by Caryn Walker
After being held there overnight, he was moved to Liverpool Magistrates the next morning. During those two days, several calls assured me that, as he had skipped bail and threatened to kill himself, he would be remanded, but when I learned that he wanted to kill himself I just fell apart. I was devastated, because I knew this would mean he would never admit what he did or be told by a judge, ‘You did this.’ I would never have my closure. He’d kill himself before any trial happened; I’d never get a chance to see him punished for everything or to get an apology.
I had realised over the past three months that I needed this; I did need him to be told what he did was wrong – and I deserved it. I shouldn’t care how much time he might have to serve in prison. I needed to know he would be stopped from hurting anyone else and that he would be made accountable for what he did to me. That would be enough.
I didn’t sleep at all those two nights and, by morning, I had realised that if he had managed to kill himself he would have left me with one more thing – guilt. However wrong and misguided that would be, I would have felt it. I needed to work on these feelings, for me, for my sanity. I received a call late that night informing me that he had been remanded and would be kept in prison until his trial, and I wondered – did that mean he wouldn’t be able to commit suicide? If he was being watched, maybe he’d have to face up to what he had done after all.
This helped me so much and the next day I felt amazingly calm. I felt that this turn of events was right and it sort of made sense. Later that day, I had a strange feeling that I couldn’t quite place. I started to think that maybe it was freedom – I’d never had it before. For the first time ever, I thought I would rather be in my shoes than his. It felt … appropriate. I realised, right at that moment, the importance of someone being punished for the bad things they have done, the importance for their victim. And I would be a victim no more.
Sadly, the feeling didn’t last.
The following morning, I received a call saying Dad had been granted bail and was free. He had even been given a lift back to Leeds. How could this be? How could he be so supported, so enabled? He had skipped bail and threatened to kill himself, but he was now free to walk the streets again, to live in his own house, to have his life back? He claimed he didn’t answer bail as he had a cut on his head, and was promising to make no more suicide threats, and this was all believed.
I had so many questions, beginning with why was I told he was on remand when he was free? This turn of events knocked me for six and the next few days went by in a haze. What would happen? Would he face up to his crimes in court? Would he kill himself? I was left in limbo wondering what would happen and it all felt so wrong, so unfair. Worse still, everywhere I went, I saw him; every man I saw in his age group with silver hair was him. It was making me a wreck and I started to stay indoors. I felt weak and that his rights were more important than mine – as always; I was told by the police that he had bail conditions not to contact me and to visit the police station once a week, but it wasn’t enough to calm me down. I felt that he could turn up any moment, or that he could kill himself. I was starting to doubt all of this – starting to doubt myself.
Soon, I was told Dad had been bailed until the end of January, when he would have to enter a plea. At least then I would know if he was going to admit it and save me a trial, or whether he intended to plead ‘not guilty’ and make me go through it all in court. Vicky came to see me every week and helped me so much to get things straight and right in my head. I know she was trying her best to make me strong and aid my recovery but she also had to tell me the facts.
The main one was that 31 January was just a preliminary hearing, to sort out dates and administrative matters, and his actual plea hearing was scheduled for 11 May. I could hardly believe it! I’d thought I just had to get through the following two weeks, stay strong for that length of time, but I had no idea how I would manage four months. Unless you have been in that sort of situation, I don’t think you can imagine the effect on every aspect of your life. I couldn’t sleep, but I was exhausted. All of my old eating problems came back. I was shaking, having panic attacks. My mind was never settled. I was getting through life on a thread. There was no relief from it. Even when I did finally drop off, I would have nightmares. When I left the house, I was still seeing him in the face of every old man I passed. And I now had months of this ahead of me. It’s all very well to tell someone to relax, to forget about it until it happens, but that can’t actually be done – there is absolutely no escape.
Witness letters had gone out confirming the new date and I was told he had to attend the police station every day rather than just once a week, but this turned out to be another error.
