A Sister's Secret

by Debbie Grafham

  As we pulled away, I saw Daniel’s worried face at the front window. What must he have been thinking to see his mum in such a state being dragged out by the police?

  I was taken to the police pound in Eastbourne, where I was put in a cell.

  ‘You can stay in there and sleep it off,’ the officer told me.

  ‘You might have taken my knife but if I really want to kill myself then there’s nothing you can do to stop me!’ I shouted.

  It was a stupid thing to say because the next minute she’d stripped me of all my clothes. I sat there, shivering, with nothing but a scratchy grey blanket.

  The cell had a stone wall and floor and it was absolutely freezing. There was a bed built into the wall with a paper-thin mattress, a desk and a toilet in the corner as well as a video camera so that I could be monitored at all times.

  I was absolutely furious. I was desperate to get out of there and have a cigarette.

  ‘I ain’t done nothing, you can’t keep me here!’ I yelled. ‘I’ve got to go to court next week.’

  I hammered on the door for so long my knuckles were bleeding and red raw.

  I couldn’t sleep because I was so cold. Eventually in the early hours of the morning when I’d sobered up, two psychiatric nurses came to assess me. Thankfully, they decided that it had been the alcohol talking and I wasn’t a danger to myself so they agreed to let me go.

  A police van dropped me home at 6am. Understandably, Rob was furious.

  ‘This has got to stop, Debbie,’ he said. ‘I know you’ve been to hell and back with the court case but this family can’t take much more.

  ‘We need to try and put this behind us and move on.’

  I knew he was right. I was destroying my marriage, my relationship with my children.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘Once the sentencing is over with I promise I’ll get back on track.’

  It couldn’t come soon enough for me.

  On 4 June 2013 Rob and I got the train up to London for the sentencing. As I walked up to Woolwich Crown Court, I felt nervous as I had last time, but this time around I was almost looking forward to it. We’d got the hard part out of the way and now Ryan was finally going to be punished for what he had done.

  Carol and Jo were waiting for us and as always, Lorna had come along for moral support.

  ‘Ryan’s family are here in the public gallery, so I think it’s best for you three to sit with us in the press bench again,’ said Carol.

  I felt sick as we took our places in court one. Just being there brought back all the traumatic memories of having to give evidence and be cross-examined. This was the place where everyone had heard my dirty secrets. I was also nervous about how long Ryan was going to get.

  ‘If he gets ten years then I’ll be happy,’ I told Rob.

  ‘Debbie, you’re going to have to accept whatever the judge decides,’ he said.

  I could see he was worried about the outcome as he knew a short sentence could send me off the rails again.

  I stared at the dock as Ryan was brought in, flanked by two security guards. He was wearing the same scruffy navy jumper and shirt underneath, but he looked even older somehow. I was happy to see the effect six weeks in prison had had on him.

  As soon as he stepped into the dock, he glared at me.

  ‘We’ll start today’s proceedings by hearing the victim impact statements,’ said Judge Tomlinson.

  I listened as Mr Williams, the prosecution barrister, read out mine and Laraine’s statements about what effect Patrick Ryan’s abuse had had on our lives. It was so hard to hear.

  ‘Both these women have suffered from problems with alcohol and anorexia and have had psychiatric problems,’ he said.

  ‘It’s affected their ability to form meaningful relationships and how they are with their own children. It’s also had a huge financial impact. For the duration of legal proceedings and the trial, Mrs Grafham has been unable to work. As the result of alcohol abuse, Mrs Delgiudice had a long stay in hospital, where she was seriously ill and is now bedbound and completely dependent on carers.’

  Tears filled my eyes as I realised how the abuse had changed us both. But I was determined that I wouldn’t let Patrick Ryan see me cry.

  Then it was time for Judge Tomlinson to pass sentence. Patrick Ryan stood up in the dock.

