by Alex Flynn
‘I’ll come and visit,’ I say, more in hope then expectation, as Sandra says:
‘You can do. But just during the day time at first. After all, we don’t want to go putting too much pressure on Mrs Robinson and rushing her into making a decision on your future.’
Sandra’s worked out that the best way to me to go along with her reasoning is to patronise someone like Mrs Robinson and imply that she’s not up to her job. I don’t know if she really believes that Mrs Robinson is an incompetent old biddy but I’m happy to go along with that reasoning.
The prison guard is the first one to finish her meal and very unsubtly calls the waitress over to ask for the bill. Sandra offers to pay her share but the prison guard says that she’ll take care of it. This is the bit that I hate. The bit when I’ve to leave separately to Mum. I know that we’re going to have to leave the cafe first, that’s what was stated in one of Mrs Robinson’s precious forms, because us being outside together in a busy street would be a potential security risk.
I wonder if I’m even allowed to hug Mum goodbye but I don’t want to push my luck. A week ago I’d never have dared dream that I’d even get a birthday card from Mum; let alone that I’d be having lunch out with her in public and be making plans to visit her at her own home.
Mum keeps her long embracing goodbye low key and says that she’ll call me. Sandra leads me out of the cafe and the two male prison guards acknowledge us as we walk past them. Sandra says ‘Goodbye’, to them but I just look away shyly and want to get away as soon as possible before somebody realises what has been going on right underneath their nose.
When we get stuck in traffic, Sandra says that I’m being quiet. I suppose I am but it’s only because I feel like I can’t be myself at the moment. I really did want to meet Mum today but it didn’t feel right with the prison guard sat next to her and the other two mercenaries waiting for it to “kick-off”.
‘You did enjoy seeing your mum today, didn’t you?’
‘Of course. But it just felt weird.’
‘It’ll be better when she’s got her own house. And I’ll be there to support you. If you want me to of course.’
‘Yeah, sure,’ I mumble.
‘You’ve just got to take things slowly. One day at a time. No one’s expecting you get everything right first time.’
I want to ask Sandra what she means by that but the traffic has started moving again so she has to concentrate on driving. But at least I’ve got far more in my life than I had just a few weeks ago. Although how much of that I’m going to be allowed to keep to help turn my life around is another matter.
PART THREE
Chapter One
Mum’s house smells of new carpets. The living room is very bare but I suppose it’s a million times better than a prison cell. And Mum seems far more relaxed now that she hasn’t got that excuse of a prison guard looking over her. Sandra gives Mum the present that she’s brought along for her. The card says that it’s from both of us but all I’ve done is sign the card.
‘Thank you. I’d say that I’d put it with the rest of my housewarming presents but I can’t.’
‘Do you still have any contact with any of your old friends?’ Sandra asks.
‘No, but then I suppose seven years is a long time. People’s lives change in that time. Children grow up. Relationships breakdown. People move areas.’
I feel sorry for Mum. This is the side of prison life that people don’t hear about; the part when “freedom” comes. It was apparently in the public interest to sentence Mum to seven years in prison but because of it she’s lost everything. But will it be the same for Adam and his “friends” when they get released from prison, if they get sent down in the first place? Probably not. No doubt they’ll just go back to living their lives as normal; same job, same house, etc.
Mum gives us the grand tour of the house. It’s pretty basic. Two bedrooms, a small bathroom, a living room and a kitchen, but compared to a prison cell it’s the grandest of grand country houses. It’s very similar to the house I lived in until I was 8, although that one was slightly bigger and had a small garden at the front and back, whilst here there’s just a backyard.
The room which is going to, or may, be mine needs the most work of all doing. But all that has to wait. Mrs Robinson has made it perfectly clear that I won’t be going anywhere until Adam and his “friends” trial is over. It’s less than a week away so virtually everything that Dan, and whoever he brings in with him that day, says is about how I’m going to get through the court case.
Because I don’t have to attend the court case in person then the best thing for me to do would be to carry on as normal. Especially as the trial is taking place in another town. However, even Sandra seems to have trouble understanding this. Everyone seems to think that I’m going to freak out when I see the case on the T.V. or if I read about it in the papers. I might do, but at least I’ll be expecting it. It won’t come as a total shock to me.
Adam and his “friends” pictures have already been published in the local paper so everyone knows who the suspects are. Well, all but one of them has had their pictures published. One identity is being kept a secret. Dan won’t go into details as to why but he says it’s because he doesn’t want to jeopardise another case that is awaiting trial. It did shock me the first time I saw their pictures staring back at me, but only because it showed to me that everything that had been happening over the past few months had been real.
Mum doesn’t ask me much about the trial but I know that Sandra keeps her updated on the most important parts. I know she’s worried about it though because it’s sort of like her life is still on hold until the trial is over and the aftermath has died down. But she’s got her course to attend soon so hopefully everything will fall into place and she’ll be in a job by the time the court case is over. Once Mum’s got some money together then we can really start to make this place look like home.
