Deliver Me From Evil (27 page)

I also make sure she eats properly and have learned to eat more healthily myself. I buy fresh vegetables at the supermarket and we sit down at the table together and have nutritious meals.

So, now that I was in Lockleaze, living my own life, I was able to set myself up afresh and move forward once again. I had started chatting to someone on the Internet after leaving Braedon. We had been ‘friends’ for some time and he had been there for me all the way through the break-up with Colin and then Darren. He was very sympathetic about the horrific Knowle experience and knew that I was desperate to move house with a young child in tow. He was a drugs counsellor in Bristol, so he was easy to talk to, and I didn’t feel I had to hide the truth about anything in my colourful past; most people would have run a mile when they heard what I’d been through. After a while, we exchanged more information, including pictures. I thought he was quite good-looking, but still only saw him as a possible friend. I had no intention of dating again and I was being very careful this time – I certainly didn’t want to rush into anything fast.

Then we decided to meet. I have to say I found him very attractive, and although he was older than me Sy had a lot going for him. He was coming out of a relationship, too, so we were able to support each other. I think the attraction was mutual for both of us, and we spent many evenings just chatting when he came to visit over the next few months. Sy told me I deserved a partner who treated me better than anyone else had so far – something I needed to hear. Then we realized there was more between us than just friendship and we got together. We have been an item for about a year now, although he still keeps his old place as I haven’t wanted to rush things this time.

He is so thoughtful and kind that I finally told Sy a bit about life with Eunice – as much as I could bear to talk about – and he was horrified. And when the ghosts of my past came back to haunt me, Sy was there to support me.

CHAPTER 20:

The fact that Eunice was brought to trial is down to the bravery of Sarah. She was eighteen at this point and had spent the last four years imprisoned in a wheelchair when she was, in fact, able to walk In desperation she confided in a local Jehovah’s Witness – a man called Duncan Costello. Along with other members of the congregation he helped her to escape Eunice and they encouraged her to go to the police. To give them credit, they were prepared to blow the whistle on one of their own. Quite rightly, they didn’t want people to think that Jehovah’s Witnesses condoned Eunice’s behaviour or that they would treat kids in such an appalling way.

Sarah called and spoke to DC Martell in December 2004. Once she opened up to the police everything happened so fast. I was amazed and relieved that the police took her story seriously. I guess because the Jehovah’s Witnesses had backed her up, and finally, some grown-ups knew and really believed what was going on, something happened. When the police contacted me and asked if I was happy to make a statement to support Sarahs case, I said I was. Of course I was.

However, I don’t think the police, or anyone else for that matter, knew what a can of worms they were opening. Or more like an ocean full of poisonous snakes.

Once I was began talking to DC Martell, in front of her video camera, it all just came spilling out. She was very easy to talk to, so for the first time I began to fully unburden myself of everything that had happened to me as a child. After all those years of being told to shut up, to not complain, to button my lip (or it would be split), now I just couldn’t stop talking. It took a whole day for her to get my story down.

With evidence from the two of us to confirm that we were telling the truth and not making up incredible stories, the police were able to act.

Eunice was arrested in February 2005 and Robert was taken away from her by social services. Thomas was living with Eunice’s mum and dad at this point, because Eunice had found him harder to control once he was sixteen. After Eunice was arrested the police talked to him too.

I later found out that Eunice’s dog, Jet, had been left by her to roam about and he was found skinny with a manky tail, just foraging for food. She’d also bought a St Bernard, Sally, who was also abandoned in the garden. The house at George Dowty Drive was overrun with rabbits, and not looked after. And my black pigs Bessie and Bunty were abandoned at the farm and in a terrible state. The RSPCA found that their hooves had grown so long they couldn’t put their trotters on the ground properly, so they had to ‘walk’ on their elbows. What happened to the animals was typical of Eunice’s behaviour, in that she just didn’t care about living things and would mistreat them rather than have to look after them. It hurt me deeply to think of the poor animals going hungry and wandering about, scratching around desperately for something to eat. My cat, Petal, had also gone feral for a while until some kind neighbours took her in.

It took two whole years before Eunice came to trial, during which the police gathered their evidence carefully, first hand. In the run-up to the trial, we had to be examined by a series of doctors and psychologists. Having my throat examined was absolutely horrible and more complicated than they’d reckoned on. Every time they tried to look in my mouth, or to put something in to keep my tongue down, I panicked and wanted to bolt out of the room. In the end, they had to devise something to hold my mouth open without actually putting something inside my mouth. To this day there are certain things I can’t stand, like going to the dentist, because opening my mouth and allowing something to be put inside brings back all the old fear. Thomas and Sarah had clear scar tissue in their throats. My cleft-palate surgery complicated matters so they could not conclusively find scars.

We also had to have our feet X-rayed and a body map was compiled of all the scars we had from cuts and grazes we’d sustained at Eunices hands. These body maps were used in the trial as evidence. We all had many more scars than you would expect to find in a normally active child.

