He looked so worried it broke my heart.
‘Laraine’s been to the police about something that happened when we were kids,’ I said.
I told him about Patrick Ryan and how I had caught him abusing Laraine.
‘She wants me to talk to the police and give them a witness statement, but I really don’t want to.’
‘Why not?’ he asked. ‘Poor Laraine, going through all that. If you saw him then I don’t understand why you wouldn’t want to back up your own sister.’
I turned away, I couldn’t look at him. And then he just knew.
‘He did it to you too, didn’t he?’
‘Yes,’ I said, my voice almost a whisper.
Rob was shocked and I’d never seen him so angry before.
‘What did that sick bastard do?’ he said.
‘He raped and humiliated me over three years,’ I said. ‘And then there was my father, too.’
He was horrified.
‘For Christ’s sake, Debbie, why didn’t you tell me this before?’ he said. ‘I could have helped you. Tried to make it better.’
‘No one could, Rob,’ I said. ‘I was just so ashamed and disgusted at myself. Laraine doesn’t even know what Ryan did to me.’
‘I’m just upset that you didn’t feel like you trusted me enough to tell me,’ he said.
‘Of course I trust you,’ I sobbed. ‘I was just so scared of losing you. Then as the years passed, there was never a right time.’
I knew more than anyone the longer that you kept something a secret, the harder it was to tell.
‘You’ve got to tell Laraine that he abused you, too,’ Rob told me.
‘I can’t,’ I said. ‘I don’t want her to know. I’m worried that she’ll start drinking again and that could kill her.’
I was dead against telling her even though it caused no end of arguments between us. Laraine couldn’t understand why I wouldn’t talk to the police and back her up.
‘The police have just phoned me and said that you’re refusing to speak to them or answer their calls,’ she told me over the phone one day. ‘I don’t understand it, Deb. Why don’t you believe me? Why don’t you believe what he done?’
‘Laraine, I do believe you,’ I said. ‘You know I do.’
‘Well, then why can’t you make this statement? I’m not asking you to lie. Just tell the police what you saw.’
‘I just can’t,’ I said. ‘I’m really busy at work at the minute and I can’t have any time off to go to the police station. They’ve got your statement, that will have to do.’
Understandably, she was really upset and cross with me, but I was too scared to talk to the police. When I’d made a statement about the foster parents I had gone through all that, and for what? Absolutely nothing. I couldn’t put myself through that trauma again. I didn’t want to have to sit there and tell everyone what that man had done to me. I was still so ashamed and disgusted, I didn’t even want my own sister to know. No way, I wasn’t going to go through all of that for them to say that he was dead or they couldn’t find him.
‘I’m not prepared to make a statement,’ I told PC Day when she next phoned. ‘But if you come back to me and say that you’ve managed to trace Patrick Ryan, then perhaps I’ll think again.’
That will put them off for a while, I thought.
I didn’t think there was much hope of them being able to find him.
How wrong I was. Two months after Laraine had made her statement, she phoned me.
‘They’ve got him, Deb,’ she said. ‘Can you believe it?’
‘Got who?’ I asked.
‘Ryan. They found him. They arrested him yesterday and questioned him and now he’s been released on bail.’
I was stunned to say the least. I just wanted it all to go away.
The police started phoning me again, asking me to make a statement. I knew they were just doing their job but I felt hounded, like things were spiralling out of my control.
A couple of days later DC Joanne Crockford called me.
‘As you now know, Mr Ryan has been arrested and the bottom line is we need a witness statement,’ she said. ‘We need you to say what you saw, Mrs Grafham. You’ve been giving us the run-around for long enough.’
‘OK,’ I told her. ‘If that means you lot will leave me alone then I’ll do it. I’m coming up to London next week and you can have your bloody witness statement.’
I’d got tickets for me, Vicky and Louise to go and see Rihanna at the O2. We’d arranged to stay the night with Rob’s dad in Charlton, so I had time in the day before the concert to go and talk to the police. Eddie met us at the station and he picked the girls up while I arranged to meet PC Carol Day there.
I’d come up with a plan. I would tell her exactly what I’d seen Patrick Ryan doing to Laraine but not mention what he’d done to me. That way I was backing up her story and hopefully they’d leave me alone.
But as I stood outside Charlton station waiting for her, I felt sick. Just the thought of having to talk about him again made me feel ill.
Thankfully, Carol seemed like a nice woman. She was in plain clothes and she showed me her card.
‘I’m going to interview you at Plumstead police station,’ she said.
We drove there in silence, my mind whirring. I was a bag of nerves.
Just say what you saw and leave it at that, I told myself over and over again. Don’t think about what he did to you.
At the police station, Carol led me into an interview room. It was small and drab with stark beige walls and the only furniture in there was a desk and two plastic chairs.
‘Right then, Debbie, let’s get started,’ she said. ‘Your sister Laraine has told us about the abuse she was subjected to by Patrick Ryan but unfortunately it’s very unlikely that it will go to court given the amount of time that has passed since it happened and the lack of forensic evidence.’
Good, I thought to myself.
‘On its own Laraine’s statement isn’t strong enough to secure a prosecution. That’s why we wanted to talk to you about what you witnessed.’
