Never a Hero to Me (19 page)

That was it.

That was my one attempt to tell someone and it didn’t work.

Her response had made me so angry. I felt so betrayed that the adult who should have at least been professional and considered what I had alleged had ignored me. I promised myself I would tell again, I would keep telling until someone listened, and the next person I told would have more invested than a cold-hearted social worker.

The next person I told would be my mum.

When Mum got back from hospital after our return from Scotland, she was definitely much better than she had been for years, which wasn’t surprising as she’d been in for so long, but something had happened between her and Dad. They had never been a loving couple but they seemed to be arguing a lot more than was usual even for them.

I knew their adult relationship wasn’t as it should be for many reasons. Not only had my dad put me in Mum’s place sexually, but she was suspicious of him. Each time her illness got worse she would get terrible blisters and ulcers all over her body. One time, I heard them talking in their bedroom and they were arguing because Mum had them on her genitals. Mum said to him, ‘If you’ve given me anything, I’ll leave you – that’s it, I’ll walk.’

‘Don’t be stupid,’ he told her. ‘I haven’t been near anyone else.’

That was obviously a lie; he never had his hands off me. Maybe I didn’t count.

‘Well, I can’t remember the last time you touched me,’ she countered.

I knew more by now. I was twelve, I was hanging around older kids a lot and there was plenty of talk about sex. From my completely inappropriate experience, I knew that lots of what they said was inaccurate, but I was also piecing things together and making sense of the things which had been done to me since I was five. My parents’ conversation showed me they weren’t sleeping together and she was willing to suspect him of being with someone else.

There was lots of niggling going on between them about petty things too. Mum had a radiogram that she loved and she had her own particular records which she played over and over again. During this time, he went on at her a lot about playing Sandie Shaw constantly as he said he was sick of listening to it. They didn’t argue exactly, he just told her she was to stop. He commandeered the radiogram and made sure his music was on all the time – he still liked things such as Frank Sinatra and Johnny Cash, crooners were his sort of thing, and he ‘allowed’ Mum a few listens to people like more modern singers such as Dusty Springfield, who didn’t annoy him too much.

The atmosphere was even worse than I was used to, but I still couldn’t pluck up the courage to tell Mum. I decided to run away instead. That night, I started preparing my things with the plan of leaving soon. Gary came into my room and asked what I was doing. I told him the truth, that I was getting ready to leave, as I knew he wouldn’t tell – I reasoned he would prefer it if I wasn’t there. He left the room for a few moments and returned with a couple of my records – I wasn’t going to pack those, but I thought he was maybe just making a nice gesture.

‘Are you going away because you told?’ he asked.

‘Yes.’

‘Did you tell on me?’ he asked, worriedly.

‘No, Mum wouldn’t ever believe that.’ It was the truth. ‘She’d blame that on me as well.’

‘Tracy – I don’t want to be like him. I know what he does to you.’

‘Please don’t tell anyone, Gary,’ I pleaded. I was still scared that Mum would get ill if everyone knew.

‘I won’t – but you have to tell me what he does when you’re alone together.’

‘I thought you knew?’

‘Well, I do – but I need to hear it from you.’

Did he know everything for sure or did he just have suspicions? I have no idea but he wanted me to elaborate.

‘Does he touch you in private places?’

‘Does he make you touch him in private places?’

‘Does he make you kiss him down there?’

‘Does he make you suck it?’

‘Does he put it in you?’

YES, YES, YES, my head was screaming, but I could only nod.

‘Don’t tell anyone or Mum will die,’ I said.

‘Will she?’ he asked, thoughtfully. ‘OK, I’ll keep it a secret. I won’t tell – but Tracy? You have to do what you do to him. You have to touch me.’

I couldn’t believe this. He had been so understanding at first, seemingly so supportive, but now, instead of consoling me, he just wanted to use it as an excuse to abuse me too.

