by Holly Archer
Things started to get really hazy, so I’m not sure how long it was before Andy appeared, but the next thing I knew he and the other men were carrying me out to a waiting car. I couldn’t even hold my head up and I was so, so dizzy. They put me in the back seat and draped me half over Natalie, half over another of the men, before they started to drive.
That’s when they took off my trousers, and my knickers.
Although my memory of that awful night is very cloudy, I remember exactly what I was wearing: a black bra and knickers, tight-fitting black trousers, a black V-neck and a fitted green fleece.
I’m not sure where my trousers and knickers were when I was carried from the car into a house, naked from the waist down. They dumped me on the floor in the lounge and asked me if I wanted any more alcohol. I tried to shake my head but it just wouldn’t move and I slumped down by the side of the couch.
I think I lost consciousness briefly, because the next thing I remember is being upstairs, in a bedroom, with Andy’s face in mine. I was stark naked now. I seemed to have lost my V-neck and fleece and my bra along with my trousers and knickers. I can’t remember much about the room except that it wasn’t much different from the rooms I was usually taken to, with their mouldy walls and sparse, rotten furniture.
I couldn’t focus on Andy, though his eyes were boring into me – huge, black, angry eyes, even more angry than Mr Khan’s. There was a sea of faces around him, all laughing, goading me, mocking me, but I didn’t know what was funny or what I was supposed to have done because I couldn’t make out what they were saying or even if they were speaking English. It was like my head was underwater and their voices were filtering down from above the surface.
I fell back on the mattress, still limp like a rag doll. I wanted so badly to get up and run, run as fast as I could, away from these men and this room and this bed, but I couldn’t even raise my head or sit up.
Andy grabbed me by the shoulders and I knew he was digging his nails into my flesh but I couldn’t feel a thing. Suddenly his voice seemed louder than the rest, rising above the noise.
He said: ‘This is for my son. You’ve been having sex with my son, you little slut.’
If I could have spoken, I’d have said, no, I hadn’t had sex with his son. I hadn’t even given him a blow job. But I was still struck dumb, so I couldn’t protest. Two of the men pinned my legs down as Andy climbed on top of me and another two held down my arms. As he started to rape me, everything went black.
When I regained consciousness, another of the men was on top of me. I think that’s when the feeling in my lower half started to return a fraction, and I gave a weak little kick. But they told me not to kick off or it would take even longer. One by one they came to me, taking turns to rape me and pin me down, always rotating. With each man I got a little more feeling back and the pain started to take hold. I knew I was bleeding, because they were so rough, but I couldn’t do anything to stop it. I tried to kick out again, but of course it was pointless. I was a weak, drugged, sixteen-year-old girl, and around me were eight, possibly nine, grown men.
‘Fucking pack it in,’ Andy said. By now, he was holding down my left leg, the one I’d tried to kick out with. ‘Or we’ll throw you out on the street with no clothes on.’
It was only then I realised I was crying. I started to regain the feeling in my face and the tears slipped down my cheeks and onto my naked body. All I could think was how much I’d rather be on the street naked than lying on this bed being gang-raped.
Finally the last of them finished. As soon as he climbed off me, I stumbled from the bed and managed to find the door. My legs were still like jelly and I couldn’t walk in a straight line. I fell a couple of times, as I made my way out onto the landing, but of course nobody helped me up. I half-ran, half-fell into the bathroom and closed the door behind me.
I slid down the wall and started to sob harder than I ever had done before – huge, throaty, breathless sobs. My tears were coming thick and fast now and they blinded me as the blood running down my legs gathered in a pool beneath me. This felt so different to everything that had happened before. Before, I could at least trick myself into believing I had some sort of control over what was going on, but here I couldn’t even pretend. It was the most frightening thing that had ever happened to me.
One of them rapped on the door and, through my tears, I told him to fuck off.
‘Oh, come on,’ he said. ‘Don’t be like that. It’s not that bad.’