‘I’m happy to tell you what I saw,’ I said.
So I told her exactly what had happened and she wrote it all down. How I’d gone to the upstairs flat and found him abusing Laraine.
‘Your sister seems confused about a few things,’ she said. ‘Because of her drinking her memory is very sketchy and there are some details that she’s not clear on. How can you be sure these allegations are true?’
‘They are true,’ I said. ‘I saw him.’
‘These are serious allegations, Debbie. We have to be sure that everyone is telling the truth.’
‘We are,’ I said. ‘I know he did it.’
I was getting really rattled by now. Why did they not believe my sister? She was telling the truth about what that bastard had done to her. Did they think I was making it up just to back Laraine up?
‘I’m going to ask you one last time,’ Carol said. ‘How do you know that she’s not imagined it?’
My heart was thumping out of my chest, my head was spinning and suddenly I felt like those four drab walls were starting to close in on me.
‘How can you be so sure that it happened, Debbie?’
‘Because he raped me, too,’ I said.
Then I got up and walked out, horrified that after all these years I’d finally told my secret.
Chapter 14
The Truth
I ran out of the room and into the corridor. My head was spinning and I thought I was going to be sick. I couldn’t breathe and I had to lean against a wall to stop myself from collapsing.
Oh God, why had I said that? What had I done?
Carol came running out after me.
‘Debbie, I need you to come back into the interview room,’ she said gently.
My hands were shaking as I sat back down on the plastic chair.
‘What happens now?’ I said. ‘Now that I’ve told you he did it to me, too.’
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‘We need to finish the witness statement about what you saw with Laraine,’ she said. ‘Then at some point if you want to, I’d like you to make a separate statement about what Patrick Ryan did to you. Do you think you can do that, Debbie?’
‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘I didn’t want any of this to happen.’
What if, like with the foster parents, nothing came of it? Why should I put myself through that?
But I didn’t feel like I had a choice any more.
‘I will say this,’ said Carol. ‘With Laraine’s statement it’s very unlikely that the CPS will feel there’s enough evidence to take it any further. It happened so many years ago and there’s no forensic evidence. But if you make a statement too then it gives us a much better chance of it going to court and trying to secure a conviction.’
‘I’m just not sure I can do it,’ I said.
I went back to my father-in-law’s in a daze. I’d told Eddie that I needed to speak to the police about a complaint Laraine had made but I hadn’t told him any of the details.
‘All sorted now,’ I said, plastering a fake smile on my face.
But that couldn’t have been any further from the truth. My head was all over the place and I couldn’t enjoy the concert that night. All I kept thinking about was what I’d said to the police.
I was going to have to tell Laraine and Mum, and even my poor kids would have to know. If I made my own statement then everyone would know what Patrick Ryan had done to me.
I still wasn’t sure I wanted to take it any further. I ignored any calls from officers at the Sapphire Unit. Then one day a police officer from Eastbourne rang and caught me by surprise.
‘They thought it might be more convenient for you to speak to a local person,’ an officer told me. ‘We can come round to see you at home and you can make a statement to us and we’ll pass it onto the Sapphire Unit.’
‘I’ll think about it,’ I said. ‘It’s tricky with my husband and children around.’
They rang every few days, so to shut them up, I kept making appointments to go to the police station to be interviewed. But then when it came to it I just wouldn’t show up. I was still drinking heavily and getting more and more paranoid. Every time a police car drove by I would be filled with dread, wondering if they were coming for me.
Meanwhile, Rob was getting increasingly worried.
‘Debbie, if you don’t say anything they might be able to arrest you for perverting the course of justice or something. Do you really want that to happen?’
Two months after I’d made my statement about Laraine, I couldn’t take it any more.
‘I’ll give them their bloody statement then, seeing as that’s all anybody wants,’ I told Rob.
‘Do you want me to come with you for moral support?’ he asked.
‘No,’ I said. ‘I’ll go on my own.’
I couldn’t bear the thought of him hearing in detail the sick, depraved things Patrick Ryan had put me through. I didn’t want to bring that into my house or anywhere near my husband and children. So I arranged to be interviewed at Marlowe House in Sidcup, where the Sapphire Unit is based.
On the day of my appointment, I stood outside the huge tower block and it felt like I was rooted to the spot. I just knew I couldn’t go through with it.
I’d worked myself up into such a state that I went into the pub opposite and ordered a bottle of white wine. I sat there for hours.
‘I can’t do this,’ I told myself.
I phoned Karen Brown, the officer who was due to take my statement, but she’d been called out on a job.
‘I’m going home,’ I slurred. ‘I ain’t doing this.’
‘Please don’t, Debbie,’ she said. ‘Can you come back at 8am tomorrow and I’ll be there waiting for you?’
‘I don’t think so,’ I said.
I’d already arranged to spend the night at Laraine’s. As soon as I got there I could tell she was drunk. I was furious as well as desperately worried.
‘You’re paralytic,’ I said. ‘How could you do that? You know the doctors said how dangerous it would be for you to start drinking again.’
