Sarah's Story Page 6

  ‘No, I’m not. Come on, you know you want to …’ His voice slurred from the drink. ‘You’re a big girl now, come on.’

  I cried as he tried putting his hand up my dress and into my pants. I dropped my schoolbooks. As I leaned forward to pick them up, I smelled his breath, which was so repugnant I began to feel nauseous. As I straightened up, he still had his hands on me, pulling all the time at my clothing.

  I tried pushing him off me again. He was too hefty, too strong. He pulled at my pants and they came down at one side. I begged him to stop, but he didn’t. He continued with his task regardless of the fact that I was a child almost young enough to be his daughter. He started to fumble with the zip on his trousers.

  The drink inside him made him sway. I begged again, pushing him away as best I could, and he sloped to one side. I knew this was the opportunity I was waiting for, so I seized the moment. This was not going to happen to me again. I was going to be in control this time. As he straightened up, I lifted my knee up hard. He fell over in pain.

  I pulled open the door and ran home. I never slowed down for any of the sixty steps it took to reach my back door.

  Simon may not have been as old as Bill or my dad, but he was still twenty-seven, fourteen years older than me. What gave him the right to try it on and attempt to have his way with me, the same as the others?

  I was a child.

  A child.

  Not a grown woman.

  Sex wasn’t on my school timetable.

  Was I not entitled to decide what I wanted to happen to me?

  Did my opinion not count?

  This time I won. I had stopped the inevitable from happening. I was not going to be a victim again. But that night I still found myself thinking about the same questions I had asked myself many times before.

  Why me?

  What was it about me?

  Why choose me?

  What had I done to deserve this?

  Why did all these older men like me so much?

  How much more could these men steal from me?

  Did I have anything left to give?

  Would they leave me with anything left to give?

  I cried that night, like so many nights before. In between my tears I hoped that sometime soon my life would once more be a beautiful thing that was worth living – each new moment spent in sunshine and warmth instead of darkness and shadow.

  Was this too much to ask?

  Would my wish ever be granted?

  Or was this simply too much of a miracle to expect?

  Ten

  AS I APPROACHED my fourteenth birthday, I realised that my life was a complete shambles. I didn’t know who to turn to for help or which direction I should aim for if I wanted to run away. I was completely alone in a world populated by men who had destroyed any happy childhood memory. I was drawn into and caught up in a web thickly woven by perversion and mockery. All I wanted was to be left alone. But that would never happen.

  Bill had me in his grasp, a grasp that was as difficult to escape from as an airtight room with a nest of scorpions standing guard at the door. I forced myself to think of ways to break free from him, but so far anything I thought of just sounded so far-fetched I knew the ideas wouldn’t work.

  One day, on my way back from school, I met a boy called Tom who lived on the estate. He was a good-looking boy, with blond hair and blue eyes, and he was quite tall for his age. He was almost two years older than me, in his final year at school. I knew the moment I saw him that he was the boy I would fall in love with.

  Tom became my first true love. He helped me forget my other life. When I was with him, I enjoyed living. He made me feel like I was special, like a butterfly opening its wings for the very first time, ready to reveal its true, unblemished, perfect beauty to the waiting world in its shadow. He knew nothing about my past, and I didn’t want him to know all the sordid details. I didn’t want him to be ashamed of me or hate me for the things I had ‘allowed’ Bill to do to me. I thought, if he knew about all that, I would lose him, and I couldn’t let that happen – not when I’d only just found him.

  As our friendship grew into a boyfriend–girlfriend relationship, Tom and I began spending more and more time together. During the week, he would come round to my house when I came home from school and we would sit and watch television together. Sometimes I went to his house too, although his brothers would tease us constantly all the time we were together.

  As winter turned into spring, we went out and walked a lot. We enjoyed going for walks, and I was always especially keen when Tom suggested them because I loved to escape from my world that held sordid secrets and the shadows of shame. We often walked down to the river with Tom’s friend John, and sometimes we went as far as the paper mill. It was a long walk to the mill – it usually took about an hour and a half to get there – but it was worth it. It was so tranquil and beautiful walking along the river and back through the woods that flanked one side of the mill. Tom and I used to sit on a fallen tree and talk for ages, often forgetting the time as our long conversations rambled and ended as we came closer to share our special kisses. It was a different world by the paper mill, a world I knew to be safe, and one that I wanted to stay a part of forever. I never wanted Tom to take me home. I wanted to stay there by the river forever.

  I often sit and think back to that precious time when everything was all right. I find myself remembering the look on his face when I always wanted to stay out longer. I wondered if he knew the reason I didn’t want to go home. Had he ever guessed there was something so very, very wrong there? Would he have protected me if he had known my reasons?

  The answer to that question I now know to be yes. I never told him what had happened; I just know he would have helped me. He was just that kind of boy. One who protects. Someone who would wrap you up in a soft blanket that was made of a material that could not be penetrated by the outside world. Tom always hated getting me home late, he always wanted to do what he knew to be the right thing; he always wanted to please my parents; and he never wanted to upset my dad. During the time we were together, he showed me kindness and consideration. He was both caring and gentle, and he provided me with the love that was so missing in my life. He was always protecting me and piecing together the broken fragments of my heart. He made me feel whole.

