A Sister's Secret Page 17

  Chapter 17

  The Waiting Game

  I stood on the pavement and stared at the house in front of me. It looked so familiar yet at the same time so different. The scruffy blue front door that all council houses had in the seventies had been replaced with an original Victorian one that was painted a tasteful shade of bottle green and there was no longer a porch. The tatty, overgrown front garden had been spruced up with new fences, trimmed privets, a tiled path and a wrought-iron gate and the grass neatly mowed.

  You see I’d come back to Coleraine Road, or ‘the scene of the crime’ as the police liked to call it. I hadn’t been there for thirty-five years – ever since the day in 1978 when I walked down that path aged twelve, desperate to get away from Patrick Ryan and all that he’d done to us.

  Don’t ask what had possessed me to come here as I didn’t know myself. I’d got up that morning and caught a train to London as I had a day off and was meant to be going to see Laraine. But I’d found myself getting off a couple of stops early at Westcombe Park, and before I could change my mind I was heading in a daze towards Coleraine Road. It was almost as though I was in a trance as I walked through our old neighbourhood and now there I was, standing on the pavement outside the house which held such horrible memories. Somehow I had needed to come back here and see it for myself. I think part of me also wanted to know if he still lived there.

  My hands were shaking as I opened the gate and walked up the front path. I could tell that it had been restored back into one big house now instead of two flats as all the windows had the same louvred wooden blinds on them.

  No, it was too big and too grand for a scumbag like him. I bet properties in this street were worth a fortune now.

  He doesn’t live here any more, I told myself.

  But there was one tiny part of me that just wanted to make sure.

  I knocked on the door.

  What if he was still there? What if he opened it and I was suddenly stood there face-to-face with my rapist after all those years? But I wasn’t really thinking straight.

  I rapped on it again, louder and more impatient now.

  Come on, come to the door. Anyone. Someone.

  My heart was thumping out of my chest while I waited and watched for any signs – a twitching curtain, a shadow behind the stained glass panels.

  But there was nothing.

  It was both a letdown and a relief. I felt a bit stupid that I’d come all this way to stand on the doorstep of a house where there was nobody in. I wasn’t sure what I would have said if somebody had opened it but that didn’t matter any more.

  I crossed over the road, stood on the pavement and had one last look at my former home. I suddenly realised that I was shaking, even just being there all these years later still had the ability to make me feel like a frightened little girl again. I knew I had to get far away from there. I put my head down and hurried to the end of the street and only then did my breathing start to slow down and return to normal again.

  I don’t even know how I got to Laraine’s and I didn’t mention where I had been that morning. I didn’t think she’d understand as even I didn’t really know what had possessed me to go back.

  ‘You OK, Deb?’ she asked. ‘You don’t seem yourself today.’

  ‘I’m alright,’ I said. ‘Just tired. This court business is really getting to me.’

  When I got home that afternoon, I told Rob what had happened. He was fuming.

  ‘What the hell were you playing at, Debbie?’ he said. ‘What if Ryan had still lived there and he’d answered the door?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘I really don’t know what I was thinking.’

  For once I wasn’t even drunk. I knew Rob was right and I was relieved that nobody had been in. If he had still lived there and I’d seen Ryan then it would have probably put the whole court case in jeopardy as I knew I wasn’t allowed to approach him.

  Even though I knew now there was going to be a trial, I couldn’t rest until I had a definite court date. One morning I received a letter from the CPS outlining the charges that Ryan faced. There were four counts of rape, two counts of attempted rape and seven counts of indecent assault. I knew five of the charges related to Laraine and the rest concerned me

  Of course Ryan had raped and abused me many more times than that over almost three years, but the police explained that they’d had to condense it down to a handful of charges relating to incidents that we’d specifically remembered. Sample charges, as the judge called them at trial.

  Seeing it written down in black and white made it feel even more real. This was really happening. I felt panicked, twitchy, terrified. I was also obsessed with seeing Patrick Ryan. Even though I knew I couldn’t approach him before the trial, I was desperate to see what he looked like now.

  One afternoon I found myself typing his name into Facebook. Scrolling through all of the photos, I couldn’t see a single person that realistically could be him. I’d worked out that he would be a pensioner now, in his early sixties at least. But most of the pictures that came up were of young lads or middle-aged men with kids.

  I was finding it so hard. I’d been signed off work again with stress. The CPS still couldn’t give us a trial date and it felt like it was dragging on and on. It was mental torture.

  Even the police were concerned about my state of mind. Carol and Jo weren’t stupid, they knew sometimes I drank too much as I’d phoned them slurring and shouting down the phone. They were also aware of the terrible flashbacks that I’d been suffering in the months since I’d given them my statement.

  ‘Debbie, we’re worried about how you’re going to cope in court,’ said Carol. ‘We’re concerned that it could tip you over the edge.’

  They were trying to prepare me for the fact that even if it went to court, there was no guarantee that Patrick Ryan would be found guilty.

  ‘To be honest, it’s highly unlikely that an historic abuse case like this will lead to a conviction and you need to know that,’ said Jo.