She said that someone had bought her a bottle of wine for her birthday so she’d drunk it. I was so cross with her after going through all of that detox for nothing. I knew it was a bit hypocritical of me seeing as I’d spent most of the day in the pub, but I knew because of her heavy drinking in the past that Laraine’s body wouldn’t be able to cope with the strain.
‘Why are you up here, anyway?’ she slurred. ‘I thought you’d already spoke to the police?’
‘They just had a few more questions about my witness statement,’ I replied. ‘Nothing to worry about, Lal.’
There was no way I was going to tell her what was really going on when she was in this state. I was already concerned enough about her.
Before long she had passed out but I stayed up all night worrying. About Laraine and her drinking, about the statement, about everyone knowing about the sick things Ryan had done to us both.
Earlier that night I’d phoned my counsellor Lorna to tell her what was going on. I’d been having counselling ever since I’d made the allegations about the foster parents and I’d recently told her about Patrick Ryan.
‘Stay where you are tonight and in the morning I’ll come and pick you up and drive you to Marlowe House,’ she told me.
By 7.30am we were back in Sidcup.
‘Let’s go and get a cup of tea in a café before you go in,’ she said.
To be honest, I felt like running away and I’m sure Lorna knew that too.
‘I’m just going outside for a cigarette,’ I told her, with every intention of legging it to the train station as soon as her back was turned. But she wasn’t stupid.
‘Don’t worry, I’ll come out with you,’ she said.
She talked me into it and at 8am I found myself standing in reception at Marlowe House.
‘Just go in and get it over and done with,’ she said. ‘I’ll be down here waiting for you.’
PC Karen Brown was there and she took me up in the lift to the 14th floor. It was a huge open-plan office but we were the only ones in there and it was eerily quiet.
‘Let me know if you’d like a cup of tea or a cigarette break,’ she told me.
‘No thanks, I just want to get on with it,’ I snapped, on the defensive as usual.
I was all prepared for her to be horrible and to dislike her, but she was very kind and gentle while still being professional.
It was far from easy, though, and over the next four hours I was forced to remember every little gruesome detail. It was the first time that I’d ever talked to anyone about it and I was amazed how much I remembered. It was almost like I was in a daze, reciting every detail. I knew I had to try and remain emotionless, that was the only way I could get through it. That was the way I’d always dealt with things. If I allowed myself to cry or break down then I knew I wouldn’t be able to carry on.
‘Debbie, I know you told us in your witness statement how you caught Patrick Ryan abusing Laraine. But how come he started to abuse you?’ Karen asked.
‘I was nine and the big sister. I wanted to keep her safe,’ I said. ‘He basically promised me that if I let him abuse me, he wouldn’t touch my sister again.’
‘Can you recall what Patrick Ryan was wearing when he first attacked you?’ Karen asked.
I shuddered at the memory of him still so vivid in my mind.
‘He was filthy,’ I said. ‘He had really dirty fingernails, tatty jeans and a T-shirt that was supposed to be white but it was so grubby and stained.
‘If I saw him outside the flat he always had on sunglasses and an old leather jacket and indoors he always wore the same thing too.’
‘Did he undress himself when he raped you?’ she asked.
‘He used to pull down his jeans,’ I said. ‘Sometimes he still had his dirty white trainers on.’
‘Did he ever undress you?’
‘Only the bottom half. At that age I didn’t have much to interest him up top.’
I was talking about it so matter-of-factly, as if we were discussing the weather. It was so hard trying not to let it get to me, especially when she asked me to describe in detail the things that Patrick Ryan had done to me.
‘One of the most upsetting things was the first time he raped me,’ I said. ‘It hurt so much and I was so shocked, I wet myself so he peed on me. I’ve never forgotten that. Even today I can’t get it out of my head.’
‘Debbie, I’m sorry I have to ask you this but at that age how did you know the difference between urine and other bodily fluids? How can you be sure he was urinating on you?’
That’s when I told Karen about what my father had done to me.
‘Unfortunately, even at nine years old I knew the difference,’ I said. ‘My father had seen to it that I was no innocent little girl.’
I told her how Ryan hated it if I didn’t make a noise and would always force me to keep my eyes open.
‘I know it was a long time ago but I remember everything that he ever said to me, the awful names he called me, the terrible threats that he made.
‘He threatened to kill us if I told anyone,’ I said.
As I talked, Karen wrote it all down in her notebook and then every twenty minutes or so she’d stop and type it up onto her computer.
‘Debbie, I know this is so hard for you but you’re doing really well,’ she told me. ‘It’s incredible how much you can remember.’
But there was no let-up.
‘Now, apart from rape were there any other sexual acts that Patrick Ryan performed?’ she asked.
I gulped. This had been the part I was really dreading. For some reason I was OK talking about the rapes, but I found it really difficult to discuss how he’d made me give him oral sex and how he’d done it to me.
My eyes filled with tears but I forced myself not to cry. Karen must have seen I was struggling.
‘Take your time, Debbie. I know it’s upsetting but it’s so important we go over absolutely everything,’ she said. ‘It’s those details that are really going to help the case.’
I knew she was right but I felt so ashamed and dirty; I couldn’t even look at her as I described the humiliating things Ryan had done.
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