  We spent a great deal of our time talking, but we also had kissing competitions to see who would stop kissing the other first. We usually lasted twenty minutes, although once we kissed for twenty-five. We never did anything else – it was wrong to do anything else, and we both knew that. One night, though, I unzipped my cardigan a little further than I normally would have worn it. Tom had been resting his hand on my tummy for ages, in the little space between the waistband of my trousers and the bottom of my cardigan. I thought he wanted to move his hand up a bit, but how wrong I was.

  I thought I understood, but I didn’t. I thought I knew what men wanted, but I didn’t know what Tom wanted. I hated myself from the moment I moved my zip. I began to think he would think I was a cheap slut.

  ‘Why did you do that?’ he asked.

  ‘What?’ I replied, acting a fool, pretending not to know what he meant.

  ‘You know, move your zip.’

  I hesitated before I answered. ‘I don’t know, I thought you wanted me to …’

  He sighed, and I started to get quite tearful. The words that followed, the words he spoke, were so precious I couldn’t speak to him for ages I just buried my head deep in his shoulder and cried uncontrollably. ‘I don’t want to take advantage of you, Sarah. I love you. I want to wait until we’re both old enough. That’s a special time and should be saved for honeymoons. Our honeymoon, a honeymoon we’ll share when the time comes.’ He bent down and kissed me gently.

  I couldn’t tell him why I was crying. As he watched my tears fall, he looked confused but I told him I was fine. Tom looked down at me snuggling into his shoulder and smiled gently at me, smiling his special smile. Whenever I saw
that smile, it swallowed me whole and took me into a world away from the real one, a world of complete safety like the world we shared at the paper mill. Safe and secure, away from all the monsters and thieves I had come to know so well in such a short space of time.

  A few weeks later, Tom gave me a ring that he had had made by a jeweller in town to his own design. It had five small stones set into a central square, with two collars on each side of the centre. On each of the two collars were two stones, and the smaller collar had one stone inlaid. It was so precious, as precious as the life we shared. I couldn’t wear Tom’s ring on my left hand, but I wore it on my right instead. It meant so much to me – for once I felt as if I wasn’t worthless. I felt my life had been given back its meaning.

  One evening, Tom came to the house early. He saw Bill dropping me off and wanted to know who he was. I was frightened because I knew that Tom could be hurt by what he saw, and I never wanted any hurt to touch him. I certainly didn’t want the memory of Tom and Bill together in the same space by the house.

  So I told him a lie.

  I didn’t want to, but I didn’t know what else to do. My own insincerity cut through me like a hot sword through a delicate, newly carved ice sculpture. ‘He’s just a friend of Mum and Dad’s. I sometimes go and help him from time to time.’

  I knew by the look on his face he would not leave it at that. I sensed that he didn’t trust Bill. He knew from what he had seen that Bill was trouble for me. Inside my body, deep within my soul, I cried out in desperation. ‘Go with your instinct, he is a bad person.’

  He looked at me at that moment, but heard nothing.

  I spoke again in my mind, and then I heard myself whispering the words I wanted Tom to hear. ‘Go with your instinct.’ He heard nothing. I should have spoken again, but I couldn’t. I didn’t want to cause him pain. I didn’t want to taint his world with the contaminated, spoiled stains of mine.

  He asked questions about Bill later that night, when we were alone together. I felt deep inside that he did not truly believe me. I hated lying to him but I knew the truth would destroy him more than my lies, and he would leave. Tom was my only salvation in a time of crisis. I didn’t want to lose him, but I felt the pain of separation even then before it happened: we were going to drift apart. I knew it was only a matter of time, and I wouldn’t be able to stop it. Bill had started a heartache within us both that would lead to heartbreak for both of us.

  He had won again.

  A few weeks later, Tom called round to see me like he usually did on Monday nights. He started talking to me about going into the army. He said he wanted a career – a career with a future that was good for him and me. He didn’t want to become trapped in a dead-end job with no prospects. He wanted to make something of himself.

  I didn’t want him to go. He told me he had already been to the office in town and they were interested in him. They wanted my Tom. I knew even then that I was losing him. It would only be a matter of time before he would be gone from my life forever. Lost in a new world that I had no part in.

  Tom had the papers to sign within a few weeks of his interview. I cried so hard that night. They were taking away my only friend. They were stealing my first love. I was being robbed once again Just a few weeks later he was posted to the army training camp in Aldershot. I saw him before he left to start his training. He came to the house with a large carrier bag, inside which was his Womble. It had been made by his aunt and was very dear to him. He told me that his Womble would be there for me to cuddle in his place.

  I held it close. It smelled of him.

  After Tom left, we wrote regularly while he was training, and I saw him twice when he came home on leave; both times he saw Bill leaving the house. I don’t know what he thought, but each time he looked hurt. He seemed different after his visits – something had changed but I didn’t really know what. I just didn’t understand.

