‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ I responded angrily. ‘That it didn’t happen? That I’m just making it all up? Or do you think that I was just a teenage slut too and that I deserved everything I got?’
‘Certainly not. Look, Miss McConnell, I believe you. I really do. I believe every word but we are going to find it very difficult to prove.’
‘What did Stuart say?’
‘We haven’t spoken to him.’
‘Why not?’
‘Right now, we haven’t got enough corroborating evidence to bring him in for questioning. He’ll just deny it and then we’ll have nothing. So what I’d like to do instead is to speak to you about the allegations against your brother. These are more serious because he was your brother and because of the age that the abuse began.’
‘Okay . . .’
‘So we interviewed your mother about the disclosure you made to her as a child and again when you were twenty-two. And . . .’ Here, unusually, Joan paused to take a deep breath. She met my eye apologetically as she continued. ‘She denied it all.’
I couldn’t believe my ears. ‘You’re kidding!’
‘No, I’m not. We told her what you’d said and she replied: “Is that what Dawn said?” And then she shook her head with this sort of pitying expression on her face and said it was all lies. She said that you were . . .’ Joan suddenly whipped out a small notepad from her breast pocket and started flicking through it until she came to the page she was after. ‘Ah yes . . . here it is! She said, and I quote, that you were “a very damaged individual”, a “pathological liar” and that you had been “very vindictive all your life”. She told us not to believe a word you say.’
I was reeling. I could just picture it – I could just picture my mother sitting there, calm and charming, shaking her head sadly, eyebrows arching in disbelief. I wanted to kill her right then. Judas! How could she deny the truth like this? The shock was crushing, a physical pain deep in my chest. My mouth went dry, and I felt my body start to shake. Questions swirled around and around in my head. Why? How? The police . . . did they think I was a liar? I couldn’t speak. I was too scared to speak, as I knew I would cry. I had to remain strong and took deep breaths through my nose, telling myself to pull myself together. The scale of her betrayal was truly breathtaking. But I wouldn’t let it break me. Maybe that would come later. For now, my anger and the truth rose up around me to protect me.
‘But you’re not giving up just like that, are you?’ I implored. ‘You’re going to speak to John, aren’t you? And what about my sister Susy? She knows all about it too.’
‘John is out of the country but we have issued a warrant for his arrest so the moment he returns he’ll be brought here for questioning. In the meantime, your mother said she didn’t have any contact details for Susy. She says she hasn’t spoken to her in years.’
‘What rubbish!’ I actually laughed. The audacity of my mother was something else. ‘They’re in touch every week. My mother is the liar, officer. I’ll just go and get Susy’s number for you so you can speak to her. I’ve not been in touch with her for a couple of years – there’s been a lot going on here – but I still have her address and home number in London.’
As I handed her Susy’s details, I started to think of other possible ways we could shore up the charges against Stuart. I wasn’t giving up that easily, not now that Joan had helped me to see how cruelly he had manipulated me – how I had been groomed as an underage and vulnerable girl.
‘What about his ex-wife? Stuart’s ex?’ I said, keenly. ‘I mean, she was the one who found out first. She hired a private detective and tracked us down. Maybe you could contact him . . . ?’
‘Miss McConnell, please!’ Joan spoke firmly. ‘I know you’re angry and upset but there are only so many police resources we can put into this. I will get in touch with your sister, but even if she supports everything you say about your brother, we still can’t do anything until he returns to the country.
‘As for the allegations about Mr Kelly, well, I can’t see this going to court.’
At least she was truthful.
When she left, I felt vaguely depressed. It sounded like the case against Stuart was hopeless. After twenty years of marriage to the man, the police weren’t interested in pursuing him for abusing me when I was fifteen. He was going to get away with that particular crime.
But I still had hope that, with John, there seemed to be a real chance of finally achieving justice. And, in a way, that would have to serve for both of my abusers. After all, as Joan had said all along, Stuart might never have successfully groomed me if it hadn’t been for John. A few months later, in December 2010 John flew back into London, only to be arrested at the airport and driven straight up to Glasgow for questioning.