  ‘There is no doubt that Maureen Fermor and her daughters were vulnerable at this time of their lives,’ he said. ‘While her mostly estranged husband was serving a prison sentence, Maureen had had a lengthy stay in hospital lasting several months and, after her discharge, she remained on antidepressant medication because of her fragile mental state. Her three children had been in care for about six months and, although Laraine was too young to have any memory of it, there is no doubt in my mind that both these young sisters, Laraine and Deborah, were terrified of ever again being separated from their mother. Their reason for not complaining to her or their teachers at school about this serious abuse committed by you, and which the elder child has disclosed she was subjected to by others, was not difficult to comprehend.’

  I stared at Ryan but still he didn’t flinch or show any reaction as Judge Tomlinson continued. He just looked at the floor, like the true coward he was.

  ‘You said in evidence that you were frequently away working in Birmingham and would simply not have been around at any time during the weekdays when, according to these children, you subjected them to sustained sexual violence, which they both described in graphic terms.

  ‘I do not regard it as simply an unfortunate coincidence that throughout most of the period covered by the indictment you were serving a lengthy period of disqualification from holding or obtaining a driving licence, a state of affairs that would have substantially curtailed your ability to work away from home, though it may be that you had little respect for court orders.

  ‘The fact remains that this detail is something that neither of these witnesses could possibly have known, particularly as it emerged during your trial almost by chance, and, as I say, I do not regard it as a coincidence.

  ‘Each of these victims had to relive these experiences by giving evidence. Their impact statements make grim reading.

  ‘Laraine’s statement, in many ways, replicates the evidence given by her own mother, who described the sort of child she was, and similarly in the case of Deborah she was undoubtedly a very angry child, and the impact of these offences has, of course, seriously undermined their ability to form meaningful relationships in adulthood, though it is clear that they have both in any case turned their lives around and for that they should both be congratulated.’

  Rob squeezed my hand and I gave him a weak smile. I knew what was coming next, though, and my heart was pounding.

  ‘Mr Ryan, the sentence that I impose, and it may seem to some to be a lenient sentence, is twelve years’ imprisonment.’

  It was a lot more that I had been expecting and I was completely stunned. Carol smiled and gave me a big hug.

  Judge Tomlinson stood up.

  ‘May I express my admiration to all these witnesses in this case for the way in which they have been able to conduct themselves throughout,’ he said before retiring.

  I stared over at the dock. I wanted one last look at Patrick Ryan before he was taken down. He caught my eye and glared at me.

  ‘You little fucking c**t!’ he shouted.

  I was so shocked, I burst into tears.

  ‘That’s what he used to call me,’ I sobbed to Rob. ‘That’s what he called me after he raped me.’

  ‘Don’t let him get to you,’ said Rob.

  I was upset, but in a way I was also pleased that at last Ryan had shown some reaction as I knew that finally I had got to him.

  Rob had been so good all throughout the trial but this time he couldn’t bite his tongue any longer.

  ‘I hope you rot in there!’ he shouted over to Ryan.

  His own family were shouting and shaking their heads.

  ‘I love y
ou, Dad,’ someone in the public gallery yelled as he was led away by the security guards.

  And just like that, he was gone. Off to serve his sentence.

  ‘Right, let’s get you out of here,’ said Carol.

  I knew she was worried about the possibility of trouble, so she quickly led us through a coded door at the back of the court. We walked through all these corridors to another witness room. I couldn’t get a signal in there.

  ‘What about Laraine?’ I said. ‘I need to call her.’

  ‘You need to stay here until the coast is clear,’ said Jo. ‘We’ll go and give her a ring to tell her the good news.’

  I knew she was going to be ecstatic.

  We texted Rob’s dad, Mum and the kids.

  ‘Are you pleased?’ said Rob.

  But I still don’t think that it had sunk in.

  ‘I can’t believe it,’ I said. ‘I’m amazed that he got so long.’

  But there was still one thing that had really stung. Right up until the end, Ryan had never admitted what he’d done to us or shown any remorse. He’d been so cocky and sure of himself all along.

  ‘Prison’s too good for that man,’ I said.

