A Sister's Secret Read online

He pulled up his trousers and handed me some pink tissues.

  ‘Clean yourself up,’ he said.

  He stood there watching while I wiped myself between my legs. It really stung and I could see that I was bleeding.

  ‘Now get your fucking clothes back on,’ he said, giving me a look of utter disgust.

  My legs were all wobbly and I felt like I might pass out but I did as he said. As quickly as I could, I pulled up my pants and shorts and in a daze followed him into the front room.

  The girls were still stuffing their faces with Jelly Tots, oblivious to the horror that had been going on outside on the landing. Alison had the little Russian doll, Laraine had the middle-sized one and now Pat held out the biggest doll to me.

  I shook my head – I didn’t want anything from him.

  ‘We’ve got to go home now,’ I said. ‘Come on, Laraine.’

  Laraine and I went downstairs in silence. If we spoke, I was afraid that I would cry and then she’d ask me what had happened. I didn’t ever want her to know what I’d had to do to keep her safe.

  ‘What time is it?’ said Laraine. ‘Will Mummy be home soon?’

  I looked at the clock and said, ‘Yes, Lal, she will.’

  I knew I didn’t have long. I went into the bathroom and locked the door. We only ever had a bath once a week on a Sunday but I desperately needed to have a wash and to try and get the smell and the taste of that disgusting man off me.

  I knew the drill by now. It was in here that I’d washed myself after my father had raped me and cleaned myself up after Patrick Ryan had forced me to give him oral sex. I swilled my mouth out with TCP, then I got the Dettol. I felt so dirty, I didn’t even bother to dilute it. I just tipped it onto a flannel neat and scrubbed myself all over.

  My skin burned from the disinfectant but I didn’t mind. It gave me a different kind of pain to focus on and the stinging sensation made me feel better. At least there wasn’t as much blood this time. My father had already paved the way for that monster but there was still a bit soaked into my pants. So I changed my shorts and underwear and buried my blood-stained knickers at the bottom of the kitchen bin so Mum couldn’t find them.

  When Mum came home I was scared that she was going to be able to tell what had happened. I was so sore down below, I could barely walk, and my cheeks and chin were raw and painful from where his stubbly face had rubbed against me. But she didn’t say anything and I was too terrified to tell her, of course.

  At least the one place that I did feel safe was our flat. Unlike the time my father had raped me, when the front door was closed I knew Patrick Ryan couldn’t get anywhere near me. It was a small comfort but at least it was something. That was until I heard Mum tutting in her bedroom one morning.

  ‘That man is disgusting,’ she said.

  ‘What man?’ I asked.

  ‘That bloke Pat from upstairs.’

  Just the mention of his name made me flinch.

  ‘Why?’ I asked, trying to sound casual. ‘What’s he done?’

  ‘The dirty pig has been weeing out of his bedroom window in the night. It reeks out here.’

  Pat and Wendy’s bedroom window was at the side of the house above my mum’s. You could see the pool of yellow liquid on her windowsill and there was no mistaking that pungent smell on a hot summer’s morning.

  ‘Honestly, the man’s an animal. I don’t know why he can’t use a toilet like normal people.’

  Because he’d urinated on me after he’d raped me, I felt like it was a message for me. A little reminder from him that he was there, watching me.

  Sometimes he’d bang on our door late at night when he came in from the pub. I’d be asleep but Judy would be lying next to me on the top bunk and she’d start barking and I’d wake up in a panic. I knew it was him because afterwards I’d hear the door to the upstairs flat slam shut; the hairs on the back of my neck would stand up in fear as I heard the heavy tread of his footsteps on the stairs. Even in my own home, he wouldn’t let me forget that he was still around, waiting for the next chance he got to pounce on me.

  Chapter 7

  Broken Promises

  Patrick Ryan wasn’t always so clever. Laraine had sneaked up there one afternoon and as usual, I’d come to find her straight away. Her and Alison were playing dolls on the landing and he was lurking around them, which always made me nervous.

  ‘Go get the cups from the front room and tidy up these toys because Mum’s going to be home soon,’ he told Alison.

