Born into the Children of God

by Natacha Tormey

  There’s no easy way to tell the man you’re staking your future on about a childhood like mine: the secret life of skewed Christianity, the End Time Army, the superpowers, the violent abuse, the molestation, the guilt, the pain, the confusion, the anger and the fear – it all came spilling out.

  He just listened.

  When I had finished talking he stared at me in horrible silence.

  ‘I think you’re the bravest person I’ve ever met,’ he finally said. ‘I love you.’

  Chapter 22

  The Woman in the Mirror

  The bellboy was already unloading our suitcases by the time we stepped out of the blue taxi. His smart maroon uniform emblazoned with gold buttons looked slightly out of place in the sizzling heat.

  The staccato clack of my stiletto heels echoed off the cool marble floor in the hotel lobby.

  It was dim inside. Even the 16 bulbs of the glistening crystal chandelier couldn’t compete with the glare of the afternoon sun.

  A pretty girl in traditional Thai dress approached us with a tray of fruit cocktails, ‘A welcome drink, sir and madam.’

  I took it gratefully, sipping through a straw decorated with little sprigs of white jasmine.

  The receptionist greeted us with a cheery smile. ‘Mr and Mrs Tormey, welcome.’

  Kevin and I grinned at each other. We were still getting used to hearing ourselves referred to as that.

  ‘We have you booked into a superior double suite with a city-view balcony. Is that all correct?’

  I smiled a yes.

  ‘Wonderful. Here is your key card, Mrs Tormey. You’ll find a bottle of complimentary champagne waiting in your room. Enjoy your stay.’

  I took the key and followed the bellboy towards the elevator.

  The bedroom was huge, with a king-size bed laid out with pristine white sheets and fluffy pillows. In the bathroom was a massive circular bath clad in grey veined marble. I stared at my reflection in the mirror. Here it was. Proof of how far I had come.

  Gone was the scraggly haired, skinny little girl who was scared of her own shadow. This tall, attractive and confident woman staring back at me had replaced her. This woman dressed in smart clothes with a made-up face and glossy long chestnut-brown tresses; a woman with a successful career in Human Resources; a woman with her gorgeous new husband about to honeymoon in a five-star hotel. I had to smile and pull silly faces at my reflection to convince myself that the woman looking back at me really was me.

  The pop of the cork startled me for a second.

  ‘Champagne, my gorgeous wife,’ said Kevin, flashing his huge smile. ‘Happy honeymoon.’

  He opened the bedroom door and stepped out onto the balcony of our room. The sounds of the city drifted up to our eighth-floor room. It was unmistakably Bangkok – tuk-tuks, traffic horns, street vendors shouting out their wares, and the low hum of motorbikes.

  For years that noise had filled me with absolute fear – it was the sound of the Antichrist. I chuckled at the thought and stepped out onto the balcony to join Kevin.

  We toasted our future happiness and kissed for a few minutes before taking in the view. A sprawling mass of urban humanity spread out before us; the people and cars down below looked tiny as ants.

  ‘Can you see your old neighbourhood from here?’ he asked, one arm around my waist.

  The question threw me.

  ‘Actually,’ I started with a laugh, ‘I’ve honestly got no idea. We lived in Bangkok, but not really “in” Bangkok. It was like a prison, really. Apart from the odd day out to perform or witness, all I saw was barbed wire and high gates. It might as well have been Mars.’ I let out a wry laugh. ‘If they had told me we did live on Mars I probably would have believed them.’

  Given my childhood history Thailand may seem like a strange place to want to spend my honeymoon. But I needed Kevin to see it and for him to have a sense of where I grew up. Coming back here with my new husband felt like fitting together another piece of the jigsaw puzzle that was my life.

  We had married on Réunion island. Returning there as Kevin’s bride had felt triumphantly fantastic. For the first time in my life I was doing something that made me feel proud. I wore orchids in my hair and a strapless flowing white dress which made me feel like a princess. My sister Aimée, now 18 years old, was my bridesmaid. Some of my brothers had flown in for the occasion. It was the first proper family reunion we’d had in years.

