Never a Hero to Me (21 page)

On that day when I was in the examination room, my only thought when he said it, was whether it meant my Dad had broken me in some way. My mind raced from wondering whether it had happened because of his attacks, or because I had been bad by telling of our secret. I didn’t know what ‘hymen’ meant but it was ‘broken’, which was registering loud and clear.

Dr Fraser said he was finished and that I should get dressed quickly because it was getting cold. As he got ready to leave, he smiled and asked if I was all right – I nodded as he walked out. The nurse said very little but took me back to my cell when I was dressed; it was never spoken of again by anyone. I was never told if my parents knew of the findings or if it was discussed with them at all. The embarrassment I felt when it was all taking place was acute, but I tried to remove myself from the experience – something I had plenty of practice with – and just took some comfort from the fact that at least something was finally being done.

In the cell, I lay down on the narrow bed and tried to sleep. I was still exhausted, but any rest I managed was fitful. Time did pass however, and, sometime in the early hours, a soldier put his head around the door and asked, ‘Are you awake?’ I sat up on the narrow bed, rubbing my eyes. ‘Not speaking?’ he commented. ‘Get your head into this,’ he said, tossing me a book. ‘It might teach you fucking something.’ The woman outside said nothing, she did nothing, didn’t even flinch. I can’t even remember what it was called, but it was a story about a girl who had been abused by her stepfather and it was by Harold Robbins. The story told of how she killed him and went on to become a prostitute. I only read so much and left it there when I was called out. I should have taken it to the CO and told him what that man had given me. It went through my mind that he was probably one of them, one of the paedophile ring I now had no doubt my dad was part of.

It also made me realise that they must have all known what I was there for, because the woman who was sitting outside my cell seemed to be on his side. He had looked at me as if I was dirt and had thrown me something she hadn’t even checked, so presumably she was of the mind that a nasty little girl had made ludicrous allegations about her ‘hero’ father, one of her colleagues. While I was there, most of the other guards were distant, but fine, apart from him.

After breakfast, I was told that CO Stewart wanted to see me again in his office. It felt as if my heart was going to beat out of my chest. My tummy was in knots and I was just so worried that the relative safety I had been offered since I had last met with him would be snatched away again. I was taken along the corridor from the cell and all I could think about was whether the CO had changed his mind – would he still be so kind today, or would he shout at me and say he didn’t believe a word?

I was so wrapped up in my own thoughts that I wasn’t really paying attention to where we were. Before I knew it, we were outside the CO’s office – and we weren’t alone. Sitting there, on hard, plastic seats, were my parents. They were there to take me back to my own private hell, I was sure of it. But this time would be worse, because this time I had committed the cardinal sin – I had told someone.

Mum couldn’t even raise her eyes to look at me. After all this time, after all the time she had failed to love me, failed to save me, there was still a part of me which remained an innocent child desperate for her mummy. If only she had rushed to me, held me in her arms and said everything would be all right. If only I had seen some shred of affection from her, I would have thought it was all worth it.

Unsurprisingly, there was nothing.

She kept staring at the floor, her face hard.

I’d rather my father had been doing that, but he chose to look me in the face, hatred written all over him. He fixed me with his eyes and I knew then he would never admit to anything. From what I could tell, he had no remorse. He was a paedophile who had raped and abused his own daughter for years, and would have happily had many more men do the same – I was as likely to get an apology from him as I was to get a cuddle from my mum.

I thought I heard him call me names as I went into the CO’s office –
bitch, whore, slut, prostitute –
but perhaps they were just echoes of the years gone by when those were the only words he ever used for me.

I was shaking as I stood before CO Stewart again. I had run the gauntlet – was I now to be returned to the people outside that door who seemed to hate me so much?

‘Please sit down, Tracy,’ he said, smiling kindly as soon as I went into his room. ‘Did you sleep well? Did you have everything you needed?’ I nodded because, really, I wanted him to like me, to think I was no bother, and to believe I was a trustworthy girl who deserved his help. ‘I’ve given this a great deal of thought and, under the circumstances, you have two choices – you can go back home, or never go back home again.’

I could hardly believe it.

‘You mean it? I can choose to never go back there? Ever?’

‘Yes. If that’s what you want. Is that what you want?’

‘Yes! Yes, of course it is!’ I responded.

He allowed himself to smile at my obvious happiness. ‘You will have to go back for your things but you won’t be alone.’

I could do that – but what about long term, I wondered?

‘And school?’ I asked. ‘What will happen about school?’

‘It’s all taken care of,’ he assured me. ‘If you never want to go back there again, it’s all taken care of.’

‘But where will I go? Won’t I have to live at home so that I can go to school?’

‘I’ve arranged for you to go to a different school.’

I still didn’t comprehend what was going on. No matter which local school I went to, surely I would still be living with my parents, with my dad?

‘Which school?’ I pushed.

‘You’ll be going to a British Army boarding school here in Germany. There’s nothing to worry about, it’s all been sorted.’

It seemed as if everything had indeed already been decided. I felt that CO Stewart knew which option I’d go for, and that he had made sure everything was in place – whatever it was going to be – by the time I went into his office that morning. He suggested I go back to the cell and try to sleep for a few hours as I had an emotionally draining time ahead of me. ‘When you wake up, you’ll be able to go back home for everything you need. Your mum has . . . well, she’s gone away for the day, and there will be a military police officer with you when you leave here.’

‘She’s out there, though,’ I said. ‘Mum’s out there.’

‘No,’ he replied. ‘She won’t be there when you leave this room. I can assure you of that.’

There was such strength to this man, and I’ll never forget him. When he spoke, I believed him, and when I wondered if he might be able to wave a magic wand and sort things for me, I actually felt as if he could. I had no idea what discussions, or indeed arguments or threats, had gone on in the background, but CO Stewart had obviously been working hard during the night and I would do anything he suggested.

