Daddy's Little Earner (10 page)

Then he started making me lie down next to him
while I read and he would reach across with his spare
hand to play around with me inside my knickers, which
made me feel uncomfortable and fearful even though it
didn’t hurt to start with.

After it was all over he would give me a big lecture
each time about not telling anyone what we did together.
He would tell me about a little girl we knew from down the road whose daddy had gone to prison because she told
stories about him.

‘If I go to prison you and Terry will be sent to a children’s
home and everyone will hate you,’ he would warn.
‘Children’s homes are full of perverts who will torture
you and rape you. You need to have your daddy here to
protect you. You’re fat and you’re ugly and no one except
me is ever going to love you.’

I believed him completely. Even though I hated the
things he did I still didn’t want him to go back to prison.
We were a family and I wanted us to be together. His stories
about children’s homes were terrifying, even though
I had never had that bad a time myself whenever we had
been taken into one. I always thought that the next one
we went to might be where all the terrible things he
described would happen. As the level of his interference
with me escalated he kept saying there was no point in
telling anyone what was happening between us anyway,
because they would never believe me.

‘This is our secret,’ he’d tell me. ‘No one will believe
anything you say until you’re ten anyway.’

Later, when he was finally called to answer for what he
had done to me, he claimed that I had misunderstood what
he was doing, that it was just that he had an ‘open’ attitude
to nudity and sex. That was certainly true in that he saw
nothing wrong with doing whatever he wanted, but that
didn’t mean I liked it. No child wants their parents to walk around the house with no clothes on or to pee out the windows
or fiddle around inside their knickers.

Once I’d realized there was no point in asking him to
stop during these sessions or in attempting to run away, I
tried to let him get on with it and concentrate on other
things, pretending to myself that it wasn’t happening,
hoping it would all be over as quickly as possible. I convinced
myself that maybe it wasn’t so terrible. Then one
day, when I was still only about nine, he came in from the
pub as usual and asked if I wanted a lollipop.

‘Yes please, Daddy,’ I replied eagerly.

As he took my hand and marched me upstairs I felt
confused. Surely there weren’t any lollies up there and I
hadn’t heard the ice cream van in the street outside. My
heart sank as he gave me a magazine and lay down on the
bed to masturbate as usual. I guessed the offer of a lolly
had been one of his unkind jokes but after a few minutes
he asked again.

‘Do you want a lollipop then?’

‘Yes,’ I said, hoping that would mean he had finished
relieving himself. ‘Where are they?’

‘Come here,’ he said and as I leaned across he grabbed
my head. ‘Suck this!’

Before I knew what was happening he had forced
himself into my mouth and I felt like I was suffocating.
As I instinctively struggled to get away he became angry.
Tears were streaming down my face and I was gagging and choking, certain he was going to kill me. I couldn’t
breathe because his thing was so huge. He kept thrusting
it further and further down my throat, pushing harder on
the back of my head, impaling me so I couldn’t pull away.
There was no way I could think of other things while this
was going on. There was no escape either physically or
mentally from this new torture.

Eventually he let me go and just lay there laughing at
me. I felt so stupid for allowing him to trick me with the
promise of a lollipop. What had made me think for a single
second that he would have given me a treat for no reason?
Why did I still hold out the hope that he would want
to be kind to me, at least occasionally?

Once I could breathe again I also felt foolish for thinking
I was going to die a few minutes before, wondering if
perhaps I had been making a fuss about nothing. If Dad
thought it was just a joke maybe it wasn’t such a big deal
after all. I hated him and loved him and felt sorry for him
and for myself all at the same time. I always made excuses
for him when he drank but I couldn’t find any excuses
for him doing that to me; it was too disgusting and too
frightening.

When he started trying to have penetrative sex with
me I was even more terrified and convinced I was going
to die. His horrible fat thing was so big I thought it was
going to split me in two as he tried to force it in between
my legs. I imagined my whole body would tear in half and I would dissolve into nothingness. He was huge,
drunk and awful at moments like that. He smelled vile,
this great heavy man lying on top of me, trying to jab his
way into me, not caring if I screamed and cried from the
pain. I was certain something terrible was going to happen
to me.

