemed less angry than normal, which made things easier for me, Tanya and Jamie. She had always saved the worst of her anger for Paul, and I used to wonder what it was about him that made her hate him so.

Her good mood evaporated, however, when we paid our next visit to see Anna at the social services offices. Mum stormed out of the room where Anna had taken her for a private chat, a furious look on her face. She grabbed us and headed home, without saying a word.

When we got back, Tanya whispered to me to come over to Terry’s to get out of the way. But when she told Mum we were going over the road, Mum wouldn’t let us. She said we weren’t to go over there for a few days and he wasn’t to come to our house, to ‘keep them lot off our backs for a while’ as she put it.

I was puzzled. Why would we need to stay away from Terry? None of us had said anything. What I didn’t know then was that social services were suspicious about him and Anna had warned Mum to keep us away from him.

She lasted two days. After that things went back to normal. Terry came over to our house with a bag of goodies for Mum, and Tanya and I resumed our daily visits to his place.

The summer holidays had begun, and Mum announced she was going away for a week with her boyfriend. She didn’t mind taking Jamie, but she didn’t want us girls so she asked Terry to have me and Tanya. He said he would take us on holiday, to see his parents in Bangor.

So two weeks after the warning from social services, Mum took off with Jamie, and Tanya and I set off on a coach with Terry, each of us carrying a small suitcase. We were excited to be going on a holiday. We’d only ever had a couple of holidays before, and they’d both been pretty awful. The first had been a few years earlier, when Mum and George took us to stay in a caravan by the sea. It wasn’t much fun, because we had to do exactly as George said all the time, and that meant no running around and playing on the beach. There were a few photos of that holiday and they showed George - a massive man with hulking shoulders - next to four tiny kids, not one of us smiling. That said it all.

Our next holiday was after George went to prison, when social services sent us to a kids’ camp for parents who were on benefits and couldn’t afford holidays. The week before the holiday we had to have a medical. They recorded our height and weight and checked us for nits. When we got to the camp there was a pool - but not everyone could go in, you had to be chosen. The whole two weeks were regimented, just like the holiday with George. We ate, slept and played at set times. Wardens were in charge and if parents wrote to the children they opened the letters and took out any money. Mum didn’t write, so we weren’t bothered about that. But the wardens were unfriendly and shouted at us to get into line for everything and by the time we got home we were so glad that we didn’t care if we never went on holiday again.

But the holiday with Terry would be different, we were sure of that. Tanya and I sat on the coach, chattering and looking out of the windows. We couldn’t wait to catch our first glimpse of the sea.

Terry’s parents lived in a small terraced house, a few streets from the sea front. They were both very old and didn’t hear or see well. His dad had square black glasses with thick lenses and he smoked a pipe all day. His mum couldn’t get about much, and hardly ever left the house. They both said hello, and then took very little notice of us after that. They must have wondered who exactly we were, and why their son had brought us, but they didn’t say a word.

On the first day, Terry took us to the beach. It was wonderful and Tanya and I were wild with excitement. We spent the whole day splashing in the sea and building sandcastles together, while Terry sat and watched us.

Once again I was sleeping downstairs, on the couch, while Tanya was in a spare bedroom upstairs. And, as usual, Terry appeared in the night, once his parents were safely asleep. But this time, instead of forcing himself into my mouth or sticking his fingers and tongue into me, he got on top of me and tried to force his penis inside me. It hurt so much that instead of just lying there, as I usually did, I tried to push him away and pleaded with him to stop. He made a funny grunting noise, in frustration, and tried again and again. He refused to give up and in the end my small arms got too tired to push him away any longer.

I tried to switch off from the pain as Terry grunted on top of me. Why would someone who loved you do this? Why would they want to hurt you so much? I just couldn’t understand it.

Every night of the holiday Terry tried to do the same thing. I tried to fight him off, and sometimes I won and he gave up. But more often he won, and I was left bruised and sore and in tears. By the end I was hurting inside and very sore and during the day I was finding blood in my knickers.

My struggles to push him away every night made him angry. Who was I to push him away, he would snarl. I felt helpless, but I couldn’t block it out of my mind any more. The pain had become too much for me and, although I usually lost the battle, I continued to try to push him away.

It was the same with Tanya. I didn’t know then that Terry was doing the same things to her, but as the week wore on she became quieter and there were dark circles under her eyes.

Over the course of that week Terry began to change. He became distant and angry. He sounded irritated every time he spoke to me, and he looked at me with a cold expression in his eyes. He wasn’t nice to Tanya either, even though she had always been his favourite.

After that first outing to the beach, he refused to take us out again and we spent the rest of the holiday watching television and playing cards. The time dragged and it didn’t feel much like a holiday at all.

I didn’t like Terry any more. I couldn’t wait to get home and away from him. If I had known the way, I would have walked all those miles back. As it was, I had to wait for the week to end, counting the days till I could get back home.

On the coach, Tanya and I both stared silently out of the window for the whole journey. When we got home, Mum was there, but she didn’t bother asking about our week away, she just told us to keep it quiet if the social asked about our holiday. It turned out that social services had paid for a caravan for the four of us and Mum. She knew we would never have been allowed to go with Terry, but she didn’t care. She lied to social services and used the caravan in Clacton for her holiday with John and Jamie.

I ran up to my bedroom and lay on my bed, clutching my teddy bear. Half an hour later I heard Jamie coming upstairs. He came into my room and started telling me what a great holiday he’d had in the caravan with Mum and John and how much fun they’d had. As he chattered on, I kept wondering why Mum didn’t want to take me with her. My own mum would rather I go away with someone else for a holiday than take me with her. What was it that was so wrong with me? I felt sure I must be a really horrible person.

Jamie was telling me about the friends he’d made and the presents he’d had and all I could think about was what had happened to me on my holiday. I felt so sad and depressed and longed for someone to give me a hug and show me they cared. I must have had a distant look in my eyes, because Jamie suddenly stopped and said, ‘What’s up with you?’

I wondered whether I could tell him. I wanted to, so much. Perhaps Jamie would understand, and help me to feel better.

‘I’ve got tummy ache down there,’ I said hesitantly, pointing between my legs. ‘It really hurts and it’s been bleeding. It’s all in my knickers.’

‘What’ve you done, fallen over or something?’ Jamie said.

‘No,’ I said quietly, my voice wobbling. ‘It’s Terry. He’s been doing rude things to me, touching me . . . down there.’

Jamie burst out laughing. ‘Who’d wanna touch you?’ he scoffed. Then he told me not to be stupid and that Mum would be angry if she heard me saying those things, before heading out of the door, back to his own room.

I sat on my bed, tears rolling down my cheeks. That was it. I’d tried to tell someone, and he had just laughed. Why did I expect anything else? No-one was going to believe me. And, in any case, it was my fault it had happened. I was a bad girl and I made all these people do nasty things to me. I lay back on the bed. My body ached and I felt all the energy drain from me. I grabbed hold of my quilt cover and pulled it up towards my face to wipe my tears.

I must have fallen asleep. I woke to hear Mum shouting up the stairs that tea was ready. Slowly, I got to my feet and made my way down. When I got there, Mum and Jamie were already sitting on the sofa, tucking into their food, the television blaring in front of them.

‘It’s in the kitchen,’ Mum called, without taking her eyes from the television. Tanya walked out of the kitchen holding two plates and passed me one as she sat down. I could tell Tanya wasn’t her normal self either, but at that stage I didn’t realise that Terry had been doing the same things to her and she was also traumatised.