Never a Hero to Me (23 page)

What if he took me away?

If I was caught and my parents were told, it would surely mean no one would ever believe me if I did ever find the courage again to say what Dad had been doing to me. He would be the one with all the power again – his daughter would be proved to be a two-faced boy-mad liar, and people would never believe what I alleged.

I had only been across to the boys’ boarding school a few times, but I stopped doing even that and just listened to what the other girls were doing. Usually these escapades were for a dare. The girls would make a hole in the fence and try to cover it with bushes. Matron continually checked the fence behind our house, which was seven feet high and made of metal with barbed wire along the top. Night watchmen with dogs patrolled the perimeter and it felt like Colditz in the dead of night – hardly worth risking for a natter with a couple of spotty lads, and certainly not worth it for me as I had so much to lose.

I met a lot of really nice kids at that school, and even bumped into one from my Rinteln days. Diana Hayes was a ‘day bug’ – this was the name for pupils who didn’t lodge and who only came to the school for the day. Diana’s father was a captain and I was delighted to see her as we had been to the same primary and secondary schools as each other for a while. It was even easier to get on with Diana because, as her father was so much higher up in the regiment than my dad, they had never socialised, so I was comforted that my two worlds could be keep distinct from each other.

There were a lot of day bugs at the school, usually children who lived locally in areas such as Soest and Werl. They were tolerated by most boarders rather than warmly welcomed, and the two groups tended to keep themselves to themselves. Even in the classrooms, boarders would sit with boarders and day pupils with day pupils. I also met one of the boys I had fought with previously – Olly Wilson. What a difference a year had made – not only did he seem human at school, we actually managed to get on!

During the week and during normal activities, I found it quite easy to keep my new facade in place. I was Normal Tracy. When letters came, and there was nothing for me, I acted as if I didn’t care. When parents sent parcels and extra pocket money, and I was given things by friends because I had nothing of my own, I was blasé. It took a few months before the other girls noticed there was never anything for me. They were starting to get excited about going home for the Christmas holidays. This wasn’t something I could join in with. I was dreading going back and couldn’t imagine being allowed to leave home again once the festive season was over. What if Dad kept me at home and never allowed me out again? The abuse would surely restart and be even worse, if possible, now I had revealed all to CO Stewart.

One evening, Jodie asked the question I had been dreading. As we sat around the table eating supper, she said the words I didn’t want to hear. ‘Why do your parents never write to you, Tracy?’

At that point, I wished I’d lied when I arrived at boarding school. If only I had said they were dead, that I was an orphan, it would have been easier. As it was, I had given some story about my dad getting lots of different postings and my parents wanting me to have some continuity with my education. I should have known that lie would be found out because it made them seem caring and concerned about me, which was at odds with them never writing or sending parcels.

‘Don’t know,’ I muttered, but she wouldn’t let it drop.

‘They never send you parcels either, do they?’ she continued. ‘Why’s that?’

‘No idea – maybe they don’t know the address,’ I half-joked, praying she would change the subject.

‘I think it’s odd,’ she went on.

‘Just leave it,’ said Kate. She was always the one concerned about the feelings of others and I’m sure she could see I was uncomfortable.

‘Never mind – you’ll feel even more excited about going home for Christmas then, won’t you?’ finished Jodie. ‘You’ve heard nothing from them since you got here and had no parcels, so they must be planning a brilliant homecoming for you.’

I had been trying not to think about it. As the Christmas decorations went up throughout the school and the girls started talking about the holidays, I had pushed it all to the back of my mind. Matron had said nothing, and I’d had no clues from home, so I didn’t know when they’d be coming for me or what would be happening.

Throughout that evening, it was as if Jodie had broken down the carefully constructed barriers I had erected. I had done so well to not face up to what scared me so much, but now she had said it out loud, I had to address the fact that I would be going home soon, and there was no way I could avoid it. For the rest of the night, as we got ready for classes the next day, I felt as if I was totally disconnected from my dorm mates. They were talking, but I could barely hear them. They were trying to engage me in conversation, but I couldn’t join in their banter with such a dark cloud hanging over me.