  As I prepared to walk through the garden on my father’s arm his voice cracked with emotion. ‘You look beautiful, my darling girl. I pray you two will have a blessed and wonderful marriage.’

  Even my mother managed to say the right things.

  ‘Natacha, I hope you and Kevin are truly happy together as your father and I have been. I am praying for you both.’

  Kevin looked dashing in an open-necked shirt and linen suit as he waited for me at the front of the pagoda they’d had specially erected for the ceremony.

  As the music started and my father and I walked towards him, my mother, brothers and sister Aimée turned to face us. I was filled with love for Kevin and excitement at marrying him. And the wonderful sense of family intimacy and belonging made the whole thing incredibly special. After all the years of hardship, of anger and of being separated from my family, either physically or emotionally, here we were together at last. It was as if I had finally found what I had been missing for so long.

  It wasn’t lost on me what an influence this was on my more troubled siblings too. I was now living proof that an upbringing like ours could be surmounted. I’d spent my life locked behind a commune wall, had barely any education, endured beatings and abuse, yet I had finally achieved success – if a decent job, a home and a happy life can be how success is measured.

  As we sat down for our post-wedding meal I winced as my father said grace. I know lots of families say grace before eating, so it’s not that unusual, but ours was about the cult so it was embarrassing to me.

  ‘Lord, we thank you for this food that you have provided and we pray that you bless us and our family worldwide and our dear Queen Maria. We love you, Jesus.’

  For much of the rest of the week we stayed with them I was on edge. The house was full of cult-related literature and Mo letters. I was terrified Kevin might pick something up and start reading it, but he’s not a big reader at the best of times and to my relief I don’t think he even noticed it. If he did then he was too polite to say anything.

  Despite all the stories he’d heard from me I was thankful Kevin didn’t judge my parents. Towards the end of our trip he even took my father out to the local betting shop to place a bet on the European Cup final. My dad had always said gambling was a strictly forbidden sin, so I couldn’t believe Kevin persuaded him to go along. When they came back they were both laughing at a silly joke. I was so grateful to Kevin for normalising what could have been a really weird situation.

  At the end of our stay they both told me that they approved of him. I know it shouldn’t really have mattered if they didn’t, but I can’t deny I was pleased.

  The whole thing had been a bit like a dream. By the time we arrived in Thailand we were exhausted. The champagne went straight to our heads so we went to bed. We woke up at 3 a.m. starving and ordered room service. We sat in bed eating a Thai feast and giggling. I freaked out when I spilled chilli sauce on the bed and ran off to get a cloth to wash it off.

  ‘Leave it. It’s a hotel.’ Kevin laughed at me. ‘We’re paying for the privilege. They’ll change it in the morning.’

  My mood went instantly darker. ‘There was a time when so much as getting up to go to the loo got me a beating, Kevin. I’m not quite at the full decadence stage yet.’

  That incident threw me and I went back to sleep feeling very out of sorts. I had a terrible nightmare in which it was the End Time. I was stranded with a group of people on a roof; there were massive floods below us. I was aware that I had survived the flood but I knew I was about to die. I woke up sweating and ove
rcome with a dreadful feeling of desperation and resignation.

  I went into the bathroom and held my head against the cool marble wall. Fear rushed over me like a wave. What if my dream was a prophecy? A glimpse of the future?

  My heart started to race.

  Dreams like that are a familiar pattern to me. Since leaving the cult I have at least one a week. I have learned to talk myself down by reminding myself it’s not real, just a remnant of the twisted doctrines I was fed for so long.

  At breakfast I still felt a bit unsettled. We decided to go for a walk round the city.

  As we exited the hotel a tuk-tuk buzzed right past like a giant bumblebee. Vendors and shopkeepers waved and shouted at us as we walked along the street hand in hand.

  ‘No thanks, mate.’

  Kevin was working full time to keep them at bay.