And who was waiting for him when he got here? Why, my mother and Mike Turner of course! Life had truly come full circle now: the man who had kept Stuart out of prison all those years ago for abusing me was working the exact same trick for my brother.
He briefed John well. Say nothing, nothing at all. And so, during the six hours of police interview, my brother replied ‘no comment’ to every single question.
Joan told me the bad news over the phone: ‘We can’t hold him,’ she said apologetically. ‘It’s your word against his and your own mother says you’re making it up. I’ve been trying to track down your sister but she’s no longer at that address you gave me.’
‘Oh Christ! No! No, no no!’ I was desperate and furious at the same time. But, most of all, I felt helpless, so bloody helpless.
I felt like I was five years old again.
‘I’m sorry, Dawn, we had to let him go.’
As soon as I slammed down the phone, I burst into tears. How has he got away with it AGAIN? But I didn’t want to give up. Not now – I had come so far and I was determined that the truth would win out. So, as my brother once again fled the country, I hired my own private detective and I finally managed to track my sister down in Margate, Kent.
‘I had no idea you’d left London,’ I said, when I rang her in distress.
‘I sent a “We’re moving” card to your old address . . . but I suppose you didn’t get it?’ Susy hadn’t realized I wasn’t at my old marital home anymore, as we hadn’t kept in touch while I’d been fighting fires on all sides through my divorce.
‘No, sorry. I’ve been through the mill a bit recently.’
So I filled her in on my divorce and all the difficulties I’d faced with Stuart. Then I told her about how I had finally screwed up the courage to report our brother to the police – only for our mother to perjure herself and deny it ever happened.
‘How could she deny it?’ Susy was breathless with shock. ‘I just don’t understand. She knows he did it. She knows it!’
‘Don’t ask me, Susy. That woman hates me for some reason and of course her poisonous sister is backing up every word she says. So now you’re my only hope. Will you give a statement to the police?’
‘Of course! Look, I’ve got to stay here this weekend for the kids but I can fly up early next week. Tell the policewoman you’ve been dealing with that I want an appointment on Monday. Tell her that!’
Now, finally, I had someone on my side. True to her word, Susy came up to Glasgow the following week and gave an eight-hour interview to the police, confirming everything I’d said was true. That night, she came to stay with me and met Bryce for the first time.
Hugging my sister made me want to cry. Susy hadn’t changed much over the years: she still had the same mischievous look in her eye, though her face was now framed by dark, pixie-cropped hair, and she still had that bubbly, infectious laugh I recalled from childhood. She told me all about her two daughters in Kent and her stellar career as a graphic designer. I was so proud of her, and not just because of all she’d achieved; she seemed like a thoroughly decent person. Over chicken stew and a couple of bottles of red wine, we caught up on our lives. It felt wonderful to reconnect with my real sister agai
n and I asked her why she never came back to Scotland to live.
‘It was Mum.’ She shrugged, but I could tell her feelings about it ran deep. ‘She was a nightmare when we were growing up. She hated Dad and she used me to prop up her marriage, coming into my room every night, pouring out her heart. I mean, what mother in their right mind tells a seven-year-old that she’s not having sex with her husband? I was conscripted as a soldier in her war and, frankly, I hated it. I had to escape as soon as I could. And then, of course, free from her bitter clutches, I couldn’t bear to come back. I’m sorry I wasn’t in touch more. I suppose your life was so entwined with Mum’s, it was easier not to contact you. I’m sorry for that. I wish I’d known what you were going through.’
There was a little pause, and then she added: ‘I called her, you know.’
‘Who? Mum?’ I asked.
‘Yeah, after we spoke. I had to find out why she lied.’
‘And what did she say?’
‘She said – really haughtily – she said: “I will not protect that child.”’
‘Me? She meant me?’
‘She meant you. So I said: “Mum, you lied to the police. That’s serious.” You know what she said? She said: “Susy, this conversation is now over.” And we haven’t spoken since.’
