A Sister's Secret

by Debbie Grafham

  ‘I really fancy a tub,’ I told her.

  Ironically, my favourite flavour was rum and raisin, but when I picked it up out of the freezer, she shook her head.

  ‘It’s just flavouring, it hasn’t got any alcohol in it,’ I said, but I wasn’t allowed it.

  I felt like a prisoner.

  ‘I bet Patrick Ryan’s got more freedom than this,’ I said.

  But after a while you got used to it and I felt safe and protected. I was only supposed to be in there for a week but even though I was desperate to get home, I was panicking about how I was going to cope. You weren’t allowed to go anywhere on your own and I was worried about being tempted to buy alcohol.

  ‘I don’t want to go home,’ I told Laraine when I rang her. ‘I feel safe in here.’

  ‘I know what you mean,’ she said. ‘I was exactly like that when I was in rehab. It’s like having a security blanket.

  ‘Why don’t you ask the doctors if you can stay a bit longer?’

  So I did and thankfully they agreed that I could stay another week.

  Amazingly, the damage to my body from all the drinking had been minimal. The doctors said my liver was slightly enlarged and my kidneys were struggling to flush out all the toxins from the alcohol, but thankfully because I’d stopped drinking when I did, I hadn’t been left with any permanent damage.

  ‘The best-case scenario is if you walk out of here and never have another drink again,’ the doctor told me.

  I just hoped and prayed that I was strong enough to do that.

  Finally, two weeks later, I was discharged. I was terrified.

  ‘I’m so scared of slipping back into my old ways,’ I told Laraine.

  ‘You won’t, Deb,’ she said. ‘You can do this.’

  But I wasn’t so sure. I felt like everyone was on edge and watching me like a hawk.

  I was due to start back at work at the beginning of August and I couldn’t wait. Work would give me a focus, a reason to get up and out of bed on a morning and stop me from thinking about anything else.

  On the day of my first shift I got to Eastbourne General half an hour early. But as I walked towards the hospital doors, I started to have palpitations. I felt that familiar tightening in my chest, my head was spinning and I was struggling to breathe.

  All the memories came rushing back. The times I’d been taken there when I’d had too many pills or I couldn’t go to the toilet, the days I’d been at work and Carol had rung to tell me about the court case. This place held so many memories.

  Calm down, I told myself.

  It was over. Things were different now.

  I went and sat on a bench outside and took deep breaths until the panic had gone. It was lucky that I’d turned up early as it took me four attempts before I was able to walk through the hospital doors and go up to my ward. But I did it in the end as I knew that I couldn’t mess this up. I was really lucky to have a job after the way that I’d behaved and I knew I had to really prove myself.

  Going through the court case had changed me as a person. For the first time in my life I wasn’t ashamed any more about what Laraine and I had been through.

  There had been a reporter from a local London newspaper at the sentencing although Laraine and I weren’t allowed to be named for legal reasons. Thankfully, Ryan was and they used his police mug shot along with the story. It was the first time Laraine had seen him.

  ‘He looks exactly the same,’ she said. ‘I got shivers down my spine when I saw his horrible face and that wonky eye.’

  ‘I think I’d like to speak out about what we’ve been through,’ I told her.

  ‘I don’t mind if you think it will help other people,’ said Laraine.

  So I rang the local paper and we both agreed to waive our anonymity and speak out about the abuse we’d suffered at the hands of Patrick Ryan.

  I think we were both shocked, though, when it made the front page of The Eastbourne Herald.

  ‘Justice after being raped by the monster upstairs,’ said the headline.

  I was in my local Tesco’s a day later when a woman came up to me by the tills.

  ‘You don’t know me,’ she said. ‘But are you the lady who was in the newspaper?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said, worried about what she was going to say.

  Her eyes filled with tears.

  ‘It happened to me too when I was a girl,’ she said. ‘I never told anyone but reading your story, I wish I had.’

  ‘It’s never too late to get justice,’ I said. ‘My sister and I didn’t think we stood a chance after all those years but we got him in the end.’

  ‘Well done,’ she said. ‘You must be really proud of yourselves.’

  I hadn’t thought about that before but she was right: I was proud of all Laraine and I had achieved. I was amazed by how many people, both men and women, came up and congratulated me after reading the story.

  ‘Really well done,’ a taxi driver told me. ‘I don’t know how you did it.’

  * * *

  So that’s why I’m speaking out now. If I can stop the same thing happening to someone else, at least something positive can come out of what Laraine and I went through. And in my opinion, the more people who know about Patrick Ryan, the better.

  The abuse I suffered as a child changed me. It made me become a person that I didn’t really like – aggressive, hostile, argumentative. I didn’t feel proud of myself at the time but I’m beginning to now. I don’t have any regrets. In a way I wish we had told someone when we were kids, but I now know how traumatic it is going through a court case and to do that as a child would be very hard. As an adult, I had the strength to do it and not have to hide behind screens. I wasn’t glad when Laraine put the wheels in motion but once she had, I couldn’t stand back and let her do it on her own. It would have been her word against his. The only way we could have done it was together.