I hardly slept that night. The fear I felt about returning to my dad’s care was physical as well as emotional. My stomach was aching and I felt so sick. I ate nothing for breakfast and couldn’t concentrate throughout my English class. My temperature was all over the place, hot one minute, freezing cold the next. When class ended, I ran to the toilets before going on to my next lesson. I barely got into the cubicle before I started vomiting. There was little in my tummy as I hadn’t been able to eat since Jodie had asked about my Christmas plans and I was very sore very quickly, as I brought up bile.

Throughout that morning, I was sick between every class and I went through the hours in a daze. By early evening, I was in a terrible state. I went down to dinner with the girls, none of whom knew I had been sick all day, and sat at the table, wondering how I would hide the fact I couldn’t eat.

I needn’t have worried – I wouldn’t be there for long.

As I sat, trying to look as if I was listening to Amy and Kate’s chatter, I felt faint. I could hear Jodie say, as if from a long way away, ‘What’s wrong, Tracy? What’s wrong?’ and then nothing. The next thing I knew, I was in the sick bay.

Frau Schneider was standing over me, looking terribly concerned.

‘Tracy? Tracy?’ How are you?’ she asked.

‘Fine, I think – what happened?’

‘You collapsed, dear – have you not been eating? Have you been feeling unwell for long? Your friends are awfully worried about you – they’re all waiting outside.’

Her kindly face comforted me enormously but I had one thing to ask. ‘Frau Schneider – what will be happening to me at Christmas? Is . . . is my father coming for me?’ I whispered.

I have no idea how much that woman knew, how much she had been told, but as she sat down on the bed and clasped my hand, I suddenly felt as if she had given me a wonderful gift. ‘You won’t be going home for Christmas, my dear,’ she said. ‘We’re very lucky to have you staying here with us. It’s all been . . . organised.’

She said nothing more. With a warm squeeze of my hand, she tucked me in and left the room to update my friends on my progress. I clasped my stomach, racked with pain from the vomiting I had suffered earlier that morning. My head was bursting with a hundred thoughts, my heart breaking with a thousand emotions – but, despite all this, the one thing I clung to was the most important thing of all. I was safe. Absolutely, perfectly safe.

It was such a simple thing, a state of mind and body which so many people take for granted, but the twelve-year-old me knew without doubt it was the most precious way to be. For years, I had been abused. For years, I had been prey to the perversions of my father. For years, I had been a plaything for his friends. For years I had been passed between one man and another, men who were well thought of, men who were regarded as heroes – men who found their pleasure in raping and abusing a little girl.

Now, as I lay in the sick bay of the boarding school which had only recently become my refuge, I finally realised it was all over. No longer would I be the pawn of these animals who ignored my cries, ignored my pain. I was alone – apart from the nurse who watched over me – but I was happy. It was time to take charge of my own life. It was time to stop crying in the dark, time to stop taking the blame for the crimes committed against me.

As I lay there that night, I felt at peace.

Things were getting better.

However, there was a school disco to get through first. Just before the Christmas break the hall was transformed into something resembling a teacher’s vision of what young people would like – needless to say, like youngsters throughout history, we were damning of the efforts and thought it was all embarrassingly lame. That didn’t mean to say most girls had given up their hopes of bagging a boyfriend for the night. For me, I couldn’t think of anything I would like less. There were actually two school discos a year, but this would be my first one. I didn’t feel comfortable at all when the night arrived. I never really had any interest in boys while I was there and was not looking for a boyfriend at all. I’d paid little attention to what I was wearing and, thankfully, got no boys coming over to me at all, but I also felt left out – most girls had siblings there too so they always had someone to talk to. Still, I held on to the happiness I felt that I would be staying at school for the holidays – I could get through any amount of social embarrassment knowing I had that in my hand.