  We were in the witness room for nearly two hours until it was decided it was safe for us to leave. Walking out of the court for the last time felt strange. We’d done it, this really was the end. This case had consumed me and my life for so long and now it was over. I knew it would take a long time for that to hit home.

  It was hard having to say goodbye to Carol and Jo. Even though I’d treated them terribly at times, I knew we wouldn’t have got through the court case without them.

  ‘I’m going to miss you,’ I told them. ‘You’ve been brilliant.’

  ‘Oh, don’t worry, we’ll keep in touch. You’re on my Christmas card list,’ joked Carol.

  From the court we went to see Laraine, as I’d promised that we’d call in on the way back. We were both very emotional and upset.

  ‘I’m crying because I’m so relieved,’ Laraine told me.

  ‘I’m just in shock,’ I said. ‘I never expected him to get that long.’

  Even though I knew he’d been found guilty it still hadn’t really sunk in until that day when I’d heard his sentence. I finally felt safe, knowing he was now locked away. It was only then that I found out details about the abuse Laraine had suffered from Ryan. How he’d already raped her a couple of times by the time I caught him on the landing with her and how he had sexually assaulted her with a screwdriver. No wonder she’d never wanted to talk about it with me.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ I told Laraine. ‘I’d no idea of the things he’d done to you.’

  ‘It’s OK, it’s over,’ she sighed. ‘It’s finally over, Deb.’

  It was, but I knew that for me, it was going to take a lot of getting used to.

  ‘Will you come back up and see me soon?’ said Laraine.

  But I didn’t answer. I couldn’t, you see, because in my mind I didn’t think that I could ever go back there again. One of the reasons I was so emotional was because I felt in a way I was saying goodbye to my sister too.

  Every time I went to that part of London to visit Laraine, I’d pass all the places that reminded me of everything that we’d been through – Blackheath, where we’d been abused; Woolwich, where we’d had to face him in court; Greenwich, where we’d moved to afterwards. It was painful for me to see Laraine like that too, stuck in bed, unable to do anything for herself, as it just reminded me of Ryan and what he’d done to our lives.

  If I really and truly wanted to move on, I didn’t think I could bring myself to go back to that area any more. I didn’t say anything to Laraine about how I was feeling as I knew she would be devastated.

  ‘I’ll speak to you soon, Lal,’ I said, giving her a kiss on the cheek. ‘I love you.’

  As I closed the door of Laraine’s house behind us, I burst into tears.

  Chapter 21

  Facing My Demons

  Now the court case was over I knew I had to get my life back on track otherwise I was going to lose everything – Rob, the kids, my job. It was the reason that I’d started drinking heavily but it was over now, so the alcohol had to stop too.

  But I also knew that I couldn’t do that on my own without professional help, it had gone too far for that. So I went to see my GP.

  ‘I want to stop drinking,’ I told him. ‘But I think I need someone to help me.’

  I knew after everything that we’d been through with Laraine and David that with the amount I was drinking it was dangerous to stop suddenly. Going cold turkey could lead to seizures or even death.

  ‘We’ll try and enrol you on a detox programme where they’ll help withdraw you gradually,’ he said.

  It was going to be hard but I knew I had to do this. To prove I was serious about it, twice a week for six weeks I had to go and have an appointment with a counsellor and a nurse, then they would decide whether I was a suitable candidate for a detox.

  My first appointment was at 5pm and to prove how determined I was about it, I didn’t have any alcohol all day. But by the time I got there, I was a mess. I was sweating and shaking and I could see Rob was concerned.

  ‘Debbie, are you OK?’ he asked. ‘You look terrible.’

  ‘How have I let things get this bad?’ I said.

  It was frightening to see just how dependent on alcohol my body had become. My counsellor, a woman called Ruth, took one look at me and said, ‘I know this sounds strange when you’re hoping to detox but you need to go and have a drink. There’s no way we can talk when you’re in such a state.’

  I did as she said. Over the next few weeks we talked about everything. There were no more secrets in my life, so I told her all about Patrick Ryan.