The psychologist listened to me for a long time and later wrote a report that I was suffering from post-traumatic stress, which explains why I’ve been having recurring nightmares. A typical one is: I’m back at the farm – actually I’m breaking into the farm – and Eunice is outside on the lawn, in her red tracksuit, doing weights. It’s a weird image and a scary one. There’s a rabbit ripped to shreds on the lawn and I’m finding pieces everywhere, and a big dog is playing with all the bloody bits. Anyway, I’m inside the farmhouse, and I know I’ve got to get out before she finds me. I start panicking, and I’m running over the field, over towards the graveyard. My heart is pounding, I’m running and running as fast as I can. I’ve got to get away, but there’s nowhere to go, there’s no escape. . . I’m now a little girl and I see myself, running and running, over the field, hair flying. I can feel her gaze on me, her grey piercing eyes. I get hooked on a bush as I try to scramble over the wall and I can’t get free, but I can hear her big feet coming, running after me, and I’ll never, ever get away now. . .

Then I wake up in a sweat, shaking and confused as to where I really am. In fact, before the trial, I felt I was falling apart a bit. Events that I’d buried now had to be kept alive in my mind, so I could talk about it in front of a whole courtroom. It was like living through the horrors of my childhood all over again.

I found the process extremely gruelling and at times thought I was having a nervous breakdown. It was only because of the determination and support of DC Victoria Martell that I was able to go through with the whole thing.

The trial started on Monday 19 February 2007. Sarah was called to give evidence first, and then by the middle of the week it was my turn. So now I’m in my little room at Bristol Crown Court, waiting to be called to the witness stand. A witness support official comes to take me to the courtroom. As I walk through the doors my heart thumps. The court has old panelled walls, with modern carpets and chairs looking out of place. The room seems full of smartly dressed officials, the barristers and judge in their black robes and wigs, and it all looks terrifyingly formal.

What if she’s there? What if she sees me? If I see her I’ll be dead. I wont be able to speak. I won’t remember anything, and within a minute of seeing her granite features, I’ll know I’m entirely in the wrong.

I’m dizzy with terror as I finally take my place in the witness stand. I can sense that there are people in the gallery, watching, but I remember that DC Martell told me not to pay them any attention, to just look straight ahead and tell the truth, tell my story. I know that the defence will try and trip me up, make me out to be a liar. They will try to suggest that Eunice was a lovely, kind foster mother of the Mary Poppins variety, and that I was just a kid from hell, an unruly, difficult child she was forced to keep in line.

I look up to the packed gallery briefly, wanting to see Sy. I manage to pick out his warm, reassuring face in the middle of the crowd; the rest are all a blur. I lower my eyes and look straight ahead. I’m visibly shaking; I can feel my legs and arms are quivering in my smart new clothes. I fiddle with my hair, then with my bracelet. I have to do something to deal with my fear.

A chair is brought for me, so I sit down. An attendant asks me if I’d like a glass of water, and I say yes. The whole court goes quiet as the grave and I can sense everybody’s eyes are on me, analysing my clothes, my looks, everything about me. My whole life I have been under scrutiny and it’s just the same here, even now.

There is a curtain across the side of the stand so I can’t see the bench where the defendant sits. But suddenly, there’s a little rustling and I gather Eunice is being brought in. My heart nearly explodes with terror, but thank God, I can’t see her. DC Martell promised me I would be safe from her gaze and I am. I hope. However, I’m expecting a big scuffle of some sort, because I can’t believe she’d come in so meekly. I’m waiting for her voice to boom, or her shout to echo around the room. But nothing happens. I listen out, very carefully, and all I can hear is the sound of people in the court shifting in their chairs, or coughing and clearing their throats.

It’s eerily quiet, and I think,
I bet she’s sitting there hating me, thinking of all the ways she’d like to kill me. I’ve brought her to this place and she’ll refute every single thing I say, and then I’ll be in for it.

I glance at the jury. Every time I look up at them, all their eyes are on me, staring, like they’re seeing through me. Apparently they could only see my head over the top of the rail as I’m so small. Suddenly, the court attendant asks me if I want to stand? Or would I rather sit? I indicate I need to sit. I don’t think my legs would hold me. Meanwhile DC Martell’s voice is in my ears, in my head, telling me to be positive. But I keep thinking,
If Eunice could get her hands on me she’d stab me now.
I can’t get those sorts of thoughts out of my mind.

They bring me a microphone and the questions from the prosecution start. I’m so scared I don’t even know if I can hear what he is saying. His voice is taut and sounds odd; it’s like a fake tone – not a nice tone – a bit hectoring, as he picks bits out of my statement.

‘So, Alloma, were you happy living with Eunice?’

What an odd question. What does he mean?

‘Yes, I was happy, at first, but that’s before things started happening. . . ’

I try to be as honest as I can be. I can feel my cheeks are flushed and I can hardly speak How can I start to explain the whole of my lifetime with Eunice, ten years nearly in her so-called care?

‘Sorry Alloma, can you speak up? I can’t hear you.’

I think,
That’s not surprising, is it, because it’s scary here. But also, how often have I been asked to speak over this past decade? I have been stopped from speaking most of the time, and this habit of a lifetime is a hard one to break.

I imagine Eunice listening to me, grunting ‘Rubbish, and looking grim, but I can’t let her distract me now, and I screw all my courage up and tell the truth.

Then I’m given a plastic bag and there’s a stick inside. It’s definitely one of Eunice’s weapons of mass punishment. This one has teeth marks on and I find myself wondering which one of us children the teeth marks belong to? It’s splattered with dried blood and it looks horribly familiar, making me feel nauseated having to be anywhere near it. I grimace as I hold the exhibit up in front of the jury and I wince as I try to speak, but my voice hardly registers. It’s like a hoarse whisper.

‘Yes, sir. Yes, this is definitely the kind of stick she used to shove down my throat while she was beating the soles of my feet.’