Stolen Girl (22 page)

A
s I waited for the day to come for the men to enter their pleas, my anger spilled out into words in my diary. The more I wrote, the more my anger and frustration bubbled up and rose to the surface. Writing was my therapy; the words helped me make sense of it all.

I opened up the pink box containing my journal and packed away my diary for the very last time. I was eighteen years old. It had taken two years for the police to gather the evidence but now the date for the trial was approaching and I was ready.

T
he trial was scheduled to last for six weeks and it would be heard at the Crown Court. I wondered how I would ever get through it.

On the first day, Dad turned up at the house. Even though I wanted to do it alone, he was determined to come with me.

‘Cig?’ he asked, when he noticed my hands were shaking.

‘Yeah,’ I smiled.

I wasn’t his little girl anymore and he knew it. I was all grown up and now I was even smoking in front of him. These men had ruined my life: they’d made me grow up quicker than I’d ever wanted to. But now, after a two-and-a-half-year investigation, I finally had my day in court.

I’d been assigned a support worker called Karen six months before the trial and she’d been my rock. Over the past few months, she’d regularly popped in to see me. I always showed her what I’d written in my diary – she was one of the few
people I trusted. At times, Karen put me before her own family and in many ways became my guardian angel. She gave me strength when I most needed it. In many ways she saved my life.

During the run-up to the trial, my Aunt Sarah offered to take me out for the day. As we walked along, I realised that we’d stumbled into an Asian neighbourhood. Suddenly, I was back in the secret house with faceless men, their hands pawing at my body, hurting me. I started to retch, then I vomited on the floor. My aunt became upset but eventually I managed to pull myself together. However, the fear had been real. I fretted. If I was like this now, how would I ever cope in court with the real thing standing in the dock?

A uniformed police officer picked us up on the morning of the trial and Dad and me travelled with him to the Crown Court. Karen met us there. I didn’t want Mum or Phil to go. To be honest, I didn’t want anyone there – I felt too embarrassed.

Prior to the trial, I’d had to identify all of the men. Each one had been mixed in with seven other innocent faces and I had to pick them out from the crowd. It wasn’t hard. I successfully identified Zeb, Aban, Wadi, Tali, Rafan and Isam. Even so, the police made me watch a CD featuring the men’s faces twice because it was a legal requirement.

The other girl, who had been twelve years old when she was abused, was too frightened to testify so the police couldn’t make her. They traced another girl who’d been thirteen at the time. She was now fifteen, but her family also refused to let her stand as a witness – I was on my own.

It was decided it’d be best if I gave evidence from a side room via video link. A court usher led me in and the room was empty apart from a chair and a camera, which linked directly
back into the court room. They could see me but I couldn’t see them. I’d wanted to be strong and look my abusers in the eye but the thought of being in the same room as them made me feel physically sick. In the end, the decision was taken – this would be the best way forward. I couldn’t back down now.

I’d been given a tour of the court room prior to the hearing so I knew what it looked like and where everyone sat. Giving evidence via the video link unnerved me because I knew I’d be able to hear everyone in the court room. I would see who was talking to me but thankfully, I wouldn’t see Zeb or the others. I wondered if they’d see me. I hated the fact that the jury would be watching my every move. I was worried about whether I’d come across okay and I just prayed that they’d believe me.

When my time came, I took a deep breath and told the truth. Sure enough, my version of events was brought into question, as was my character. The defence teams called me a wild-child – a sexually active troublemaker. They said I was a rebel who hung around outside shops, drinking and smoking. Each one ripped into me and my version of events but I held my nerve as they all but called me a liar.

Then one brought up the fact that I’d been sick in the street when I’d found myself in an Asian neighbourhood. He said I’d been sick because I was racist. The arguments against me were so far-fetched, they were laughable.

Lauren was called to give evidence, which she did via video link over two days. I wasn’t allowed to see or speak to her during the trial so I wasn’t sure what she’d said. But I later found out she’d told the court about the second house with Rafan. She also told them about Isam and the others from the shop. Lauren didn’t know Zeb or anything about the ‘secret’ house, but she’d just backed up everything else I’d said.

One afternoon, I was sitting in a side room when I was asked to hand over my mobile phone. They were convinced I’d been speaking to Lauren and that I was telling her what to say. It made me angry. At first I refused but I was told the jury would be suspicious if I chose to say no. In the end, I gave them the phone because I had nothing to hide. If I hadn’t already felt exposed, I did now. I hated the thought of complete strangers scanning through all my calls and texts. Half an hour later I was given my mobile back. They hadn’t found anything but I felt utterly violated.

Soon it was the defendants’ turn to take the stand.

Tali denied even knowing me and said we’d never had sex above the shop or in his car. He’d changed jobs and he said he knew Wadi, but denied knowing any of the others. I couldn’t believe it.

Rafan admitted having sex with me once but said that as I’d been dressed older than my years, he’d thought I was at least nineteen years old. He said he’d seen me drinking and smoking and had assumed I was older. He admitted lying to the police at first about knowing me because he was married with children and didn’t want to be cast out of his community. But how could he think I was nineteen? I’d been wearing my school uniform when we’d first met.