I’ve heard that some of Jack’s friends are planning a protest outside the court but Jack won’t be attending himself. He says he’s done his bit. He’s helped to get awareness of the case out in the public conscious. Similar cases have come up in the past and fallen, or been pushed, under the public’s radar. But that won’t be allowed to happen this time.
I don’t really know what the difference is this time. I mean if the police have been ignoring it for over a decade, like the evidence seems to suggests, then why the sudden change in mentality? But then this is just one case that is going before the courts and the outcome isn’t guaranteed.
However, in a couple of weeks everyone in the country is going to know what a certain type of men have been allowed to get away with over the past ten years at least, and most probably for at least twenty or thirty years. Just adding together the number of people involved in the cases that are listed on Jack’s friend’s website, the figures start to become shocking.
It’s been scores of men abusing hundreds of girls. And they’re just the cases that have gone to court. No doubt there are countless more that never even made it to court and there could be thousands of girls who have been too afraid to come forward.
The more I’ve been allowed to understand what’s been going on up and down the country the more I feel let down. Let down by the very people who should have been looking after me. And I don’t just mean Gillian or Kate, to a lesser extent. It’s all the Social Workers, psychiatrists and Key Workers who I’ve dealt with who must have dealt with hundreds of girls similar to me. On a balance of probability, some of them must have dealt with girls who’ve been abused by men like Adam and his “friends”. But they’ve either turned a blind eye to it or, even worse, got some kind of perverse kick out of knowing that the girls who they’ve been caring for have been abused because they feel that they’re better than them and that girls who are in care deserve everything which happens to them.
At the moment, I think there are still some people
who don’t believe that me and Lucy are telling the truth or, at the very least, are exaggerating everything to try and get some sympathy to cover up the fact that we’re dirty little scrubbers. When Adam and his “friends” first went to court and pleaded “not guilty” to all the charges this only added weight to the politically correct brigade’s argument.
However, Dan reminded me that none of our evidence has been given in court yet so Adam and his “friends” basically said “prove it”, which mine and Lucy’s statements will do. But all that’s still to come. If I spend all my time worrying about that then I’ll mess up my future.
Sandra says that she’ll get going so I’m going to be left alone with Mum for the first time in 7 years. But only for an hour. It’s like neither of us can be trusted properly.
It feels weird being sat in a room alone with Mum. It’s not as if I feel like we’re total strangers but something’s missing. I don’t think this house being so strange is helping but I can tell that Mum doesn’t know what to say as well. So we just sit and silence and sort of stare at each other, awkwardly.
Eventually, Mum thinks of something to say:
‘Have they told you what you’ve to do when the court case is on?’
‘I don’t think they’ve made their minds up. I just want to carry on as normal because there are very few people who know I’m involved so it’s not like there’s going to be any attention on me.’
I can tell that Mum’s thinking “not like last time”. The last time I tried to carry on as normal but it was as if everyone I came into contact with knew I was involved. Not even Miss Baxter knows what I’ve been through in the past 12 months or so.
She even brought a newspaper in once about the trial because she said she wanted to make us aware of what was going on out in the world. I didn’t mention anything to Sandra, or Mrs Robinson, because Miss Baxter was only doing what she thought was right. And even when The Others read the article, they didn’t twig that I might be involved in any way. So if the people who I’ve lived with for over a year couldn’t tell that I’ve been a “Cheap White Meat” victim then, once the trial is over, I can put it all behind me and pretend that it never happened.
Mum asks me about The Others but I don’t really know what to say about them. I only know them because I’m unfortunate enough to live in the same situation as them and it’s not like I need some little “support group” to keep me going.
‘I tried to keep my head down when I was doing time. But not everyone wants to let you get away with that.’
I’m definitely not comfortable with Mum talking about her prison sentence so I’m glad when she changes the subject to something more positive:
‘If you want to have a housewarming you can,’ Mum says.
‘It not really a party. I just thought it might be nice. I don’t really get to go many places without there being someone who I don’t like checking up and me and secretly hoping that I do something stupid.’
‘Not everyone who works in the care sector is like that, you know Jennifer,’ Mum tries to reason.
I fix her a steady stare and say, ‘Most of them are. Otherwise, why do they work in the care sector?’
‘So what are you going to be so successful at?’ Mum teases.
‘Dunno.’
‘Sometimes you’ve just got to take whichever job comes along, whether you like it or not. I know that’s what I’ll have to do. No matter what I want to do for a living I know that the only job I’m likely to be offered is either working in a shop, or a factory, on the minimum wage.’
Mmm, Mum might be right, but I don’t want to be like that. Just plodding along because it’s what is expected of you. What the “done” thing is. And maybe if I don’t want that then maybe I don’t want this, whatever this is.
What is wrong with me? I’ve done nothing but look forward to this moment for the past week or so, thinking that it would make everything okay, but now that it’s here I can’t wait for Sandra to return so that I can go back to my version of “normality”. Has the care system finally broken me just when an escape route is finally in sight?