Before every school disco, the other three girls would practise their dancing in the dorm, each of them choosing their favourite music to move around to. I was more than happy to join in with that, because I loved music, and the dancing part was something which just brought us all closer together as we had such fun doing it.

As with our dress sense, our musical tastes were different. Amy and Kate were keen on David Essex and Rod Stewart. Like most of the girls at school, they also went through a phase of adoring the Bay City Rollers – at one point, the whole school roll seemed to be wearing tartan and I was told on many occasions how lucky I was to be Scottish, even though I’d barely stayed there for any length of time. I was even asked by plenty of girls if I was related to any of the band – being Scottish was enough apparently!

Jodie loved to play one Black Sabbath album just to annoy us all – I’m pretty sure she hated it herself but, like her commitment to skinners and DMs, she got more pleasure out of digging her heels in than from wearing or listening to things she actively liked! Normally she would listen to lighter stuff, such as Status Quo, but we danced along to anything given half a chance. As the record player belonged to Kate, she was the one who got to dictate when it could be used. She organised how long we could listen to it for, and it tended to be half an hour each at the weekends, and sometimes during the week on special occasions.

Life was quite strict, but that didn’t bother me; the rules were all for our own good, and they were rarely anything other than normal school regulations. When I stayed at school that Christmas, it was to be the first of a number of holidays I spent there, and they all had the same format. Those who were left behind would watch the other girls getting picked up by their parents or catching the school bus to take them home. The majority of those who remained were there because their parents were still on overseas postings. Those who went away were always so excited at being with their parents again. I felt saddened in a way when I saw them because I wished I could feel that excitement at going home, and there was always the realisation that it would never happen. I consoled myself with the knowledge that, if I did go home, it would be horrible – it hadn’t transformed into a fairy-tale life, it would still be hell.

Matron celebrated Christmas with the girls who were left behind. We had to put our shoes or slippers outside the dormitory door. If we had been good we would get sweets in them but if we had been bad we were given sticks, a German tradition. Most of the time we all got a mixture of sweets and sticks, with just enough balance the right way! There was carol singing at the end of our corridor with lights all around, and Matron would light candles for us. It was really warm and caring – I had to be careful not to seem too happy, because all the other girls had a sadness about them due to being apart from their loving families. I couldn’t look too delighted at the fact that these were the happiest Christmas memories of my life.

The year after that, I also stayed in the school for the summer holidays. We were given the option to go home with friends if family trips weren’t feasible, but I didn’t push for this, largely because I feared no one would want me. As always, I preferred not to take the risk of feeling bad, so I opted to get in first and made it clear I had no wish to be with anyone else and would relish some time on my own. One summer, Kate was there for the whole time and that was great. The staff and teachers would take us out on bus trips to places like the Sauerland, a big country park with lakes where we would have picnics and barbecues. There was swimming and fun all summer, and by the next year I was confident enough to believe in the friends I had made. I was delighted when my friend Diana, the one I had known in Rinteln, asked me to stay with her family. I ended up spending a lot of time there, and it was wonderful to see a family that loved each other and who knew how to spend time together. Her parents would take us out a lot – to the cinema, to a theme park that was close by, and on shopping trips.

I loved those trips, and I really appreciated the time I spent with the Hayes family. At times, I pretended to be part of it, dissociating myself from my own horrible experiences of family life and revelling in the ordinariness of it. Diana’s parents knew I had been in trouble before and yet they never commented on it; their only worry was that a young girl was left alone at boarding school during the holidays. By this time, my story about my dad always being transferred at short notice was wearing thin, and I also worried that Diana’s father might know him, so I used a bit of the truth and started telling people that my mum didn’t keep well and was often in hospital, which made it best for me to stay put at school. I have no idea whether they bought that explanation or perhaps wondered if there was more to it than I let on, but I suspected they were just too nice to say anything.