Wadi also protested his innocence. He called me wild and denied giving me cigarettes and alcohol. He also denied that he’d had sex with me. He told the jury that during the investigation I’d continued to pester him, visiting him at his shop. It was a lie. I suggested to his lawyer that if I’d been to the shop, as Wadi had said, they should show the CCTV footage in court. I knew the shop had been fitted with CCTV, so if it was true then surely I’d be caught on camera? The lawyer seemed
flustered and later told the court his client had informed him that the camera had been broken on the day in question. I’d just blown Wadi’s story out of the water.

Zeb told the jury he’d met me by chance because I’d got hold of his phone number and pestered him. He then said I’d made up false allegations of rape because he’d rebuffed my advances.

The trial progressed as, day by day, I listened to more and more of this nonsense. Finally, halfway through the trial, the jury, on the direction of the judge, found Isam not guilty. I couldn’t believe it – I was in total shock. How could he get away scot-free after everything I’d been through? I felt completely gutted.

That night when I returned from court I shut myself in my bedroom. A police officer came to see me but I refused to go to court again. What was the point? If the jury didn’t believe me about Isam, then why would they believe me about the others? He’d got away with it, so what was to say the others wouldn’t too? The police officer listened and eventually calmed me down. Then he made me see sense; we’d come this far, so I owed it to myself to see it through to the end.

Days later, the jury acquitted Rafan too. I don’t know why they found them both not guilty; they were as bad as the others but for some reason the jury chose to believe them and not me.

Doubt plagued me. I wondered if Lauren had painted a rosy picture of Rafan – I knew she’d always fancied him and had even called him her first true love. I wondered if she’d believed him when he told her how much he loved her, just as I’d believed them all.

The thought that both Isam and Rafan were free men hurt me inside. I wanted to take a knife and hunt them down. But it was pointless – then I’d be the one locked away for the rest
of my life. They knew what they’d done and now they’d have to live with the guilt for the rest of their lives. Just because they’d walked free didn’t mean they were innocent.

After the not guilty verdicts only four were left standing in the dock – Zeb, Aban, Wadi and Tali. The jury retired to consider their verdicts and I sat and waited.

Angela and Karen called me to the police station to make a victim statement in case the men were found guilty. I told them how the abuse had shaped and ruined my childhood – how I’d never be able to claw back those happy years. These men had ruined my entire life so far and they still were. It wouldn’t be over until the jury had reached a decision.

Exhausted from bearing my soul for the very last time, I drifted off outside, cigarette in hand, for a moment of quiet reflection. Moments later, Angela came to find me. The jury had returned with the verdicts.

I held my breath.

‘They found Aban not guilty,’ she said.

My face fell. I knew it – they’d get away with it, the whole lot of them. Why did I even bother? I shook my head in despair.

‘What about the others?’ I gasped. Then I held my breath, too frightened to know the answer.

‘Guilty.’

Guilty
.

Tears filled my eyes and started to stream down my cheeks. The jury had believed me, not them. For the first time in years, I felt complete and utter relief. Raising my fist, I punched the air with delight – I couldn’t help it. All the waiting, all those months I’d felt suicidal – it was over and I’d been vindicated.

Zeb, Wadi and Tali would be sent to prison, where they’d be
locked away for a total of 22 years. Zeb was handed a twelve-year jail term for raping and sexually abusing me, whilst Wadi was given six years and Tali four.

Sam was due to be separately sentenced as the cases were not deemed to be connected, but at least he had the decency to plead guilty and spare me a second trial. Two months later, Sam – the lad I’d considered my boyfriend – was jailed for two years for nine offences of sexual activity with a child. He’d not been involved with the grooming ring and was said to be genuinely remorseful, but he was still a paedophile and he’d still had sex with a child – and that lost childhood had been mine.

I’d done it. I’d seen both cases through and now these bastards were on the Sex Offenders Register, where they’d be closely monitored and kept away from children. They were marked men and everyone knew who and what they were. Now they were behind bars where they couldn’t hurt, abuse or groom another child.

The battle to get to this point had been tough and I was left scarred by my experience. I felt angry because whilst I suffered, the other abusers were out there living a normal life. During the investigation, I’d been shouted at in the street by relatives of those in the dock. I’d been called ‘white trash’, even a ‘prostitute’. Their families tried to intimidate me, tried to get me to back down. But I wouldn’t – I needed to do this for the other young victims.

I thought the sentences would bring relief but they brought more anger. These men could have spared me further trauma by admitting their guilt, but they were arrogant and refused. They’d been allowed to intimidate and abuse me all over again,
this time in a court of law. Defiant right up to the end, they’d been certain they’d win – but they hadn’t.

Slowly the pain lifted. And, as each day passed, I began to feel stronger: I’d got justice.

Zeb and the others didn’t think I’d do it. They didn’t think I was strong enough to expose them for what they were. I’d always been their victim, but not anymore. I’d got justice not only for myself but for the countless other victims of this vile grooming crime.

These evil men had robbed my childhood from me. They saw me as a sex toy, not a human being. They thought they had all the power, but somehow I discovered an inner strength and fought back. I fought for all those children who weren’t strong or brave enough to do so.

Zeb and his friends got what they deserved and if I have one wish, it is this: for someone to torture and intimidate them in the same way they did with me and all those other little girls. I dream someone stronger will overpower them, so that they feel the utter terror I did every single day of my teenage years.

I’d been to hell and back, but now it was finally over. Their lives were over but mine was just beginning.