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. It was like I’d got in a huff over something ridiculous, like someone forgetting to text me back. I asked him to bring me my clothes and he said he’d get me a towel.
He never came back, so I just sat on the cold floor, bleeding and crying, and wondering what the hell I was going to do. Eventually I saw a small towel hanging from a rail near the toilet. It was tiny, and it would barely cover me up, but it was my only option because there was no chance they were giving me my clothes back.
The towel was really minging. It had obviously been used loads of times and never washed, but I didn’t care. I wrapped it around me and it just covered me, but I was past caring about my modesty, so I just ran down the stairs and out of the front door, screaming and screaming and screaming.
My legs still weren’t working properly, so I fell onto the hard, stone path. It was pitch-black and I had absolutely no idea what time it was. Although it was May, the night air was cold and I started to shiver as it hit me. Somehow – I’m still not quite sure how – my phone was in my hand, but it was completely dead.
Across the road, a woman was looking out of her window. She was about thirty, with a kind face. Before I knew it, she’d sprinted across the street and was kneeling beside me, taking my hand and telling me to come inside with her. I did as she said, and she asked me what the hell had happened, was I OK, could she ring the police? She really thought we ought to ring the police.
She took me into her house and there were toys and baby bottles all around. Her husband was standing in the kitchen and I could see the shock spreading across his face as he saw me. I didn’t blame him for looking so aghast. It’s not every day a teenage girl stumbles naked and bleeding into your kitchen in the middle of the night.
‘I’ve been up with my baby,’ the woman explained. ‘I thought I saw you being carried into the house earlier on, but I assumed you’d maybe just had a bit too much to drink. I kept an eye out, though, something just didn’t seem quite right. Don’t you think we should ring the police, Paul?’
Her husband nodded. ‘Definitely, we definitely should.’
‘No!’ I cried. ‘No, no, please don’t. Please don’t. I just want some clothes.’
They gave each other a little look, as if they didn’t really know what to do, but the woman went upstairs and got me a jumper and some trousers. She kept talking about the police and I kept telling her no, I didn’t want to talk to the police, I just wanted to go home.
What would Andy and the other men do to me if I told the police? It didn’t bear thinking about.
The woman asked me if I wanted to at least ring my mum, but I phoned Omar instead. He answered sleepily and, as I told him I’d been raped by his friend’s dad and lost all of my clothes, I started to cry again.
The line went really, really quiet before he said: ‘I’ll speak to you in the morning.’
I was devastated by his reaction. I guess at just sixteen he simply didn’t know how to deal with the enormity of what I’d told him, and the consequences in his community were so far-reaching, but I couldn’t understand that back then, and it tore me apart that he couldn’t acknowledge what I’d just told him.
‘Paul will give you a lift home,’ the woman said gently. ‘Where do you live?’
It was only then I realised I had no idea where I was. I guessed I was still in Telford, but I’d never been to this street before, so I didn’t know which part. One thing I was certain of was that I didn’t want a lift home from Paul. He see
med all right but there was no way I was taking the chance of getting into another strange car, alone, with another strange man. I told them no, I’d be fine, but asked them where I was. Reluctantly they told me I was in one of the villages just outside the town, but they really didn’t want me to try to walk home. I know now they meant well, but I was almost hysterical with paranoia, thinking now they were going to lock me in their house, so I begged to be let out.
At the bottom of the street was a phone box, so I ran towards it. I had no money but someone had shown me a trick once where you can punch in a code and ring a number and you get two seconds before it cuts out. I dialled Beaver’s number and he answered, his voice groggy.
‘It’s me,’ I said. ‘Ring me on this number.’
He did as I asked and I sobbed again, as I told him what I’d told Omar, that I’d been raped and I’d lost all of my clothes. I was starting to get really sore down below now and I winced in pain as I asked him to pick me up. Surely, after everything we’d done together, he’d at least come and pick me up?
‘Holly, forget it,’ he said. ‘I’m sleeping. It’s the middle of the night.’