As I went to leave the room, he called my attention. ‘Tracy – I’m sorry, but your father will have to be there when you return home. Legally, he is still your guardian and, in the absence of your mother, he will have to supervise things. As I’ve said though, you will never be alone with him – there will be a policeman there with you at all times. Everything is in place for you. I wish you the best.’

My heart sank at the thought of being anywhere near my father, even for a little while and even under the protection of the military police. What if the person charged with looking after me was like him? What if they thought I was a liar and left me alone with him? I had no idea what he would do – I felt I had only seen some of what he was capable of, and it was bad enough. I felt angry that my mum had removed herself from the situation yet again. I guess it was a hard habit for her to break; it’s what she had been doing for years. I could only assume she had been told what was happening and didn’t want to be anywhere near me, but her selfishness was leaving me vulnerable yet again and placing me in direct contact with the very man I had accused and who I never wanted to be near again in my life.

I went home and packed in a daze. I was so sure that Dad would shout at me, rant and try to find a way to get at me, to hit me and do something awful. He didn’t even come out of the living room. Gary wasn’t there. Mum wasn’t there. None of my friends were playing in the street. It was as if this was the last chapter of a story which was now coming to a close and all the major players, except me and my dad, had simply walked away. I was stunned that Dad just accepted it, but so relieved.

It only took me about five minutes to get my things.

I walked out of my room for the last time and said I was ready to leave. I closed the door behind me in silence and walked out of the house which had been my prison.

There were no fanfares or fireworks. There was no shouting or crying.

I just walked.

I just walked out.

I felt the most tremendous gratitude to the man who had made all of this possible. CO Stewart was so sympathetic and understanding. I never felt he doubted me or put any blame on me. He fixed everything and knew I needed to be taken away. He had time for me and just seemed to work it all out instantly. I don’t know how he managed to make things work the way they did that day, but I will never forget him. I don’t know what really happened, but sometimes I’ve wondered if, in exchange for allowing me to go, my father was told no charges would be pressed and he took the escape route being offered.

I went back to headquarters with two bags, which contained everything I owned. The next day I would start my new life.

It had been a long time coming.

Boarding school was a totally different world for me. I know that in recent years lots of people have said the whole boarding school experience is a world away from the
Harry Potter
stories, and that it’s a hard life with children left to fend for themselves in quite a harsh environment – there were certainly no witches or wizards at mine, but it was still a wonderful place for me to be. It was safe and that alone was priceless. I could even say that was magical in itself.

For a start, there was a uniform. I still had memories of those years when I was in charge of my own laundry and everything I owned stank of damp and neglect. Years of being called ‘stinky’ – and worse – were forgotten when I put on my smart new blazer and skirt. The blazers came in a choice of burgundy or black, and I went for the former as it was more colourful, more of an indication that this was a new start for me. The school tie was burgundy and white to match, and we wore grey or burgundy jumpers with grey or black skirts. It was all new. Nothing was passed down or second-hand and I pressed every single item to my nose time after time, just to wallow in the smell of cleanliness.

I didn’t have the pleasure or excitement of shopping for my uniform. In fact, up until the last minute, I didn’t even know for sure I was going to have one at all. The day after I arrived, Matron sent a message to the dorm that she wanted to see me. As I walked down the steps to her office, I was shaking with nerves – what if she told me it was all a terrible mistake? What if Dad had refused permission for me to attend, or the commanding officer had decided I was a liar? What if I had to go back? I started making tentative escape plans because I knew there was absolutely no way I could bear returning to that house, to
him
. I had no money, no friends or family to go to, but I couldn’t even contemplate voluntarily returning to my abuser and the promise of more attacks on me.

I was still suspicious of people, still wary of anything that looked like it might be an escape route – especially now I feared it was all going to be snatched away. As a result, when I walked in and Matron warmly welcomed me with a smile as she said, ‘Hello, Tracy, how nice to see you,’ I was still waiting for the worst.

‘Do sit down,’ she said, indicating a soft chair in the corner. I did as I was told, and she walked towards me carrying a pile of clothes. She looked rather embarrassed. ‘Here is your uniform, dear – I’m very sorry but . . . your father was rather busy and couldn’t wait to hand it over personally or see you.’

There was no need for her to apologise. I was delighted. Three wonderful things had happened in the space of a few seconds – I was now sure I was being allowed to stay; I was being provided with a brand-new uniform; and, best of all, I didn’t have to see my dad. There was no doubt in my mind that Matron was being diplomatic and that Dad hadn’t wanted to see me in front of an audience, but, given that I didn’t want to see him either, this wasn’t a source of disappointment.

‘I’m sorry, Tracy,’ Matron commiserated. I felt a little guilty I couldn’t put her mind at ease and tell her she had nothing to be sorry for, but I couldn’t do that without opening up a whole can of worms.

I thanked her and rushed back to the dorm, smelling the new clothes and grinning uncontrollably. Two of every item nestled in my arms, and everything was of the best quality. I wondered then, as I do now, who really paid for it all – it seems extremely unlikely my father would fork out, so I considered the likelihood that perhaps, once again, the Army had come to my rescue.

The school consisted of seven different houses, each holding about one hundred girls. All of them, as well as the teaching and administration offices, were held within very long buildings. Some were red-brick, some were whitewash, and each was three or four floors high, with one in front of the other. Five minutes away was the boys’ boarding school, and their version had exactly the same layout. The gate entrance was usually manned, but that didn’t stop fraternisation between the schools – there is nothing as determined as a teenager who is told not to do something! When I eventually did meet some of the boy pupils, I had to go along with the notion they perpetuated that the schools were awful places. They called them Stalag Compound X or whatever – I called mine Heaven.