  The pair of them trotted off to do what he’d asked and I followed them. That was until I felt a hand grip my arm.

  ‘Where do you think you’re going?’ he said. ‘Get in here.’

  Dragging me by my hair, he pulled me into one of the bedrooms, which I realised was Shayne and Michael’s. They had bunk beds like me and Laraine, and the floor was covered with Tonka toys and Matchbox cars. He pushed me onto the carpet next to a mini snooker table and pulled down his jeans and grubby white Y-fronts. I closed my eyes and steeled myself for what was about to happen when suddenly, outside the door, I heard Alison’s voice.

  ‘Michael, Shayne, what are you doing back? Debbie and Laraine are here.’

  Panic shot across Pat’s face. For a second he froze like a rabbit caught in the headlights, then he jumped up off me and pulled his trousers up. Without saying a word, he stood up and walked out.

  ‘Hello, lads,’ I heard him say. ‘You’re back early.’

  I was relieved that I hadn’t been put through my usual ordeal but I was a bit shaken too. I got up and went out onto the landing.

  ‘All right,’ I said. ‘I was just having a look at your toys.’

  I was so relieved the boys hadn’t walked in and seen what he was doing. I would have been so ashamed if they’d found me like that.

  That was the one and only occasion I saw Patrick Ryan lose his cool.

  Over the summer the abuse continued. It didn’t happen every time we went up there – sometimes Michael and Shayne would be due back from their dad’s and we were never ever there when Wendy was around. As soon as she came home, the front door was closed and locked.

  Patrick Ryan was clever. He always raped me on the landing in exactly the same position with him facing the front door so he could see if anyone was coming up the stairs. He would attack me while the girls were playing and eating sweets in the front room. Laraine would never question where I’d been. In fact I don’t think it ever even entered her mind.

  He would say, ‘Can you go and get some sweets or a drink for the children?’ Then he would follow me into the kitchen.

  I always knew what was going to happen but I still went. I suppose I was deliberately putting myself in those situations so that he wouldn’t touch Laraine. It didn’t really matter if I was used and abused. After all, I was already damaged goods after what the foster parents and my father had done to me.

  It wasn’t easy though, and I felt sick a lot of the time, knowing what was to come. Part of me just switched off and I tried to stop myself from thinking or feeling anything. It was the only way that I could get through it.

  I became resigned to the fact that this was what I had to do in order to stop him hurting my little sister. I was sacrificing myself to protect Laraine and that thought was the only thing that kept me going.

  I quickly learned to lie there and do nothing while Pat was raping me. He hated it when I showed no reaction. The more I moved and struggled, the more that animal seemed to enjoy it and the more it hurt. If I just lay there then it would all be over quite quickly. Afterwards he would always hand me some pink tissues from the bathroom to clean myself up. Then he would take me back into the front room where the girls were and I’d have to act like there was nothing wrong. I had always dreaded the long summer holidays but this was living hell. The only thing that kept me going was the thought that they would eventually end. The days seemed to be dragging so slowly and, unlike every other kid, going back to school couldn’t come quickly enough for me. A
s the end of the holidays drew near, I was getting braver.

  One day after he’d raped me he whispered in my ear, ‘You’re the best little fuck I’ve ever had.’

  But I’d had enough of being used and abused.

  ‘Well, I don’t want to be,’ I told him defiantly.

  I could see he was shocked and annoyed that I’d answered him back.

  ‘I’ll show you what you get for mouthing off at me,’ he said, pushing me back down onto the floor and performing oral sex on me.

  Afterwards he forced me down onto my knees and pushed his penis into my mouth. I gagged at the taste and smell of stale wee and it took all my willpower not to be sick.

  ‘That will fucking teach you not to answer me back again,’ he hissed, his face twisted with hate.

  For the first time I couldn’t stop myself from crying. I had tried so hard to not feel anything, to switch off when he was doing these awful things to me but this was too much.

  ‘Why do you keep doing this to me?’ I sobbed. ‘Why do you keep hurting me?’

  He smiled.