  ‘I drunk to help me cope,’ I said. ‘And the more I drank, the less effect it had, so I just drank more and more.’

  ‘I don’t really blame you,’ she said. ‘You’ve been through so much.’

  It was nice not to feel judged for once.

  ‘That’s what drove me to it but now I’ve got to take responsibility for my own actions,’ I said.

  I couldn’t blame everything on the abuse and I’d managed to stay sober throughout the court case.

  ‘I really want to do this detox,’ I said. ‘I need to do this for my family and for myself.’

  I told everyone what I was doing. I even came clean to Laraine.

  ‘I didn’t realise you were drinking so much,’ she said. ‘Why didn’t you tell me before it was this bad?’

  ‘Because I didn’t want to worry you,’ I told her. ‘You had enough on your plate without me adding to your problems.’

  She was behind me 100 per cent.

  ‘You can do this, Deb,’ she said. ‘You don’t want to end up like me.’

  On Tuesday, 24 July 2013, Rob and Lorna took me to Mill View hospital in Hove. I was due to be in there for a week.

  ‘I don’t want you to go and leave me here,’ I sobbed. ‘I can’t do this.’

  I was petrified. Just the thought of not being able to have a drink or to be able to buy any alcohol was terrifying and I was scared about being away from my family for so long.

  ‘You can do this, Debbie,’ Rob told me. ‘You’re so strong.’

  I knew I had to get through it and in a way, it wasn’t as bad as I was expecting. At first I was put on a very high dose of diazepam to cope with the alcohol withdrawal. I was shaky and going hot and cold, but the majority of the time I was so drowsy, I just slept.

  The rules in there were very strict. It was a secure unit and all visitors were searched and breathalysed to make sure they weren’t bringing any alcohol or drugs in. Someone would escort you to the dining room and the toilet and you weren’t even allowed caffeine as it was classed as a stimulant.

  I had my own room and thankfully I was allowed to bring my mobile phone in with me. Laraine texted me every day.

  How are you doing? Hang on in there. I’m thi
nking of you xx

  Rob came to visit on the Wednesday night but I was so doped up, I don’t remember much about it.

  The next day he was off work so he brought the children up to see me. We all sat together in a family room and I made sure I was showered and dressed. Daniel was sad that I was going to be away for his fifteenth birthday the following week and I could see Vicky was upset. I knew it was hard for everyone seeing me in there.

  ‘I bought you some nail varnish, Mum, but they took it off me when they searched me on the way in,’ she said.

  We weren’t even allowed that in case we inhaled the vapours.

  I found it hard too, and when they were leaving, I started to cry.

  ‘I just wish I could come home with you,’ I said.

  ‘Soon, Deb,’ said Rob.

  As each day passed, I could feel myself getting stronger. In the time leading up to the court case I hadn’t eaten properly for weeks and my only calories had been from alcohol. But in there they made me eat and I started to feel a lot better.

  You were also encouraged to attend a group therapy session, which I hated.

  ‘Please introduce yourself to the group and if you want, you can talk about the reasons why you’re here,’ the therapist told me.

  But I didn’t want to talk to a bunch of strangers about what I’d been through. It felt like being in court all over again and in a way I was fed up of talking about it. Also, I didn’t want people to think that I blamed the abuse for my drinking: I’d come to realise that I had done this to myself, not Patrick Ryan.

  ‘I’ve had a rough year,’ I said. ‘Things got too much and I couldn’t cope with the stress and so I turned to drink.’

  I didn’t want to say any more.

  The sad thing was, from listening to other people’s stories, I found out that like me so many of them had been abused as children: both men and women.

  In a way it made me feel even more determined to succeed. Sadly, several of them were on their third or fourth detox but I was adamant I was only going to be in there once.

  After six days, I was allowed out with a support worker to go to the local supermarket. She followed me around and stood at the end of each aisle as I picked things up. It was a boiling hot summer’s day and I was desperate for an ice cream.