He licked his fingers to wet me down below. ‘This’ll
make it easier,’ he said.

‘Please, don’t!’ I pleaded, over and over again.

‘Just relax,’ he said, taking no notice of my sobbing.
‘Stop making such a bloody fuss and it’ll be over a lot
quicker and it won’t hurt so much.’

I’d try to do as he told me because I wanted it over as
quickly as possible. I knew there was no point fighting
because of the size of him. He was so big and strong and
because he was my daddy I believed him when he said I
had to do it. I suppose it was like when a parent tells a
child they have to take a nasty-tasting medicine the doctor
has prescribed, or that they need to roll up their sleeve
for a painful injection because in the long run it may save
their life. I knew that some things have to be done just
because the grown-ups say so. I assumed this must be
one of those things because that was what he told me.

I wished he didn’t smell so bad though. He would
have started the day by showering and shampooing
and dousing himself in Brut or Old Spice but by the time
he had spent a long day in the pub those smells were drowned out by the stale stink of smoke and alcohol that
clung to his skin and his breath and his hair, filling my
nostrils and making me feel sick.

Once he’d finished he would always laugh at me. ‘See,
it wasn’t that bad, was it?’

There wouldn’t have been any point in telling him just
how terrible it had been because either he wouldn’t have
believed me or he would have been angered by my ingratitude
for all he did for me.

After the first time, he said, ‘Now you’ve done it once
you can start doing it for money.’ His words filled me
with dread, even though I didn’t quite understand what
he meant and even though he didn’t actually do anything
about it at that stage. If it hurt this much when he did it,
surely he couldn’t mean to make me do it with other
men? I hoped with all my heart that wasn’t what he
meant.

Once he knew he could get away with penetrating me,
he wanted to do it all the time. Sometimes it seemed as
though he was deliberately trying to court danger, as if
taking the risk of getting caught was part of the thrill for
him, showing that he wasn’t frightened of anyone, that
he was above the law and could do whatever he wanted.
There was a scrubby piece of woodland sandwiched
between two roads in Norwich and a couple of times he
detoured and deliberately took me in there on our way
back from the pubs and the betting shops. There were cars roaring past just a few yards either side of us while
he was attempting to fuck me, like he was daring the outside
world to try to stop him doing whatever he wanted. I
couldn’t understand why he didn’t just wait a few more
minutes until we got home, but I would never have found
the courage to ask. I was still just running around behind
him like a little puppy, eager to please him in any way I
could, always hoping not to be hurt too much in the
process, terrified of being rejected. I’d given up expecting
any affection a long time ago.

Always looking for new ways to make easy money,
Dad did up our bedrooms a bit and got a string of lodgers
in, moving Terry and me into his room to share a bed
with him, a situation that we both hated but dared not
complain about. He would make me sleep next to him
because he said Terry kicked too much in his sleep. I was
always frightened when he was lying next to me, but it
was worse if I knew he’d been drinking and would be
wanting to feel me up with Terry asleep on the other side
of me. It was still disgusting to me even once Dad had
fallen asleep and I never got used to the stale smell of alcohol
wafting across the pillow into my face as he snored
away.

When Mum walked out and he lost her income, money
had become really tight. It certainly didn’t occur to him
to work himself and he had to rely on coming up with
new scams the whole time just to survive. When he got awarded custody of Terry and me as a single parent he
gloated to anyone who would listen that he would never
have to work again because our child benefits would be
his meal ticket. It wasn’t long before he realized he needed
more than our benefit cheques to maintain a drinking
habit as generous as his.

As well as paying him rent, some of the lodgers provided
him with yet another source of income because
their giros would come to the house and he would nick
them off the doormat before they saw them. He would
then get me to forge their signatures and take the giros up
to a post office in another area of the city to get the cash. It
only happened a few times before the police came round
and took a specimen of Dad’s writing to match it up to the
signatures. It didn’t occur to them to take a sample of my
writing. Who would expect a shy little nine-year-old girl
to be forging giros?