Even Beaver didn’t care enough to rescue me, so my only option was to walk home, or rather run. My legs still felt really weird but I sprinted through miles of fields and dark alleyways, thinking of nothing but the blood gushing down my legs. As I got closer to home, I bumped into two lads who had been a couple of years above me at school.
‘Hey!’ one of them said. ‘Woah, you OK? What are you doing out so late on your own?’
‘Just leave me alone!’ I screamed. ‘Don’t even touch me.’
Eventually my street slid into view and I slowed to a halt. I still didn’t know what time it was, so I thought it would be best to try to creep back in. I wasn’t thinking straight and somehow I told myself that Mum might not have noticed I hadn’t come home.
I slowly pulled the door handle down, praying it would be open, as God knows where my keys were. Mum was sitting at the kitchen table, her white face etched with worry. The clock on the wall read half past three.
As she looked me up and down, she said, ‘I’ve been ringing you all night. Where the hell have you been? And where are your clothes?’
17
Rock Bottom
Mum was fuming. She went on and on and on about how worried she’d been and how many times she’d tried to ring me. She kept asking about my clothes, so I lied and said I’d spilled a drink down myself and Natalie had lent me some of her stuff to go home in. She knew it was a load of rubbish and she told me I was grounded.
For once, I was actually really relieved. I knew Kev and Mr Khan wouldn’t be at all happy that I wasn’t able to come out, but I just couldn’t deal with them so, for once, I was willing to take that chance. I’d never been happier than I was to go shopping with Mum the next day.
I’d only had a few hours in bed but I hardly slept a wink. Every time I closed my eyes, all I could see was Andy and the sea of angry, jeering faces. I was still bleeding loads and I had to wear a pad in my knickers, as if I had my period. I was in loads of pain but I took a couple of paracetamol and hoped the nauseating aches would soon ease off.
Mum knew something wasn’t right. As we walked through town, she kept asking me loads of questions about the night before. Part of me wanted to tell her, but another part of me couldn’t bear to say it out loud because then it would all become real again.
We were just coming out of one shop when I caught sight of one of the lads I’d seen when I’d been running home the night before. My heart almost stopped as I saw him walking towards me. I tried to pretend I hadn’t seen him but it was too late.
‘Hey!’ he said, concern in his eyes. ‘Are you OK?’
Mum looked at me, suspicion written all over her face. ‘Fine,’ I snapped.
‘Did you get home OK last night?’ the boy went on, and I hoped he could see that my eyes were pleading with him to shut the hell up.
‘Yes, fine, thanks,’ I said, and turned to walk off without another word. The lad gave a confused shrug and walked off, leaving me to answer even more of Mum’s questions.
‘Were you with those boys last night?’ she said. ‘Were you drinking?’
‘No,’ I said. ‘I’ve never seen them before in my life. They must be getting mixed up.’
From there, we went to do the weekly shop at Morrisons. Mum asked me to go and get her a trolley while she bought some juice for Lauren and Amy to keep them quiet. As I walked up to the little booth, I saw something that made my whole body tense in fear.
Andy.
He was sitting in his car with the window down, as if he’d been waiting for me, and waiting to get me on my own. Just the sight of his face was enough to make me feel dizzy and sick, and for a moment I thought I might throw up. How did he know I’d be here? He sat there, just looking at me for a few seconds, before he summoned me over.
It was broad daylight and the car park was busy with shoppers, but I still wondered if he might pull me back into the car and take me to the awful house from the night before, so I froze. He said my name again, more forcefully this time, and I started to shake as I walked towards the car. I stopped a few yards away, still frightened to get too close.
‘Don’t you fucking dare say anything about what happened last night,’ he hissed, voice lowered. ‘I’m fucking warning you.’
Then he rolled his window up and drove off. I had to grab hold of another car so I didn’t collapse in a heap on the tarmac.