Mum goes to open the door to Sandra. When she enters the living room, Sandra can tell straight away that there’s something wrong with me. That I’m freaking out. She takes Mum into the hallway and I can hear them talking about me. Deciding between themselves what they’re going to do with me even though I’m 16 and should be making those choices myself.
I stand up and go into the kitchen. Before I know it, I’m through the backdoor and making my way through the yard, taking care to avoid the rubble so that I don’t trip and break my neck.
Chapter Two
Almost instantly, my mobile starts ringing. I don’t even bother to check who it is. I don’t want to speak to anyone right now. I just need some time alone. To make my own choices for a change.
I’ve no idea where I’m going and I’m not familiar with this part of town. But I take care to avoid the main roads because that will make it harder for them to find me. I don’t know why I’m doing this but I know that I can’t take the pressure of living in goldfish bowl any more, with everyone else deciding what’s best for me.
I automatically take my mobile out of my pocket without thinking when I want to know the time. I’ve already got three missed calls. Two from Sandra and one from Mum. No doubt there’s a couple of voicemails waiting for me and when I don’t respond to them the text messages will start.
Running away on the spare of the moment isn’t the best idea I’ve ever had. If I was going to do it then I should have done it months ago, long before they started sticking their noses in and Jack somehow discovered me. He’s never properly explained how he found out where I was living. He’s said that Lucy gave him the idea that I might have been “involved” but that still doesn’t explain it. He’s crafty. Very crafty. Good at getting under your skin without you knowing it and then getting what he wants from you.
But Jack’s not the one to run to tonight. He knows far too much about me. He’d only want to try and “help” me to sort it all out. But I don’t want “help” and I don’t want to “sort it all out”. I just want to forget about it. Just to ignore it.
I want more people like Miss Baxter in my life who can openly discuss Adam and his “friends” trial with me without worrying that it’s going to upset me. But that would mean finding people who know absolutely nothing about me.
That’s why I liked being Rosie. Even when I was being used and abused. At least Rosie didn’t live in care. At least Rosie didn’t have a mum in prison. At least Rosie was doing something for herself. But deep down I knew that “Rosie” could be snatched away from me at any point.
It’s often made me wonder from Dan’s first interview about why he questioned me if I was involved at introducing other girls to Adam and his “friends”. Younger girls. Some fresher “Cheap White Meat”. More tender. Easier to exploit. I know Lucy was asked the same question so they must suspect that some girls do graduate from being just personally used and abused to specially selecting the latest cuts of “Cheap White Meat”, taking a fee for their troubles.
Because I now need to know something, I phone Jack up and ask him all about that. He’ll be on his break because he’s working until 8 pm tonight. I’m not his stalker. He told me his shift pattern once and I’ve got a pretty good memory, when I don’t want it to be selective.
When Jack answers I can tell that he hasn’t been informed that I’ve gone “missing”, but then he could be trying to blag it so that I give some information way. He’s crafty enough and I wouldn’t put it past him.
‘What are you on about?’ he asks.
‘Do you know of any older girls who are suspected of passing on younger girls?’
‘Not personally. Why do you want to know?’
‘Because it bothers me. It bothers me how someone could stoop so low that they’d subject some innocent girl to sex
ual abuse for a few measly quid for themselves.’
‘You okay? Where are you?’
I think about saying that I’m in my bedroom but he’d be able to hear the traffic going past.
‘I’ve just gone for a walk. I needed to think.’
‘How did things go with your Mum?’
‘Not good.’
Jack pauses. Sometimes he doesn’t have all the answers and doesn’t instinctively know what to say.
‘Do you want me to ask around if anyone knows of any older girls have been involved in passing girls on?’
‘Please. Would the police have given them the same protection as Adam and his “friends” and covered it up?’
‘Of course,’ Jack laughs, like they’d become “one of them”.
‘Tell me what you find out. I’ve got to go, my battery’s going,’ I lie.
‘Okay, I’ll see you soon.’
I don’t disconnect the call but wait for Jack to hang up, just in case he says something on the line that I can pick up on. But Jack’s not like that. I really should cut him some slack the next time I decide to run away in a hissy fit.
Straight away a notification that I’ve had two more missed calls and one text message comes through. But I’m still not ready to call out for help and to be taken back to “safety”. I need to work out exactly where I’m going in my life.
Whilst I know that I don’t want the fact I’ve spent the last seven years in care to affect me for the rest of my life, everything that I’ve ever read and heard about people who’ve grown up in care hasn’t been positive. I remember reading once about some guy who’d been convicted of molesting a young boy. He gave part of his defence for doing because he was abused himself. Almost as if it was a cycle of abuse that would continue down the generations.
So I’ve been a victim of sexual abuse as a child. Does that mean that somewhere deep inside me I’ve got some desire to make sure that another child has to experience what I did? I hope not. But I also thought that I was coping with everything. However, that doesn’t seem to be the case.