The Girl Nobody Wants: A Shocking True Story of Child Abuse in Ireland (32 page)

Moreover, the panel of people knew they were for most people their only hope of ever getting a penny out of the church, for all the abuse they had suffered. Plus they knew that most of the people claiming compensation would be easily tempted by the small amounts of compensation offered to them, as to them the amount offered was more than they had and would ever see in their entire lifetime. It was easy for the panel of people to take advantage of the situation and they used it to their advantage.

Once I got the money, I only spent a very small amount to pay off a few bills and I kept the rest in the bank for a year, while I decided what to do with it. If everything had been left to me, then I would probably have spent all the money in the first year. But Tony was better with money than I was and he said that it was better for me to leave the money in the bank for a while and for me to forget all about it, while he worked out the best options for me.

Then, after eleven months, we made the decision to buy a house with the money; and for the next few months, Tony searched the whole country for me, using the internet, and he found that the only place that I could afford a house was in Wales. He said that he had found a few houses for me to look at, but I felt a bit confused about the whole thing so I left it all to him. I had never been to Wales, the only time that I had seen the place was when I travelled through it on the train from Ireland to London and back again, and I knew nothing about the place. I said ok and I left him to get on with it.

But he had no transport to go looking at the houses, so he went to a motorcycle showroom and, on his 44
^th
birthday, he bought himself a new Harley Davidson; and he never used a single penny of the compensation to pay for it. Instead, he signed an agreement to pay the amount off each month for the next five years and the money came out of his wages. And once he got the bike, off he went to look at houses for me and he spent months riding up and down the M4 motorway, looking at crap. I had been given such a small amount of compensation that it was beginning to look like I would never be able to find a house for the small amount of money I had; and for a while, we gave up looking.

After several months, Tony decided to try again, so he went back onto the internet and he tried again; and this time, he got some details about a few houses that were up for auction, so he got back on his motorcycle and he headed up the M4 motorway again. This time, it began to rain and it never stopped, it was going to be a 500-mile round trip to where the houses were and back again, and it was going to take the whole day.

About half an hour into the journey, the rain became a full-blown storm, but he continued on; however, it never stopped raining. He eventually crossed the Bristol Channel and he continued riding into Wales; but after 200 miles, he had to stop. It was still raining and he was freezing cold, so he pulled off the motorway and he headed into a small town. He had no idea what he was looking for, but he needed a rest, so he pulled up in what looked like the high street and he got off his bike and looked around. Nothing but rain, no people, just freezing rain. So he decided to get back on his bike; but as he turned around, he noticed an estate agent’s on the corner of the street. The windows were all steamed up with condensation, but the lights inside were on, so he walked across the road and he pushed the door open and walked inside; and there were four estate agents, all sitting at their desks doing nothing.

He took off his crash helmet and he asked them if they had any houses for sale in his price range and one of them said yes, just one, and the person walked into the back of the office. And within seconds, he came out of the back office with a tatty sheet of paper that had a photo and some details about a house on it, and he handed it to Tony. Tony said thanks, but his hands were soaking wet and the ink on the sheet of paper began to run, so he stuck the sheet of paper into his pocket and he left the shop; then he got back on his bike, he headed back to the M4 motorway and he continued on his journey.

The weather got worse and fog began to cover the entire motorway, so he decided to stop again; he had been sitting on the bike for over four hours and the weather conditions had become unbearable, so he decided to give up and he left the motorway at the next exit. But there was nowhere for him to turn around and the fog got so bad that after a while he got lost, so he decided to pull over and have a rest by the side of the road.

He pulled up at the first junction he came to and looked for a place to stop; but as he pulled up by the side of the road, he seemed to recognise the road sign in front of him. But he had never been there before, so he pulled his gloves off and he took the piece of paper out of his pocket. The paper was soaking wet and it was falling to bits, but he could still make out the name of one of the roads on the piece of paper and the name was the same as the road he had stopped at. That’s strange, he thought to himself, so he decided to go and look for the house on the paper, but the ink on the paper had run even more and almost all of the address had vanished and all that was left was the picture of the house and nothing more. He knew that he was on the right road, so how hard could it be to find the house, he thought.

And off he went, but the road went on for miles and miles and he went past village after village, but none of them looked or felt right. He soon found himself riding along a valley road and, as he rode up into the hills, it began to get misty and foggy and he had to slow down to almost a walking pace. It was still raining and he could only see a few feet in front of the bike and the conditions got so bad that he had to ride the bike onto a grass verge to let some cars go past him, as he was holding them up; and then he decided to stop, as the visibility continued to get worse.

He was now exhausted, so he decided to give up and head back to London; he switched the engine off and he got off the bike and looked around and all he could see was mist and fog; he knew he was in the middle of a valley, but he could see nothing. Then, as he walked back towards the bike and as he turned the key, the mist began to clear and he found himself standing at the corner of the street that the house stood on. He had now travelled eight miles along a valley road, not knowing where he was heading, and he had stopped because he had to and not because he wanted to and he was exactly where he wanted to be.

He got back on the bike, but it was still foggy and he could hardly see a thing as he rode along looking up at all the houses; and as he caught glimpses of them through the fog, they all looked the same and something just didn’t feel right. Then he found himself a split in the road, so he decided to ride up a steep hill; and as he turned the corner at the top of the hill, he was facing the front door of the house. He pulled the front brake and his whole body tingled as he stopped outside the house; he looked around and it was as if fate had brought him straight to the front door. And the house was just what I had been dreaming about for most of my life. A house surrounded by trees, fields and countryside, in every direction you looked.