  A waft of grilled chicken and the distinctive aroma of peanut sauce caught in my nostrils. We’d only just finished eating breakfast, but the smell was so good it tugged at my taste buds.

  ‘Mmmm. That looks amazing,’ said Kevin, lingering to stare at the little grill with skewers of meat on it.

  I nodded towards a pile of rubbish next to the food stall. Three large brown rats crawled over it.

  ‘You don’t seriously think …?’ said Kevin, staring from rats to grill.

  ‘Gross. Let’s hope not,’ I chuckled.

  ‘Whatever. Slap enough peanut sauce on it, would you really care?’

  We both burst out laughing.

  My Thailand was not this vibrant place of fun, colour, noise and smells. My Thailand had been a prison – drab, authoritarian, paranoid and dystopian. I had lived in fear of an outside world I was led to believe was corrupt and evil, filled with disbelieving ‘systemites’ and Antichrist soldiers who wanted to kill me.

  But now, strolling along with Kevin, I was almost completely relaxed. I’ll admit, part of me was slightly on edge, but I realised that Bangkok, with its hawkers, greedy taxi drivers and pickpockets, has that effect on many tourists. And that’s what I was now – just an average tourist. It felt brilliant.

  A few days later we headed out of the city for the beach, checking into a fabulous hotel built on a cliff overlooking the sea. The décor was antique Thai-style, all carved dark wood and brightly coloured rich silks. In the evening we ate at a little beach restaurant with tables set out on the sand. As I watched the sunset over the sparkling Andaman Sea I recalled my childhood day on the beach with Leah, baby Thérèse, my mom and four big brothers. It’s probably the only memory I have where we were allowed to behave like children, full of laughter and rowdiness. In the years that followed we became so oppressed and in fear of violence that we stopped laughing loudly or playing too boisterously. We were constantly on edge, adjusting to ever-changing rules and trying to avoid the next beating.

  ‘What’s up? Turn that frown upside down. We’re on holiday.’ Kevin had spotted my dark cloud.

  I smiled across the table at him. When I first began to fall in love with him I liked to imagine we were like Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden, two lovers in perfect paradise.

  Then I moved in, and his house became our home. It was just like the houses I had gazed at so longingly from the train window after I first moved to London – modern red brick with a neat front lawn and Kevin’s Mercedes parked in the driveway. The back garden became my own version of Eden. Digging and planting gave me a sense of order. I loved the sensation of getting soil under my fingernails and creating beauty out of nothing. The ability to shoot weeds with lightning bolts might have been handy, but my trowel did the same job.

  Out in my garden was where I felt safest, happiest and calmest. I could go to the toilet without having to ask permission, go to the kitchen and get a glass of water or make a sandwich whenever I felt thirsty or hungry. And when I was done gardening I could lock myself in the shower, soaking my body with hot water and scented shower gel, before getting dressed in smart new clothes that fitted me properly.

  The ordinariness of it all was everything I had ever wanted.

  But, just like Adam and Eve, there was a fall.

  All the happiness, the sense of love and safety, the life I’d always dreamed of and the chance of fulfilment – somehow all these good things conspired in the back of my mind. They took me over. I felt unworthy, like an undeserving impostor. I could not come to grips with being happy. Worse than that, some dark part of my psyche had crawled forth to actively sabotage my well-being.

  I felt so safe with Kevin, but at times I struggled with intimacy. Sometimes during sex I would have a panic attack and be unable to breathe, pushing him off me. Afterwards I wouldn’t let him come near me or touch me.

  On one occasion, just after I had moved in, Kevin made a sudden movement to get something off the kitchen shelf and I panicked, cowering and covering my head with my hands to protect myself. The sad, hurt look in his eyes was unbearable as he gently lifted my arms back down and gave me a cuddle. ‘Oh babe, I’d never hit you. How could you think that?’ My reaction was an instinctive reflex, a legacy of so many beatings.

  The thought of having kids one day filled me with terror. Even though I had spent years looking after my younger siblings and knew I could do it all practically, I began to convince myself that my past would make me an unfit mother. All sorts of dark thoughts whizzed around my head. What if I hit them? What if I couldn’t show them affection? What if I went mad and thought the world was ending?