  In my heart I did. After all, it was just going to be mine and Laraine’s word against his.

  ‘What’s your reaction going to be if he goes free?’ said Carol. ‘How are you going to cope with that?’

  ‘Honestly?’ I said. ‘I don’t know.’

  I was worried when they said that both Laraine and I needed to be assessed by a psychiatrist, who would judge whether we were physically and mentally fit to go to court

  ‘We have to be,’ I said to Rob. ‘Otherwise this case will fall apart.’

  If I were deemed unfit then without my evidence, I was convinced there would be no court case. Even if they ruled Laraine was OK, I knew that her evidence on its own wasn’t going to be enough.

  Rob came with me up to Marlowe House, where the psychiatrist had arranged to interview me. I was so nervous but she seemed like a nice woman and she instantly put me at ease. She was in her thirties with blonde hair and a friendly smile.

  ‘I’m not here to try and catch you out,’ she said. ‘The police have got your best interests at heart. I’m here to assess you and discern what impact a court case is going to have on you.’

  She said she’d already requested statements from my GP and Lorna, my counsellor.

  ‘Mrs Grafham, how do you think you would cope if Mr Ryan wasn’t found guilty?’ she asked.

  ‘I would prefer it if he was, of course,’ I said. ‘But as long as I get a chance to go to court, then I know that I’ve done everything I can to try and get a conviction.’

  ‘How do you feel about seeing him again?’ she continued.

  ‘Don’t bother me,’ I shrugged. ‘I know he can’t get to me any more.

  ‘Like I told you, I just want to have my day in court. I know I’ve had issues in the past where I’ve threatened to self-harm but that was brought on by the alcohol and I’ve really cut down now.’

  I was in there for nearly two hours.

  ‘Thank you for coming, Mrs Grafham,’ she said. ‘
I’ll put together a report which I’ll pass onto the police and I’m sure they will be in touch.’

  When I got home I texted Jo and Carol.

  Did she say I was fine to go to court because I know I am?

  They told me it could take weeks for the report to come through but I still texted them every day, asking if they’d got any news.

  Exactly a fortnight later I received a big envelope from the police with a copy of the psychiatrist’s report inside.

  My hands were shaking as I read it.

  In my professional opinion I feel that Mrs Grafham would be able to withstand the intense questioning that she would be subjected to during the trial process without it having a detrimental effect on her health.

  I believe her determination is a key factor of her ability to cope with this. The fact that she now feels believed has led to her using the support that has been offered to her rather than internalising her distress as she has done in the past. It is not my clinical opinion that Mrs Grafham is at risk of suicide or self-harm.

  It was such a relief.

  ‘They’ve ruled I’m fit to go to court,’ I told Rob.

  But a few days later there was a huge blow. The police got in touch to say that although the psychiatrist had said that I was fine, there was a problem with Laraine. The same psychiatrist had been to interview her at home and had expressed concerns when she’d seen Laraine was still very weak and bedbound after her time in hospital.

  ‘We think it’s likely she’s going to come back and say your sister’s not fit to go to court,’ Carol told me.

  I was devastated and I felt angry with Laraine even though I knew it wasn’t her fault.

  ‘I’m sorry, Deb,’ she said. ‘But I just told her the truth. I don’t think I would physically be able to get to court, even if I’d wanted to.

  ‘You know I haven’t even got out of bed or left the house since I came home from hospital.’

  ‘You could get a wheelchair,’ I said.

  ‘I just don’t think I could cope with all those questions and seeing him sitting there right next to me,’ she said.

  I know I shouldn’t have been, but I was furious with her. I feel bad about it now but I wasn’t nice to her at the time.

  ‘You were the one that started this and I always said I never wanted to get involved or for it to go to court,’ I told her. ‘And now you’re not well enough, you’re off the bloody hook and you’ve landed me right in it!’

  ‘I’m sorry, Deb,’ she said.

  I felt responsible. It was going to be down to me to stand up in court, in front of a jury and tell everyone what he’d done. It should have been both of us there, side by side.

  ‘So much for being in this together,’ I said to Rob. ‘I can’t do it on my own. I don’t think I can go.’

  But luckily all hope was not lost. The police got in touch again.

  ‘As we thought, the psychiatrist has ruled that Laraine is not medically fit to attend court,’ said Carol.

  My heart sank.

  ‘But she has said that she thinks that she’s mentally fit to give evidence during the trial via video link from home.’

  I was still annoyed that Laraine was off the hook from attending court but it was the best result that I could have hoped for. I think Laraine was just relieved. I still felt she’d got the easy way out as I was the one who was going to have to face Patrick Ryan in the flesh but at least it meant the trial was going to go ahead.

  At long last a trial date was set for 23 April 2013. In November, five months before the case was due to start, the police invited me up to Woolwich Crown Court to have a look around.

  ‘I know you’ve never set foot inside a courtroom before, Debbie, so I thought it might help you feel more comfortable,’ Carol explained.

