Always make sure you link the time with an event, so the jury knows you’re sure of your dates.
That’s what she’d told me.
“And when did this stop?”
“After I turned thirteen.”
“To the best of your memory, can you tell us exactly what happened, from the beginning?”
Ice slid up my spine. “Yes.” I cleared my throat. “At first, Frank would just join me and Dad when we went camping.” I took anotherdeep breath as blood pumped in my ears. “But, after a couple of times of joining us on trips, Frank started to get me to sit on his lap while he read to me… then he touched me over my clothes.”
“Can you tell us where?”
I don’t want to.
Tell them.
Just do it.
My eyes filled with tears, and I blinked until it they went away. “My chest to begin with.”
I went somewhere else, my body feeling as if it was floating, protecting me, as I went into more detail, explaining everything he did to me. How it gradually progressed, and how sick and scared andbrokenI’d felt.
I told them how I hadn’t really understood what he was doing at the time, but that it’d felt wrong, and I hadn’t liked it. I told them how my dad had made it sound normal—like something that happened to everyone. I told them that, even today, I could still taste the amber drink Dad had given me that made me feel sleepy.
Juice, he’d said, but I knew it wasn’t apple… and it’d burned my throat.
I explained that, when I’d told Dad I didn’t like what Frank was doing, he’d shouted at me for questioning him and slapped me. I had been scared and thought that I’d let him down. I’d thought he must be really disappointed and must have hated me for him to have hit me.
I also told them that, when I’d attempted to tell my mum, Dad had arrived just in time to stop me from actually saying anything. When we had been alone in my room, he’d threatened me with some hideous things. He’d told me, if Mum found out, it would kill her, and at five years old, I had taken those words literally. As I had gotten a little older, he’d said no one wouldbelieve me, and Jasper and I would be taken away if I dared to make any allegations.
I told them how every time Frank had abused me, my dad was there, in the caravan or tent, sometimes watching, sometimes taking pictures. Lastly, I told them that, when I was ten, Dad had stood by and let Frank rape me for the first time, and that when I’d looked to him for help, but he’d just stared on with a blank expression and dead eyes that I still didn’t understand now.
I didn’t have the courage to look up at the public gallery as I repeated everything I had endured. Not that I would have seen much as my vision had become blurred again.
My heart was heavy, stomach wound so tight I might actually vomit. But I’d done it. I’d opened up about the worst time in my life and bled live in front of an audience.
That was my story, my truth, and now everyone knew.
I raised my eyes to Linda, standing tall and unafraid.
I was so thankful that I’d told Mum in private everything that had happened, but Cole and Jasper hadn’t known all of the details. Nor did the rest of my family or Cole’s.
Going through it all again felt like being cut open, but I also felt about a stone lighter, my shoulders losing the ache that’d been there for years.
I was emotionally drained and exhausted but proud. I’d not managed to stop every tear, but I’d dabbed them away as quickly as they’d fallen.
Saying those words aloud meant that I’d finally heard them properly for the first time, too.
It was not my fault. It was not those other girls’ fault. It washis.
Even if the jury didn’t believe me, I’d just stood up to my father.
“And was Mr Farrell presenteverytime this abuse took place?”
“Yes. Sometimes in the next room if we were in a caravan, but always there.”
“Did he ever say anything to you?”