  ‘If I wasn’t doing it to you then I’d be doing it to your sister,’ he said. ‘And the only difference between you and her is that she don’t piss herself.’

  I went home that day and threw up again and again, until my stomach was empty, but I was still too scared to tell a soul. I was ashamed and embarrassed to describe these awful things that were happening to me. Maybe if someone had asked, I would have told. But nobody ever did and so it became my secret. The secret that I had to keep to save my sister. I couldn’t confide in Laraine because I was doing all of this to protect her. She’d already been abused by that monster, that was enough for any seven-year-old, and she was still messing herself and having nightmares. No, this was something I had to learn to live with and keep to myself.

  As if things couldn’t get any worse in my life, Mum got a letter.

  ‘It’s from your dad,’ she told us all. ‘He’s in prison.’

  We hadn’t heard anything from him during the five weeks since he’d turned up and tried to get into the flat after Granddad had changed the locks. The police had eventually caught up with him and arrested and charged him: he’d been convicted of handling stolen goods, drink driving and driving without a licence.

  ‘He’s in Lewes prison,’ said Mum. ‘He says he loves and misses us all and he wants us to go and see him. He’s sent us some visiting orders.’

  I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. After everything Dad had done to our family and to me, I never wanted to be in the same room as him again. It had been a relief not to have him in our lives any more. I was angry that Mum would want anything to do with him after how badly he’d treated her.

  ‘I ain’t going,’ I told her. ‘I hate him.’

  ‘But he’s your father,’ said Mum. ‘He’s not allowed to drink in prison and he says he’s changed. We can’t just leave him there and not go and see him.’

  ‘I don’t care, I’m not going,’ I said. ‘As far as I’m concerned, he can stay in there and rot.’

  But Mum refused to leave me at home all day on my own, so I had to go. All of us got the train there and I felt sick the whole of the hour-long journey. Davina was too little to know how she felt and David and Laraine were just desperate to have a dad in their lives, no matter what he’d done. I was dreading seeing him, and I could see Mum was anxious too.

  We were taken into a visitor’s room, where Dad was waiting in a blue jumpsuit. I was hoping that he would be behind a big plastic screen like you see in the films but he was sat on a normal chair, which meant that unfortunately he was able to kiss and cuddle us. I hung back with Mum while the others rushed over to him.

  ‘Hello, Princess,’ he said to me. ‘Come and sit on my lap.’

  I shook my head, I couldn’t even look at him.

  ‘Come and sit with Daddy, Deb,’ said Laraine, clambering onto his knee.

  I didn’t want him to get angry, but I felt so uncomfortable. I couldn’t bear to be anywhere near him after what he’d done to me.

  ‘Hello, Mo,’ he said to Mum, giving her a peck on the cheek, but I could tell that she was wary of him too.

  As Dad wasn’t allowed to drink in prison, he’d been sober for weeks and was very charming and full of stories about what life was like behind bars.

  ‘We have to do chores in here to earn some cash, but instead of spending it on fags like all the other lads, I bought some sweets for my beautiful kids,’ he said proudly, showing us a packet of Fruit Pastilles.

  He made such a big deal out of what a kind, generous father he was.

  ‘This is for being a good girl, Debbie, and for helping your mum while I’ve been banged up,’ he said, handing me a sweet.

  I pushed his hand away.

  ‘No thanks,’ I said.

  I couldn’t cope with another man trying to give me sweets after he’d abused me, trying to buy my silence with one measly Fruit Pastille.

  I felt so relieved when visiting time was over and I walked out of that prison into the fresh air. Dad sent us visiting orders every six to eight weeks but because it was a long way and the train fare was expensive, thankfully we didn’t go again.

  He would still write to Mum every week. I always knew it was him because he had really lovely neat handwriting that you wouldn’t expect from such a nasty, violent man. I sneaked a look at them occasionally and they’d be all about how much he loved Mum and us kids, and wanted to make a fresh start when he was released. I was terrified that she would eventually take him back and he would come and live with us again.