Hoping beyond hope, I convinced myself that was the last I’d hear from Andy, but I was wrong. Very wrong. When I got home that evening, a strange number flashed up on my phone, as I sat alone in my room, trying to stop the images of the night before from running through my brain for what felt like the millionth time. When I answered it, I instantly recognised his deep, menacing voice.
‘Look out of your front window,’ he said.
My palms were sweaty as I walked across the room and pulled back the curtains to see Andy sitting in his car. I had no idea how he’d found out my address but it didn’t matter. He knew where I lived and where my family lived.
He gave me a sick little wave so I instinctively pulled the curtains shut again and slid down the wall in terror.
‘Do you remember Lucy Lowe, Holly?’ he asked. ‘You must have heard of Lucy Lowe.’
Everyone in Telford knew who Lucy Lowe was. She’d only been around my age when she’d become involved with a twenty-six-year-old taxi driver called Azhar Ali Mehmood. He’d set her house on fire, killing her and also her mother and sister.
‘Did you hear me, Holly?’ he said. ‘I asked if you’d heard of Lucy Lowe.’
I was almost convulsing in fear now and Andy seemed to think it was funny, listening to me struggling to get air into my lungs.
‘Yes,’ I said between gasps. I wanted to cry but I felt like I was beyond tears.
‘Well, if you’re thinking of saying anything about this to anyone,’ he said, ‘remember that name. Lucy Lowe. That’s all I’m saying.’
He hung up and left me hyperventilating on my bedroom floor.
Over the next week or so, the threats continued. If Andy wasn’t outside my house, looking up into my room, he was on the other end of the phone, calmly whispering threats. I think he realised how terrified I was of my house being set on fire, so he played on that, but he also threatened to hurt my little sisters, which would always send me into a blind, hysterical panic. He never really raised his voice, which somehow made him all the more frightening.
‘I will rape them,’ he’d say. ‘You know that’s not a threat. It’s a promise.’
Lauren was just six and Amy only four. How could he even contemplate doing something so depraved? But this man was pure evil. He scared me even more than Mr Khan did, and that was really saying something.
I was so withdrawn and shaky that Mum refused to accept there was nothing wrong with me. The slightest noise would have me jumping out
of my skin and, every night, I crept downstairs four or five times, terrified that Andy had posted a petrol bomb through my letterbox.
In the end, she sat me down and begged me to tell her what had happened. After stuttering and muttering and trying my best to skirt around the subject, I eventually blurted out that I’d been raped. I didn’t tell her who it was, though, or how many men were involved.
Mum was absolutely gutted, and kept apologising to me for being so angry. She was crying and telling me we had to phone the police, we had to do something, but I told her I couldn’t handle it and to leave me alone so I could concentrate on my exams. She wasn’t happy about it, but agreed to let me focus on my GCSEs.
As I hadn’t been allowed out, the calls from Mr Khan and Kev had been coming thick and fast. They were both really angry but I just tried to ignore them. I didn’t have to walk to or from school, unless I had an exam, and even then I was never there at my normal time, so they didn’t know where to find me, unless they walked straight up to my front door.
Which is exactly what Mr Khan did.
I was upstairs in my room, trying my best to revise, poring over maths equations that made my head swim, when I saw him coming up the garden path in his familiar grubby white robes. Things seemed to happen in slow motion, as he reached for the letterbox and put something in. I jumped to my feet and tore down the stairs, terrified he’d posted a petrol bomb through the door. I could almost taste the smoke, as I imagined the house going up in flames with my whole family inside. My whole family was going to die, and all because I’d been such a slag.
By the time I got to the bottom of the stairs, Liam had already got to the letter. He was home from university for a few days. I jumped up and down, trying to grab it from him, but he wouldn’t let it go.
‘This guy says you’re a prostitute,’ he said, eyes widening in disgust. ‘And that you owe him loads of money. Is that true?’
I felt like time had suddenly stopped. Mr Khan had always threatened to tell Mum I was a prostitute if I didn’t do what he said, and now he’d followed through with his threat.