‘You’re doing really well,’ Vicky told me. ‘Other people might have given up with all of this.’ She had no idea how close I was to giving up too, no idea at all. I knew some people in the family felt sorry for him and were telling him to stay strong and some were telling him to keep his head down and take his punishment, then get on with the rest of his life. I wished it was that easy for me.
Finally, 31 January arrived and the trial date was set – with more potential delays, as if he pleaded not guilty it wouldn’t be until 20 June. Dad had been breaching bail by contacting family members and I was told this information would be passed on. I was finding it hard to function by that point – I felt so low – but I was trying to carry on. I wanted to get back into my studies but couldn’t concentrate. I had to stay strong. It all had such an effect on my relationship; Elroy was trying to be patient with me but it can’t have been easy for him. He didn’t really understand, and we also had the added pressure of saving for IVF. I had to find a reason to get up every day and it was really Karl who gave me that reason – if it hadn’t been for him, I have no idea how much worse I would have been.
Jenny, this is tough – I had a visit with Vicky today and we spoke about you a lot. I was close to tears the whole time and I feel so cross with myself – I want to find strength, I want to be able to fight all of this, but it’s as if I’ve been battered down so hard that I don’t know if I can keep getting up. I think everything is taking its toll now. We spoke about you and your records and she tried to stop me feeling I’m wrong for doing all of this. I can’t stop thinking about Mum saying, ‘Look what you’ve done now.’ And, ‘When will you stop?’ I know these feelings are not right and I will fight them. It’s not my fault if he goes to prison; it’s his own fault.
We talked about how important the social services records will be in court. I hear that some family members will not be giving statements in support of me as Dad’s feelings are more important to them. I feel so sad, let down and disappointed, I am struggling to understand but maybe I never will. How much harder will this get? Karl gets me through a lot, as he needs his mum, but you get me through too. The memory of you pushes me on – even if I feel it’s reaching a point where I’m not sure if it’s worth it for me, it will always be worth it for you. You can’t be there to tell everyone what he did to you, but if he is found guilty, then we both know that will be some form of justice.
Things were quite stable for a bit and I almost got used to feeling scared and anxious all the time, but I knew the plea hearing was coming on 11 May and, if he said ‘Not guilty’, the trial would be 20 June. I was having very unsettled dreams, which may have been because, by now, I had all of my files and all of Jenny’s files in my house. The reality of our childhood was starting to slowly sink in, what we went through and the basic needs that were never met; we were so emotionally abused. A little girl who dealt with all of this on top of what her father was doing to her – that’s me, that’s who I am. I was starting to see the person they’d made – so mixed up, and with no confidence in herself or her abilities. I was looking more and more into every aspect of my past and I guess it all went hand in hand with the possibility of a trial. I was remembering the lies told to me by Mum, and starting to realise just how far it all went. I couldn’t get my si
ster out of my mind – Jenny was rejected and hurt her entire life; there was never once a let-up or reprieve for her. This broke my heart.
The police knew I had the files and, at the end of March, they asked me if there was anything relevant in them. I knew Dad had attacked Jenny when she was sixteen, as she had told me, and I also remembered her telling Mum, who said she was a liar and a troublemaker. But I knew she was telling the truth. He denied everything, of course, but how could Mum say we were lying when this was two years after she found him in my room? I thought the files would show what kind of people they were. I hoped so, but the task of reading them all weighed heavily upon me. More than anything, I wanted one day to feel like a normal person with normal thoughts and no demons.
I was having lots of sleepless and disrupted nights, with bad dreams and flashbacks. I’d also decided not to see the counsellor again as I had been told that this might be viewed negatively by the defence; they could use it against me to suggest my memories had been encouraged or even planted. Counselling had been so valuable to me and I knew it could help me to change my negative thinking patterns, but I couldn’t risk it being used against me. I felt emotionally overloaded, but I couldn’t let what had happened to me take any more away. I felt that I might have a lot to give others who were dealing with or who had come through what I’d experienced, and I wondered if, when it was all over (what a wonderful thought!), I could maybe help others by becoming a counsellor myself.