  I knew exactly what the court looked like from the outside because I’d googled it so many times. Of a night I’d sit there in front of my computer staring at the photo of this big grey modern building with circular pillars, imagining the day that I would step foot in there to see Patrick Ryan for the first time.

  Carol picked us up from Plumstead station and drove us there. The court was tucked away on an industrial estate and I noticed that it was next to Belmarsh Prison.

  I bet that’s where Ryan will go if he’s found guilty, I thought to myself.

  I could only hope.

  At the front was a modern glass entrance which was a bit like being in an airport. You had to walk through metal detectors to get in and security guards searched your bags.

  ‘I’m going to show you around two courts,’ explained Carol, ‘although we won’t know until the day of the trial which one it’s going to be in. It depends what other cases are going to be heard that day.’

  As we followed her down the winding corridors, I felt sick. The next time I was going to be there it would be to face him and even the thought of it was terrifying. We went into courtroom four first and I was shocked by how small it was.

  It was all on one level and Carol showed me the witness box where I would be giving evidence and explained how the jury would be sat opposite me and the judge would be to my left at the front of the court.

  ‘That’s the dock where Ryan will be,’ she said. ‘He’ll be behind a glass screen with a security guard next to him.’

  It was slightly behind the witness box and to the right, but that court seemed so small and claustrophobic it felt like he would practically be sat next to me.

  ‘That’s way too close for comfort,’ I said.

  I really hoped that it would be in the bigger court. That one seemed huge and had two levels with rows of seats for the press and a big public gallery on the second level. The dock felt like it was over the other side of the room and was much further away from the witness box.

  Carol talked me through the proceedings. The first time I would be allowed in court was the day that I was due to give evidence.

  ‘You’ll be the last one into court on the day,’ she explained. ‘So everyone else will already be seated when you come in, including Ryan in the dock.’

  Even the thought of it made my stomach lurch with nerves.

  ‘What do you think they’ll ask me?’ I said.

  ‘They’ll ask you about your statement and they will want to know details about the abuse and Ryan.

  ‘There’s no point lying to you, Debbie. It’s going to be hard and at times it might feel as if you’re the one on trial and not Ryan.

  ‘Remember, his barrister is there to defend him, so he’s not going to give you an easy time. But you’re telling the truth and I know you can do it.’

  It was terrifying and there was so much to remember.

  ‘When you get asked a question by the barrister, or perhaps the judge, obviously look at them when they’re talking but try and direct your answer to the jury,’ said Carol.

  ‘Also, try not to look at Ryan as that could be classed as intimidation. There will be screens there on the day if you want them so he can’t see you when you give your evidence.’

  ‘No way,’ I told her. ‘I’ve always said from the start that if it ever got to court then I didn’t want to hide behind a screen.’

  I was adamant.

  ‘I’ve got nothing to hide,’ I said. ‘I want that man to see me and to hear exactly what he did to me.’

  When Patrick Ryan was raping me he’d always made me keep my eyes open. Whatever disgusting thing he was subjecting me to, he’d always forced me to look at him. Well, the tables had well and truly turned now and I was determined that this time he would be forced to look at me while I told the world what he’d done.

  ‘I’m 100 per cent sure I don’t want a screen up,’ I insisted.

  As I left court that day, I felt a mixture of nerves and anticipation. The next time I would set foot in that place I would be coming face-to-face with Patrick Ryan.

  Chapter 18

  D-Day

  I got out of the car and smoothed down my new smart black tro
users and my crisp white blouse.

  ‘Good luck,’ called Rob’s dad from the driver’s seat.

  ‘Thanks, Dad,’ said Rob. ‘We’ll give you a ring when it’s finished for the day.’

  It was Tuesday, 23 April 2013. The first day of the court case, or ‘D-Day’ as I referred to it. I’d been waiting so long for this moment but now I was dreading it. I’d been awake for most of the night, tossing and turning, and I was absolutely shattered.

  My phone beeped with a message from Carol.

  Text me when you’re here and I’ll come down and get you.

  I texted back.

  Two minutes away.

  As we walked towards the court, I gripped Rob’s hand. A couple of minutes later I saw Carol waiting for us at the entrance.

  ‘How are you doing, Debbie?’ she asked.

  I just shrugged, worried that if I spoke I’d break down again.

  ‘It’s going to be OK,’ she said. ‘There’s nothing to be frightened about. Jo and I will talk you through it all.’

  She was lovely and I knew she was doing her best to reassure me, but no one really knew how I felt. No one except Laraine, that is.

  ‘The case is going to be in court four today,’ said Carol.

  My heart sank. I remembered from when we’d had our tour that that was the small one. I was literally going to be a few feet away from Patrick Ryan when I gave my evidence.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ said Rob, squeezing my hand. ‘It will be fine. I’ll be there.’

  He went off to sit in the public gallery while Carol explained the timings of things.

  ‘Laraine’s due to give evidence this morning via video link, then it will be your turn this afternoon,’ she said. ‘Now Ryan’s got quite a few family members with him, so it’s probably best if you stay in the witness room until you’re called and don’t go outside on your own.’