He made me masturbate him that day and then, about a week later, waited until we were in the house alone and then shouted through from his bedroom. ‘Sis, come here. I need you to do something for me.’ I went through and he was sitting there with his penis out. Like father, like son. He tried to rape me that day but I fought him off again and he graciously accepted that his twelve-year-old traumatised little sister masturbate him instead. He warned me that if I said anything he would batter and kill me.

Gary had mood swings just like Dad. He was all over the place with how he behaved from one day to the next – and the following morning, he put his arm out to stop me leaving the kitchen. ‘About yesterday . . .’ he said. ‘I’m sorry, Tracy. I’m really sorry.’ He shook his head then moved his arm away. ‘I’ll never have kids.’

Gary kept to his word and had a vasectomy when he was twenty. In some ways this was odd, because of the rumours that he wasn’t my dad’s biological child, but only he would know the feelings he had, and perhaps the socialisation he had been provided with in his childhood with Dad as a role model was enough to make him fear what he might become. (It was interesting that when he told my mum of his plans she immediately complained she would never have grandchildren, ignoring the fact that she had a daughter even then.)

This was all too much.

I waited until Dad was working and Gary was at a sleepover. I knew by now that Mum would never love me the way I needed her to, the way all children need their mothers to, but I had to tell her what had been happening for the past seven years. She was my only hope now. I must be honest and admit that, in my heart, I dreamed of a moment when she would realise all I had done for her and everything would work out.

‘Mum, can I have a word?’ I asked, as she sat watching telly.

‘If you must,’ she replied, not taking her eyes off the screen.

‘I’ve got something I need to talk to you about . . .’ I began. ‘It’s a bit difficult . . .’

‘Have you been messing with boys?’ she snapped.

‘No! Well, it’s that sort of thing, but . . . this is really hard.’

‘Well, hurry up, will you? I don’t have all night.’

She did have all night. She was only glued to the TV, wishing she was at bingo. I didn’t know how to get the words out – I had to tell her things I never wanted to speak of, never wanted to verbalise. She was in a hurry, she wanted me out of the room and she wanted to be left alone to watch soap operas and brain-numbing game shows.

I wanted to turn around and leave, to mutter that it didn’t matter, but it
did
matter.

‘Mum, it’s about Dad.’

‘What about your dad?’

What were the words I could use? How could I say the things which would change all our lives forever? I had to just get it over and done with.

‘He’s been doing things to me. He’s been touching me. He’s been touching me in ways he shouldn’t for years, Mum.’

She still stared at the television.

‘Rubbish,’ was her only comment.

I took a deep breath.

‘It isn’t rubbish, it’s the truth. Since I was five, he’s told me that I have to do these things to keep you out of hospital and that’s why I have. I loved you so much, Mum, and I’d have done anything to make you well.’

I waited for a response but there was absolutely nothing coming from her.

‘Mum? Have you heard anything I’ve said?’

‘I’ve heard it.’

‘Mum! He raped me! Dad’s been raping me!’

She turned to face me and stood up slowly, pointing a finger at me. ‘
HE
is my husband.
YOU
are only my daughter. It’s all lies. Go away.’

That was it. She sat back down and stared at the screen. I fled to my room and started to sob. I should have known. She had never felt anything for me and she was bound to my dad. There may have been no love between them but he had looked after her financially all these years, provided her with a home and security, been there through all her illness. What was I to her? A burden. If she had believed what I had said, it would have blown apart what there was of our family life and she couldn’t risk that. What could I do now? I had been thinking of running away for weeks, and had been preparing for it; I knew now that was my only option.

Before I had stayed with Auntie Dee, I hadn’t questioned things so much, but that had given me a different view on family life. She would have killed for her kids and if any of them had told her what I had just told my mum, she would have protected them against everything. I had seen something outside my bubble while I lived with her and I wanted that, I didn’t want my family’s perverted version of normality.

I ran away that night. Mum hadn’t spoken to me again and I stayed in my room when Gary and Dad came back. I planned to go to my friend Holly and tell her I was leaving. When I got there, I had whittled down the things in my backpack to what really mattered to me and had little more than my DMs and an extra jacket. I was frightened but I didn’t think I had any other options.