  I lost him, as I knew I eventually would. My confidence and my new life and feeling of freedom disappeared with him. The hitherto undreamed-of chapter of happiness ended abruptly before it had a real chance to begin. I cried so much that the heartache became unbearable. I was once again free to be thrown to the lions, and no one was there to help me loosen the locks on the cage.

  I was once more at the mercy of those who would steal my childhood. It was now only a case of when would the thief be calling?

  I tried so hard to escape Bill and his regular visits. He even made advances while my mum and dad were in the garden. One night, soon after I saw Tom for the last time, I swallowed thirty of my dad’s anti-depressant pills and some paracetamol. I waited for what seemed like forever for them to work. They didn’t. Why wasn’t this quick? It was in the movies. I remember feeling great disappointment that I was only a little bit light-headed. I decided that, as I still felt reasonable, now would be a good time to say my goodbyes, so I went to Lucy’s house to bid her farewell.

  It was two hours since I had taken the pills. As I approached her house she was just going in, and she knew something wasn’t right. She watched me trip on the step and fall forward on to the sofa as I went into the lounge. ‘Are you all right?’ she asked me.

  ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘You haven’t done anything stupid, have you?’ my friend insisted.

  As I was about to answer, my tears started to betray me. Her mum was in the other room. Lucy ran to her and she called an ambulance. Ten minutes later, I was on my way to Casualty, blue sirens whirring above my head in panicked unison.

  It was a long night – the longest I had lived through – but all I really wanted to do was die. I had my stomach pumped, and spent the next day with a psychiatrist who wanted to know why I had tried to take my own life.

  I made excuses. I lied. He asked more questions, but the lying became easier with each lie I spoke. I lied my way through question after question. I had to: I heard Bill’s warning over and over again in my head. I never told the truth. I kept their secrets hidden deep within me.

  Bill’s secret.

  Dad’s secret.

  Simon’s secret.

  My secret.

  I had a brief chance to expose them all while I was in a place of safety, but I didn’t take it. Why? Because I was scared what people would think of me.

  And because I let it happen.

  And because I didn’t stop them.

  Eleven

  MY CHANCES OF escaping had been taken from me. I wanted so badly to have been successful. I didn’t want to continue taking part in a life I could not control or had no control over. Everybody else was in control of what happened to me – Mum, Dad, Bill – they all had a say, yet none of them showed any interest in my voice. My voice was never listened to, never heard. It was as if all my words were silent.

  They all asked questions in turn about why I had taken the pills, but I never told them. I kept my reasons for attempting suicide to myself. It was the best way. After all, they had had chances to change my life but had not taken those chances.

  Dad had a chance not to abuse me.

  Bill had a chance to change his mind before starting out on the path that led him to abuse an eleven-year-old girl.

  And Mum could have not given in to her bingo addiction as much as she had done.

  I had no intention of talking to any of them about what I had done. I kept my thoughts to myself, safely tucked away from each one of them. I wanted to lock and block them all out of my memories before they had a chance to enter. Bill must have realised it was him that had made me feel like this, but he never said anything. He was solely responsible for me wanting to end my life, but he never seemed interested in what I wanted, just in what he could get. He had become more focused on his needs and his needs alone.

  As each new day drew to a close, adding itself to the pile of all the other used and abused days in my life, I wanted so desperately to exclude him from any future memories that were being made in my life. I wanted to turn into the child I had never been. I wanted to becom
e the rightful owner of my possessions: my life, my body and my mind. All three belonged to me, but all three had been stolen, leaving me with nothing.

  No one ever even asked if I minded.

  Who had given these men permission to steal away from me something that was more precious than brilliant gold or the finest cut and polished diamonds? I wanted so much to take my life in my hands and polish out the deep, disfiguring flaws that had been created within it, flaws that had with time felt like they had become lines and wrinkles embedded in my skin. I prayed a prayer for forgiveness and another for salvation. I didn’t really know what or in whom I believed back then, but I had always prayed. But after a while I decided that there must have been someone in more need than me, because, even though I kneeled and prayed, no one ever replied.

  No one let me know it was going to be OK.

  No one heard my cries for help, carefully wrapped in each prayer.

  Maybe I’d done too good a job wrapping them up …

  My dreams had not materialised; they had lain like the rest of my life in shattered pieces, like a broken mirror or a delicate piece of china. Lost forever, unable to be mended or repaired because a small chip was still missing.

  I had to do something. I knew deep inside that my heart could not take much more of this torment and punishment that was given to me as regularly as my breakfast, dinner and tea.

  How could I stop it?

  If only I knew.

  I searched for the answers again but, like me, they were lost too.

  Bill was always there. He was a presence that had become my permanent shadow – a shadow that either appeared in person when I was awake or in the dreams that frequently haunted what little sleep I managed to get. It felt as if I was living a terrible nightmare that I hadn’t woken up from. I had to do something fast, but I didn’t know what. Experience told me I was on my own, while desperation kidded me that I had the help of an entire army to fall back on. But how could I summon an imaginary army?