I blew out my cheeks.
‘I can’t forgive her, you know,’ Susy added. ‘Not for covering up for him like that. John should face justice. He needs to face the truth, for his own sake as much as for anyone else’s.’
Chapter 28
My Day in Court
On a balmy day in August 2011, I walked up the steps of the High Court in Glasgow, wearing my favourite red Dolce & Gabbana dress and a pair of sleek black Louboutin heels. Bryce had offered to come with me today, but I didn’t want him here. Bryce was part of my future, not my past, and I knew it was up to me now finally to put an end to my marriage.
Once inside the darkened corridors, I found our appointed courtroom and pushed open the heavy oak doors. There, on one side of the room, were Deirdre and Tim and their assistants, arranging and rearranging folders, files and paperwork on a desk, readying themselves for the big fight ahead. We’d been preparing for this day for years now and, having worked together so closely for so long, we were a strong and solid team.
Deirdre moved briskly and efficiently round the desk, checking the files, as she spoke quietly to me: ‘Look, all you need to do is confirm your name and address. After that, just leave it up to me. We know our strategy. We know what we want.’
I nodded. I trusted Deirdre 100 per cent and I knew she would try to get me the best deal possible. Because that was really what all this came down to now: splitting the marital assets. Stuart had fought low and dirty for years now, trying to push my back up against the wall, but despite all his efforts I was here today, stronger than ever and ready to fight for my fair share of the wealth I had helped build over the course of our marriage.
Although we had been pencilled in for a six-day court hearing, with over thirty witnesses lined up on both sides, I knew that nobody wanted this to go on any longer than was strictly necessary. After all, the sheriff disapproved of protracted divorce cases; a waste of court time, that’s how the officials saw it, and I couldn’t disagree. What are we really here to do? Sling mud at each other? That was pointless. No, we were here to split the assets and now that I had wrested back control of Mayfair, Stuart could no longer claim the Panamanian company was out of the matrimonial pot. It was there, along with the villa in Portugal, the Glasgow house, the art and Silverbridge. Jointly we were worth a little under £5 million, but how was this going to be split? Only time would tell.
I quickly glanced over to the other side of the room – Adam Kelly was there, as were my mother, Aunt Jenny and a handful of lawyers. No Stuart, I noted, a little perplexed. But I gave nothing away as I slid myself into a chair and arranged my files in front of me. Really, I didn’t need any notes, for I knew it all like the back of my hand. Now I closed my eyes and focused on my breathing: in for ten, hold for ten and out for ten, just like I had learned in yoga recently. It had been Bryce’s idea and it helped in moments like this when I needed to control my nerves. Better than popping pills, anyway. You’re ready for this, I told myself. More than ready.
Ten minutes later, the sheriff took his seat in court and the clerk called my name. I stood up, confirmed my name and address and then sat down again.
‘Stuart Kelly!’ the court clerk read out. Curious, we all looked to the other bench, where Adam now stood up.
‘My name is Adam Kelly, resident of . . .’
‘Who are you?’ The sheriff, a large, bearded man, leaned forward, fixing Adam with a look of disgust, like he was something unpleasant he’d just found on his shoe.
‘My name is Adam Kelly, your honour. As his cousin and advisor, I have power of attorney for Stuart Kelly . . .’
‘Why are you here, Mr Kelly?’ the sheriff boomed. He had moved from disgusted to furious, very quickly. ‘She wasn’t married to you, she was married to Stuart Kelly.’
‘But . . .’
‘Get out of my court! I don’t want you. I want your cousin here by 12 noon at the latest. The latest!’
Then the sheriff left. For a second I just looked at Deirdre and Tim and then we all started to giggle. The hearing hadn’t even started yet and already the other side had pissed off the sheriff. Now Adam exchanged urgent whispers with the lawyers and then he strode out of court, clearly in search of my absent husband.