I did take medication, which helped, and I was glad that I had something to kind of numb my feelings and emotions while everything dragged on. Every day seemed to bring something else – one day Kevin got drunk and went to Mum’s house to tell her he and Andy were also abused. This floored everyone. He called me, crying, saying he had remembered. He said awful things happened to him, and he didn’t feel like a man any more. After he’d hung up I spent the night wide-awake, wondering, was there anything I should have done? Or seen? Or said? I felt so guilty at that point – more guilt! – for my brothers and devastated at what they had been through. Kev went on a two-day bender after his revelation, and when I went to see Andy to try and talk to him, it was so difficult to bring up. No one else believed Kev but I didn’t think anyone would make it up; how could I, of all people think that? Andy insisted it hadn’t happened to him – but I lied about it not happening for years, didn’t I? Unfortunately, when Kev sobered up he denied saying any of it.
Over the next few days, I felt it all physically – I was so drained, emotionally and bodily. As Dad’s plea date came nearer my arms and legs were sore, I couldn’t sleep, I had bad dreams, my head was everywhere. I noticed a bald patch on my head and my hair started to come out. This had happened with the stress of leaving Karl’s dad too. I was so frightened at the court case coming up. I was afraid of walking into a court and having someone make out that I was a liar; everything terrified me and I kept playing awful scenarios in my mind. I was told that, even if the jury believed he was guilty, they might still give a not guilty verdict. Human nature can make people wonder, ‘Can I send an old man to jail?’ This sounded crazy to me but I had to be prepared for any outcome; people kept telling me he would be found guilty but I couldn’t assume anything. I didn’t even care if he wasn’t sent to prison; I just needed him to be made accountable for what he did. I needed a judge to tell him, ‘You did this.’
Every time the phone rang, I thought it would be someone telling me Dad had killed himself, but it didn’t happen and the plea hearing was set for 10.30am on 11 May. Unsurprisingly, I got no sleep that night and my stomach was churning from the moment I got up. This was it. Today, I would find out if I had to face a court case or if my dad would end this for me and plead guilty. Every time I thought of the word ‘Dad’, I wanted to be sick. I hated that he was that to me, I hated that he was part of me. I couldn’t sit down but I felt weak-legged when I walked around. Elroy was finding it hard too; he had to try to do and say the right things, but there was so much pressure. I loved him a lot, and this wasn’t fair on anyone. I tried to think of myself when this had all happened; I was so small, so fragile – how could anyone do those things to a child? What kind of monster would hurt a child? I needed to recognise this, feel this, remember it, so that I could eliminate my own guilt and shame, the misguided feelings I had about feeling sorry for him that were still popping up in my brain. My thoughts were so mixed up – I just wanted to scream, someone please help me.
It’s a strange feeling to recognise that you’re falling apart, but also to be so frustrated at yourself. If anyone else had been going through this, I would have supported them 100 per cent, told them they were perfectly right to feel whatever way they felt, that all their emotions were the right emotions for them – but, because it was me, I was much harder on myself. I wanted to be a warrior, I wanted to be coping brilliantly, and I couldn’t see that I was. Not at that point. Even when Vicky or any of the other support team members told me I was doing well, the doubt crept in. I heard Mum laughing at me, telling everyone I was stupid, dilatory, and it had more effect on me than any of the good or supportive comments.