When I told Holly I was running away, she naturally asked why. I wasn’t ready to tell everyone the full extent of what had been going on so I said Dad had been hitting me.

‘So?’ she said. ‘My dad hits me all the time.’

‘Well, I don’t like it and my mum’s hardly ever there,’ I told her.

‘You can’t run away. Where would you go?’ she pointed out. ‘Stay here and go back tomorrow. They’ll have been so worried about you that they’ll be nice. At least they will for a while.’ She said it with such certainty that I wondered whether she had tried it herself at times. ‘You can spend the night in our cellar.’

Holly’s den was nice. She had soft furnishings and a sofa bed. There were lots of lamps made out of 1960s fibreglass. It was a windy night and I didn’t sleep much. I had asked Holly to keep my presence a secret from her parents and she stuck to her word. The next morning she wanted to know if I was going home. When I said I wasn’t, she said she couldn’t hide me for another night as her mum would get suspicious, so I went to the house of a girl called Gillian Harrison. I told Gillian the same story about Dad hitting me and she also suggested I bunk down in the cellar for the night.

The day after that, I went back to Holly, who asked me if I had gone home yet. ‘No,’ I answered. ‘Why would I?’

‘Well, your dad came looking for you at my house,’ she said. ‘Your mum is really ill again. I thought he’d found you and taken you back. I’m sure he won’t hit you now, he’ll be too upset about your mum.’

She knew nothing. The old pull still had its hold on me though and, reluctantly, I went home. Dad laid into me as soon as I got in and told me I was too late, Mum had been taken into hospital that morning. I didn’t think she had said anything to him about my revelation because he wouldn’t have been able to keep that back when he was shouting at me.

That night, I wished I was back in Holly or Gillian’s cellars. I wouldn’t care about the wind or the cold, I would happily stay awake all night there because at least I would be safe. Dad came into my bed and told me how selfish I was, and, my body bruised once more from his attacks, I ran away that night again.

I spent the night at Gillian’s, and didn’t go to school the next day. I’d had a lot of time to think and one thing which kept going around in my mind was what Dad was going to do next. What was there
left
for him to do? I was stuck. I dreaded the idea of going back but I had no money and very few friends I could stay with. I went back home that night and Mum was home. She hadn’t been in hospital long but he hadn’t even mentioned to her that I’d been away.

He collared me that night as I was going to the kitchen for a drink.

‘Don’t you even think of playing up again,’ he said. ‘You stay here. You don’t play at running away. You do every single thing I fucking tell you.’

‘Or what?’ I retorted.

‘You know what – your mum will get ill and she might die.’

I laughed in his face. It was the first time I had ever done that.

‘Don’t bother, Dad,’ I said. ‘I’ve worked that one out.’

He looked at me as if I’d slapped him.

‘And I’ll tell her. I’ll tell her everything.’

By his reaction of shock, I knew Mum definitely hadn’t said anything to him about me already telling her. He moved forward and had the audacity to try and hug me, but something had changed. I pushed him away and went to my room, slamming the door behind me.

What had given me that strength? The times I had run away. The fact that I had survived on my own. The realisation that my mum didn’t care about me or believe me. The fact that he didn’t even try to change the lies he told me and kept on with the same ones he had used for seven whole years. And the overriding image of my Auntie Dee and her family, who had given me the belief that things could be different.

I had lost so much. When I heard girls talking about boys, when my cousins had chatted about their first kiss or holding hands with the ones they loved, and even when the older ones spoke about how they wanted the first time to be special, I had realised just how much my dad had ripped from me. I’d never get any of that back again, but I could stop it all right now. I had a voice and I was going to start shouting.

I grabbed my backpack and left. I didn’t wait until they were all in bed because it had finally sunk in that no one cared anyway. The only thing that was bothering me was the fact that I was only twelve and, if I was found, the police would simply take me back home again. I went to Holly’s and told her that things were getting worse. I didn’t go into any detail – perhaps I should have – and I think she just assumed I was being hit even more than I had implied in the past.