  I don’t think I’ll ever get over the abuse I suffered but I have learned to live with it now. There’s still not a day that goes by when I don’t think about the foster parents, my father and Patrick Ryan and what they did to me, but it doesn’t drive me to destruction any more. I’m still having counselling and that really helps too.

  I don’t want pity or sympathy or for people to feel sorry for me. I don’t want to be a victim any more. I just hope that mine and Laraine’s story inspires other people and helps them to do what we did. Even if you go through absolute hell, it’s worth it in the end.

  Everything is out in the open now and it’s such a huge relief that Patrick Ryan is safely behind bars. Even though he was sentenced to twelve years, he’s eligible for parole in June 2019. He’ll still be on police licence for the following six years as well as being on the Sex Offender’s Register. He’ll be in his early seventies when he comes out of prison and I hope he won’t have much of a life left.

  Laraine and I are still fighting our demons. She’s still bedbound and the more time that passes, the more frightened she is of trying to be mobile again. I’m still struggling to stay away from alcohol. I’ve done it but it’s not been easy. I’ve been invited on nights out but haven’t gone because I was worried I’d be tempted to have a drink. We used to have people round but we don’t any more as Rob’s scared they might bring some wine. It’s a constant battle.

  Just before Christmas I’d had a bad day at work and I found myself buying a bottle of white wine. I didn’t drink it, I just hid it in the wardrobe. But a few days later Rob found it.

  ‘Debbie, I can’t take much more of this,’ he said. ‘If you start drinking again, I’m leaving.’

  He stormed off out to clear his head.

  Well, if he’s going to leave I may as well have a drink, I told myself. So I sat on the bed and started to drink it straight from the bottle.

  Then Louise came in and found me. Understandably she was so upset.

  ‘I can’t do this any more,’ I told her, bursting into tears.

  ‘Come on, Mum,’ she said, taking my han
d.

  We went downstairs and I watched while she tipped the rest of the wine down the sink.

  I’ve haven’t had a drop since and I’m determined it’s going to stay that way. I’ve seen the damage alcohol did to my brother and sister and I can’t do that to myself.

  Laraine and I talk every day, either on the phone or we message or text each other, but I’m ashamed to admit that I haven’t been back to visit her since the sentencing.

  ‘Deb, why won’t you come and see me?’ she asks.

  I always use the excuse of work or not being able to afford the train ticket. The truth is, it’s still too raw, too painful. That area of southeast London holds too many bad memories.

  I know that one day, for Laraine’s sake, I will go back. But I’m hoping that she and her family will move down to Eastbourne to be near us. It would be a new start for her and it would mean I could see her every day.

  I’m still so angry with Patrick Ryan and I hate him. When I look at my sister and how her life is, I know that he’s to blame for that. Laraine drank to try and forget what he’d done to her but in the end she couldn’t. It breaks my heart to see her unable to even get out of bed at the age of forty-four.

  Our relationship has had its ups and downs. We’ve been to hell and back but we’re both still here to tell the tale and we’ll always have an unbreakable bond. We both understand what the other has been through, and together we stood strong and showed Patrick Ryan that he wasn’t going to win and we weren’t going to be victims any more.

  I love you, Laraine. We did it, we won! Finally, there are no more secrets.

  Acknowledgements

  Thank you to my husband Rob and our children – Vicky, Louise and Daniel. You’re my life. You’ve put up with such a lot and I love you all so much. To Mum, for always being there for me. To DC Joanne Crockford and PC Carol Day, thank you for believing in us and helping make sure that we got justice after all those years. You’ve shown me it’s never too late to speak out. Thank you to my counsellor, Lorna Earls, who has helped me in so many ways and gone above and beyond the call of duty so many times. I couldn’t, and wouldn’t, have done this without you.

  Thanks also to Sara Cywinski from Ebury Press for giving me the opportunity to write this book. Finally, thanks to my ghostwriter, Heather Bishop. Without you, this would have been impossible. Thank you for everything.

  This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorized distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

  Version 1.0

  Epub ISBN 9781473502246

  www.randomhouse.co.uk

  1 3 5 7 9 10 8 6 4 2

  First published in 2014 by Ebury Press, an imprint of Ebury Publishing

  A Random House Group company

  Copyright © Debbie Grafham 2014

  Debbie Grafham has asserted her right to be identified as the author of this Work in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the copyright owner

  The Random House Group Limited Reg. No. 954009

  Addresses for companies within the Random House Group can be found at www.randomhouse.co.uk

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

  ISBN 9780091958442

  To buy books by your favourite authors and register for offers visit

  www.randomhouse.co.uk