When Dad, on 11 May, finally pleaded not guilty on all twenty-four counts, I was completely floored. I had known he probably would, but I guess a part of me had hoped he would have the decency to not put me through a trial. How wrong I was. All my emotions came out and the worry of the morning and this phone call left me in floods of tears. I was kind of glad I was alone. I didn’t know how I would get through the next month, as he was clearly going to make me fight him. Would I have the strength? I felt numb and spent most of the day lying on my bed, losing time. He knew he did this and what he put me through, he knew he raped me, he knew what horrors I suffered – he took so much … but, suddenly, a light went on in my head. If I gave up, he would take the next forty years away from me too. I couldn’t let him win and destroy my whole life, but God, I didn’t want to have to fight in court. He had taken so much from me and he obviously didn’t care; if he did, he would have accepted what he had done and admitted it.
The week that followed was one of my darkest ever. Elroy booked me a few days away – he felt I needed a break from my life to try to think more clearly and find the strength and anger that I needed to access in order to get through. Mum kept telling everyone she was going through so much and I felt she was looking forward to her day in court. She never once asked me how I was, how I was coping – but why would she? She had never been interested at any point in my life.
I was also reminded during this period, by an old school friend, Anna, that when we were thirteen, my dad pulled her shirt apart and said, ‘Let’s have a look.’ She said I pushed his hands off her, shouting, ‘Leave her alone’, but I’d blocked this out. Anna said I also told her about the lock on the door. I still had so much guilt and shame – I hoped this trip Elroy had planned would help me.
It’s exhausting to fight your own demons every day, Jenny, and I guess you knew that more than anyone. You wake up, and for that brief second before reality hits you, there is a freshness to the day. There is hope. Then, you remember who you are, what you have been through and how much fighting lies ahead. There are so many people who face this, face these challenges, and I think we all have those moments when we think, ‘No, I can’t do this any more.’ But you can. You always can, because up until this point you have a track record of always having managed it. Be brave. Keep going. We’ve all been doing it for so long, with our scars, with our broken hearts. They will mend one day, in a different way, but it will happen – we just need to keep going, keep pushing through, keep hoping that the light will shine and good people will win. If we don’t believe that, then what is there? Our scars make us who we are; let’s wear them proudly and throw this shame aside because it was never ours to bear, Jenny.
CHAPTER 9
FINDING MY STRENGTH
2011
I needed a break from everything really. I would have been happy to head off to a caravan but Elroy said
I needed to escape properly, not be surrounded by things I recognised, so he booked me on a flight to Spain for five days in the hope that I could find some sort of strength that would get me through the trial. I left my phone behind and disappeared. I had been on my own in one sense for many parts of my life but, in a remote Spanish village, I had never felt so far away from other people. Cutting myself off was absolutely the right thing to do. Even on the flight over, I couldn’t help but think that the only time I ever got to process things was when I was in bed – which tended to lead to a fitful, nightmare-filled sleep, and to greeting the morning feeling more tired than when I had gone to bed the night before.
No one was able to contact me or demand anything from me. It was a funny feeling and, to begin with, I was scared. I went to my hotel room, wondering what to do, worrying about whether Karl was all right without me. Thoughts were still running wild in my head and they were the same thoughts I had at home. I kept going back over experiences, trying to look clearly at things, attempting to work out when I could have stopped the bad stuff, when I could have chosen a different path – because, ultimately, I have always blamed myself. As the usual negative thinking washed over me, I was aware of something else – I felt as if the image of a little girl was there too, the child version of me, and I could see so clearly that she had no love and no affection apart from the twisted form of it that came from her father.
I spent four hours feeling battered, the negative voices in my head pushing me back to the image of that poor, emotionally starved child who needed me to be strong for her, but when I finally left my room, I did have a sense that I could now look at things from a healthier perspective. I always felt free in Spain – when Elroy and I had last lived there, the distance from my family helped a lot, and it still does. I had felt contentment back then and it started to come back quite quickly on this trip too. I knew this trip was needed to help me see through the fog. I needed to grow stronger or I feared I wouldn’t be able to get through the court case. Physically, I was already getting weaker – I had developed alopecia and lost a lot of weight – and emotionally, I was in bits, feeling weak and scared all of the time.