‘You can’t get done for this,’ Dad would assure me if I
got nervous and asked if I would be sent to prison,
‘because you’re not legally responsible until you’re ten
years old.’

Most of the lodgers only stayed a few days at a time
and often they left because Dad had picked a fight with
them. The only ones that I can remember clearly were
two young lads, one of whom was really good-looking
and sweet. Terry and I were sitting with him one afternoon
talking and eating a packet of chocolate biscuits that Nanny had dropped round the day before, when Dad
arrived home. Any sort of biscuits were a bit of a rarity in
our house and we certainly never had chocolate ones as a
rule so I think Terry and I had assumed they belonged to
the lodgers. Dad must have been looking forward to a
chocolate biscuit with his tea all the way home and when
he saw what was happening he exploded. He took all his
anger out on the lodger, beating the guy to a pulp in front
of us, splattering the sitting room in his blood as he
punched and kicked and threw him around, accusing
him of stealing his biscuits. Terry and I tried to explain it
was our fault but he wouldn’t listen. He got together all
the lodger’s stuff and hurled it out into the street. Even
though I was only little I remember wondering why he
would react so violently over a packet of biscuits when all
he had to do was buy another one. Looking back now I
realize it may have been because he saw I liked the boy
and he felt there was a threat to his total control of the
home. He wouldn’t have wanted Terry and me to have
any heroes other than him. I felt so guilty about the punishment
that lad suffered, certain as always that it was all
my fault.

Another lodger left the front gate open and our dog
got lost, so he got a beating too before being thrown out
onto the street. It was as though Dad had a problem with
having any rival males on his patch, even when they were
paying him rent.

It was never possible to predict his reactions to anything.
Sometimes he would explode over something that
no one else had noticed and at other times we would be
shaking in our boots in anticipation of a bad reaction and
he would be fine. It all added to our insecurity and
increased his power over us, keeping us off balance and
nervous all the time. He had a certificate framed on the
lounge wall that was something to do with him being a
member of the freemasons. It was his pride and joy and
when Terry and I smashed the glass one day playing ball
indoors we both thought we were going to be dead meat
when he got home. There was no way we could do anything
to disguise the breakage or mend it so we were
quaking with fear by the time he came through the door,
both of us apologizing and begging for mercy.

‘Don’t worry about it,’ he grinned as if we were silly to
make a fuss about something so trivial. ‘We can always
get some new glass.’

Working on his favourite principle that we were too
young to be arrested, he sent Terry and me out shoplifting
for him more and more frequently. It might have started
with us being instructed to bring back just a packet of
bacon or some other much-needed food, but he soon
developed a habit of ordering us to steal bottles of whisky
that he could share out with his mates. As he was handing
the whisky round at home he would be boasting to them
about his clever little shoplifting daughter as though I’d just won a prize. I would burst with pride as he sung my
praises and his mates would stare at me in amazement,
not realizing that I only did it because he forced me to. If
only he could have been as proud of me when I played the
violin or did well at school.

I always seemed to get away with nicking the whisky
for him. I suppose it never occurred to the shopkeepers
that a little girl would do that sort of thing so they didn’t
bother to watch me too carefully when I went to that area
of the shop. To make it even more difficult he was always
really particular about the brands he would accept. It had
to be Teachers or White Horse. Sometimes he would
come out on these raids with us himself, acting like a ring
master. There was a bicycle that was always parked in the
same place round the back of the supermarket, with a
satchel behind the saddle. He would stand beside it and
take the bottles from me, sending me straight back in for
more, storing them in the satchel until I had brought him
three or four, then he would fish them out and we would
head home triumphantly. He thought it was brilliant that
he had trained me like this, feeling he was outwitting the
law. Although I hated having to steal, I was proud to
think that I had finally found a way to please him and
show him I wasn’t completely useless.