  Finally, something good happened in my life. The summer holidays ended and I practically ran back to school. It was such a relief as I knew there was no way Patrick Ryan could get to me as often. Unfortunately, the abuse didn’t stop completely, though. Sometimes on the odd time Mum was out working late and Michael and Shayne were at their dad’s, Laraine would go upstairs after school and play with Alison. Of course I would follow and Patrick Ryan was there, watching, waiting for his chance to pounce on me.

  We’d only been back at school for a week when I came home one night to find Mum in tears. For one horrible second I was worried that Dad was back or she’d found out about Patrick Ryan.

  ‘What is it?’ I asked. ‘What’s happened?’

  ‘Your Granddad George has died,’ she sobbed.

  He’d been on holiday in Margate with some friends from his sheltered accommodation when he’d had a massive heart attack. He’d collapsed and died on the spot.

  The whole family was devastated. Laraine, David and Davina were all close to Granddad, too.

  ‘I can’t believe we’ll never see him again, Deb,’ cried Laraine that night.

  I knew there was nothing I could say to make her feel better and we both sobbed ourselves to sleep.

  He was buried a few days later but Mum thought it would be too upsetting for us kids to go to the funeral, so we just went to school as normal.

  I was absolutely gutted. Granddad was the one and only man in the world that I loved and trusted. He was the one constant in our lives and I knew he would have done anything to protect us. Sometimes when I was being abused, I would daydream that Granddad was on his way round and he would find us. I knew he would never let that happen to me again and he would kill Patrick Ryan with his bare hands. But now he was dead and he wasn’t going to save me. No one was.

  I just felt well and truly trapped.

  Chapter 8

  A Ticking Time Bomb

  Laraine skipped around the front room in her new dress.

  ‘I love it!’ she grinned, twirling around. ‘Thank you, Auntie Cecily.’

  ‘Try yours on, Debbie,’ said Mum, but I just scowled.

  Mum’s friend Cecily had come to visit and brought the pair of us matching long, frilly pink dresses to wear to a Christmas party. I hated pink more than anything because of Patrick Ryan’s obsession with it. Everything I associated with him was that colour:
from the beakers of juice he gave us to the bubble bath that he put on his fingers before he abused me and the tissues he gave me to clean myself up with after he’d raped me.

  ‘I don’t like it,’ I said. ‘I won’t wear it.’

  ‘Don’t be so ungrateful, just try it on,’ said Mum, forcing it over my head.

  I wouldn’t even look at myself in the mirror.

  ‘You look really pretty,’ said Mum. ‘Doesn’t she, Laraine?’

  ‘It’s lovely, Deb, just like a princess,’ she smiled.

  But I didn’t want to look pretty or lovely; I wanted to look horrible and ugly. I wanted to wear plain clothes so nobody would look twice at me and people would leave me well alone.

  It had been nearly sixteen months now since Patrick Ryan had started abusing me. What had happened first with my dad and then him had changed me. I knew I wasn’t the same little girl who had left school on the first day of the summer holidays that sunny July afternoon.

  I’d started to hate myself and I wouldn’t look in the mirror any more. When I got dressed of a morning I deliberately chose clothes that I knew would be tricky for Patrick Ryan to take off. It was a relief when summer was over and Mum stopped making me wear dresses, shorts and skirts. Now I always made a point of only wearing trousers and with zips, buckles and buttons rather than elasticated waists. Anything in fact to make it more difficult for that monster upstairs.

  I couldn’t bear anyone touching me these days either. For weeks my right ear had been aching but I didn’t dare tell Mum because I knew she would insist on taking me to the doctor’s. But I didn’t want anyone, even a lady GP, poking, prodding and examining me, so I kept quiet. Even when watery yellow liquid came oozing out of it onto my pillow and I couldn’t sleep because I was in agony, I never said a thing until Mum noticed my ear was bright red.

  ‘You’re burning up, young lady, and there’s all sorts of gunk in your ear,’ she said. ‘You’ve got an infection.’

  ‘I don’t care,’ I said. ‘Leave me alone. I’m not going to see no doctor.’

  Mum couldn’t understand what was happening to me.