‘Look, while he’s cleared off, let me talk to the other side,’ said Deirdre. ‘The sheriff wants us to cut a deal as quickly as possible. Let’s see what they’re after . . .’
So Deirdre approached the other team. She was so strong, so secure in herself and I admired her hugely. The lawyers spent a long time talking in what appeared from my side of the court to be a very amicable discussion. Well, that’s why we need lawyers, I thought to myself. They take all the emotion out of the equation. I couldn’t imagine me and Stuart being able to talk calmly at this moment.
‘Come with me.’ Tim now led me to a waiting room. On our way out of the court, we passed Stuart on his way in, looking hassled. He wore a crumpled grey suit and his worry lines were deeper than when I’d last seen him, making him appear a lot older than his years. Good, I thought. Let him worry for a change.
We were in the waiting room for ten minutes before Deirdre returned.
‘Stuart wants the houses in Glasgow, Portugal and £1 million cash,’ she said starkly.
‘No,’ I replied. ‘He can have Mayfair. It’s worth £2 million.’
Deirdre duly went out and returned five minutes later.
‘He doesn’t want Mayfair.’
‘He doesn’t?’ I was a little taken aback. I thought that was what he had wanted all along. It was the more valuable company, after all. ‘Why do you think he doesn’t want Mayfair?’
Suddenly, before she even answered, it clicked with me – he thought the company was going to the wall because of the properties he’d sold and the way he’d failed to keep up with the loan repayments! The last thing he knew, Mayfair was in special lending. He had no idea I’d turned it around.
‘Dawn, do you want Silverbridge?’ Deirdre now asked. ‘I mean, if you’re not particularly bothered, why don’t we offer him Silverbridge?’
I wasn’t bothered which one I gave him, I just wanted a fair split, that was all. I wanted what I had earned over the years, what I had put my heart and soul into building up.
‘But he’ll never take Silverbridge,’ I said. It was only worth £500,000 and, in the grand scheme of things, the properties in the company’s portfolio weren’t that impressive.
‘Why don’t you offer him Silverbridge and the house in Glasgow?’ Deirdre suggested. I shrugged. Why not? It was worth a try.
Two minutes later, she came back.
‘He’ll take Silverbridge and half a million in cash. You sell and split the Glasgow house. W
hat do you think?’
‘What do I think? I think we’re getting closer but we’re not quite there . . . Just give me a minute. I need to think properly.’
Now I kicked off my high heels and started to pace the room. I knew if I worked this deal properly, I could make sure Stuart got what he really deserved. He wanted cash. Of course he did! He always wanted ‘easy’ money. But I didn’t have the cash to give him and I wasn’t about to start dismantling the companies in order to pay him off. Cash . . . He wanted that more than anything – and I knew he would do all he could to get it. Cash was my husband’s biggest love . . . and his biggest weakness too. He had spent years putting me to work in cash businesses so that he could come in every day and plunder them for notes. Cash was Stuart’s first love. If only I could make that work for me . . . There had to be a way . . . There had to be a . . .
YES.
And then it came to me. I knew what we had to do.
‘Okay, listen to me, Deirdre. I can’t get him cash but Silverbridge is worth about £500,000 now. Okay?’
‘Okay . . .’
‘So we split the house in Glasgow and I’ll give him Silverbridge in six months’ time. And in those six months, I’ll double the value of the company. I’ll make it worth a million. The cash he wants will be in the company. And if I fail, if I don’t make the company worth a million, I’ll give him a million in cash.’
‘What? How are you going to do that?’ Deirdre asked.
‘Don’t worry about it.’ I brushed aside her concern. ‘Just make them the offer.’
‘Are you sure about this, Dawn?’
‘Trust me, I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life . . .’
Now Deirdre banged out of the room and I was left biting my nails, hoping the other side would agree to my strange terms. It suited me that Deirdre was worried – that would play well with the other side, make them think they had me on the run. I listened to the clock on the wall as the seconds ticked slowly by . . . Tick tock, tick tock, tick tock . . .
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