He got straight on his mobile phone and told me about the house, then he rode back to the estate agents and told them that we were interested in buying the house. And straightaway, they drove Tony back up to the house so that he could look inside, and after a short conversation over the phone, we made an offer on the house that same day. Then Tony got back on the bike and rode back to London and it never stopped raining until he got off the bike.

After a few days, the offer on the house was accepted, but it took nine months to complete and then the house was all mine. And Tony and I spent the next three years restoring the house; but by the time we had finished the restoration, we could not afford to live in the house as we had spent all of my compensation on buying the house and most of Tony’s wages over the three years on the restoration of the house. We were now broke and the only time we could use the house was on weekends and school holidays, but we didn’t mind as it was perfect for me to get away from everything when I needed to.

For the next couple of years, we continued using the house as often as we could; and each time I had to leave the house and go back to London, it became harder and harder for me, as I had become attached to all the peace and quiet of the countryside. I was still taking my medication to help me cope with everyday life and Tony still did his best to help me through each day, but now he was exhausted from everything and he began to feel ill. He had spent the last twenty plus years looking after me and putting up with all the problems that came with me and now it was his turn to be sick, but he never said a thing to anyone and I had no idea that something was wrong with him.

Then one day, while he was at work, he began to get pains in his chest and he knew it was time to go to the hospital; and as soon as he arrived at the hospital, the doctors took him in and then they rang me. They said that he had arrived at the hospital on his motorcycle and that he was still using it while he had chest pains and they were concerned that he could have had an accident if the pains had become unbearable. Then they said that they wanted to keep him in for observation because they thought he might have had a heart attack. I said ok and then I went straight to the hospital.

When I arrived, Tony was lying on a bed, with wires and tubes stuck all over him and he had a drip in his arm, but he was awake and he said hi. Then one of the nurses took me to one side and she shook her head from side to side and she said that he had to stay in the hospital so they could do tests on him. Then she asked Tony what he did for a living and he couldn’t remember, so she asked him his name and he laughed as he said that he knew that, but the nurse didn’t laugh, instead she asked him again and after a couple of seconds he told her. Then she gave him some tablets and she told him that they wanted him to stay in the hospital; he was not happy about staying, but he knew something was wrong and he said ok. I spent the night sitting next to him while he rested and they did more tests.

And in the morning, a doctor came to see us and he said that it was good news; he said that Tony hadn’t had a heart attack. However, they still wanted to keep him in the hospital while they did more tests, as his heart was beating at twice the speed it should, and it would not slow down on its own. They were also having a lot of trouble slowing it down with drugs and his blood pressure was at a dangerously high level. But the worse thing was that nobody was allowed to make Tony laugh, as even laughing seemed to make his heart race out of control and his blood pressure go up to a dangerously high level; and the nurses would have a lot of trouble trying to bring everything under control again.

And he had to spend a week in the hospital, trying to relax, while the doctors tried different drugs to gain control of his heart rate and blood pressure. After the doctors got his heart and the blood pressure under control, they said that he still had an abnormality on his cardiographs, but they didn’t know the cause of it, and they asked Tony if he had any explanation; but he had no idea what the problem was. So the doctors decided to send him for a stress test and they sent him off to run on a treadmill. Once there, they covered him in wires and sensors, then they connected him up to a machine and they told him to start running; and he kept running until his heart rate got to over two hundred beats a minute. Then they told him to stop and he went back to the ward and, after a couple of hours, they decided that he was well enough to go home. However, he would have to take tablets every day for the rest of his life, to control his heart rate and blood pressure. (I think he just needed a rest.)

Anyway, once he got home, I could see that the tablets were working and after a week he went back to work and everything was back to normal, apart from my brain. I felt so tormented by everything around me and I felt that I couldn’t cope any longer and I felt like I wanted to kill myself. I seemed to be spending most of my days lying in bed and I didn’t even want to get up to make dinner or to do anything else for that matter. And Tony said that my behaviour was beginning to affect him, as doing everything on his own was just too much for him now.

I knew something was wrong with me, so I went to see my doctor and he said that he wanted to change my medication for another type and I said ok. He gave me a new prescription and, after collecting the tablets, I put my old medication into a box and I began to take the new ones. At first, they seemed to make little difference; but after a week, my old tablets must have worn off and I went nuts. For no reason at all, I began shouting at everyone and no one could speak to me, as they could not make any sense of anything I was saying.

Then one weekend, while we were all at the house in Wales, I felt like I could not cope with myself anymore, so I went upstairs to my bedroom and I slashed at my arms with a metal nail file and my arms began to bleed. I sat on the bed and I thought to myself, ‘What have I done?’ I got up, opened my bedroom door and then I called out to Tony. He walked up the stairs and as he walked towards our bedroom, I opened the door and I stood in front of him. “Please don’t be mad with me”, then I held out my arms and I showed him what I had done. He said, ‘Please, no more, I just can’t cope with anything more. Please, no, not that.’ I looked at him and he looked pale, then I said sorry and he sat on the bed next to me and I told him how I felt; and I begged him to ring the doctor’s and get him to change my medication back to my old tablets for me and he said, ‘Ok, I will.’

The next morning, Tony rang my doctor, he explained to him what I had done to my arms and he told the doctor how I was feeling. But my doctor said that he would not change my tablets back unless I went to see a mental health adviser, but I said no, I just could not go to see anyone and I certainly didn’t want to see another counsellor. So, Tony spoke to the doctor again and this time my doctor agreed to change my medication back, so long as I would go and see him as soon as we got back to London and I said ok.