  As our relationship went on I became increasingly paranoid that Kevin was being unfaithful to me. I would check his mobile phone and hack into his email account looking for messages from other lovers. Finding nothing didn’t reassure me; it only served to make me more convinced he was lying. So I dreamed up even more bizarre ways to catch him out by setting traps for him – tests to search for any evidence of infidelity. I would plant condoms in the pockets of his coat and then count them to see if he’d used any. It was insane.

  Enduring my paranoia was so testing for him. Most other men would have left me. I think it speaks volumes about his genuine warmth and empathy that he could see that my erratic behaviour was a product of my upbringing. And, more than being able to understand my behaviour, he managed to see past it, to me. He could see past all the dark moods, the mistrust, the need to control, the fear and the paranoia – and still see clearly enough to love me, despite myself.

  Little by little we found a way to bridge the difficulties together. For example, sometimes his work takes him away for a few days. The first few times it happened I got so anxious at being left on my own that I had panic attacks, clutching at the walls and gasping for breath. I bombarded him with needy text messages. When he came back I glossed over it all and pretended everything was normal, getting dinner ready and making myself look pretty – all the things I thought ‘normal’ women did.

  But of course he could see right through it. And he gently explained to me how hard it was for him to be on the receiving end of all that crazy paranoia when he was trying to work.

  So we developed a little system where we mark the calendar weeks in advance when he’s going to be away. I calm myself by checking the calendar and telling myself I will be fine if I get prepared. I make sure I plan fun activities for myself or invite a friend round to keep me company, so that by the time Kevin leaves I am not in a state of hyper-anxiety. For his part he checks in with me regularly so my imagination doesn’t start to run away with me.

  Being super-organised keeps me calmer. I make lists for just about everything because planning ahead stops me feeling terrified about things going wrong. For example, if I need to take a train journey to a place I have never been before, I write down two or three different possible journey routes just in case. I can see that for some people this level of attention to detail might be exhausting, but for me it works because it keeps my mind rational.

  The slightest thing can send me spiralling into a panic attack – someone accidentally bumping into me on the stre
et, the smell of Dettol. I live in fear of the triggers that lurk around every corner.

  But even though I can mitigate some of the symptoms I know I’ll never be entirely free of them. Depression and anxiety are things I have had to learn to live with. They are like the constant nagging voices in my head. I battle them and I try to keep them at bay, but the best way to do that is to accept they will be my companions through life. I have to accept them, get to know them and occasionally let them in when they threaten to knock my emotional doors down.

  When I get stressed I pick at my nails. Other friends who grew up in the cult tell me they pick at their skull or hair or have developed alopecia.

  I have had counselling, and that has helped, but there have been times when I think even my counsellor can’t understand the things I’ve been through and struggles to know what to say to me. So many of my childhood stories are just so off the scale.

  I still carry a large bag. These days it has make-up and keys, the normal things all women carry in their handbag. But I still also have my first aid kit and the torch – old habits die hard. I managed to wean myself off the compass because even I could see how ridiculous it was to carry a compass on the train to work. But even now that inbred fear of disaster or belief that I might need to suddenly hide from the Antichrist still runs very deep.

  Kevin took a leap of faith in marrying me. That wasn’t lost on me, and I knew I had to repay that trust by showing I could learn to trust him back.

  After dinner we sat on our balcony, drinking. We had been playing a silly game where we were only allowed to talk in the other one’s voice and use their mannerisms. Kevin had sent up my control-freak tendencies mercilessly, but instead of being a tearful, hurt, gibbering wreck as I once would have been, I was laughing so hard my sides hurt. Surely being able to laugh at oneself is one of the most healing things there is?

  The night was hot and sticky. I couldn’t sleep. As Kevin snored quietly I padded back out onto the terrace and sat there lost in my thoughts. By the time the sun rose up over the sea my mind was clear. I knew what I needed to do.