At seven o’clock, when I knocked on Matron’s door, she said, “Come in Jane, and how are you today?”
“Fine thanks,” I lied. “Can I phone home, please Matron.”
“Sure, but have a seat, Jane. I want to talk to you first.”
I sat down nervously and Matron Ruth closed the door.
“Jane, why do you phone your father every Thursday?” she suddenly asked me.
“Um ... because I have to.” Matron waited for more. I fidgeted. “He says I have to.”
“What happens if you don’t call?”
“He gets really mad with me.”
“Jane you looked very sad earlier today. Your eyes are all puffy. It looks like you’ve cried a lot today. What’s been the matter? What’s made you so upset?”
“Nothing…er … I’m fine.” My words were so well rehearsed I said them without even realizing I was lying. I gazed down at my nail-bitten hands and Matron continued in surprisingly gentle tones.
“Come Jane. You’re not fine. You’re miserable and depressed and I really want to help you.” I glanced up at Matron. She looked kind and concerned. Immediately the tears started to work their way out of my treacherous eyes. I was stronger in the face of antagonism.
Matron passed a tissue and I was shocked to hear her say, “One of your teachers called me today. She’s very concerned about you and asked me to help. Talk to me Jane.”
“Was it Mrs May?”
Matron nodded.
“She didn’t believe me …” I said, resigned to be in more trouble.
“Actually I think she didn’t want to believe such horrible things could be going on in your life, but she called because I think she does believe you now.”
I took a deep breath. I so wanted this thing at home to stop but I was terrified of the storm I would be unleashing.
Matron moved to the couch next to me. “Tell me what’s bothering you honey. It will just be between you and me.”
“What if you tell my Dad? He yelled at me when you told him I was crying a lot.”
“That was before we heard this story. This is my promise, Jane. I will not tell him anything you say to me today.”
I had to believe her. I had to tell because I could bear no more.
“My father…my father is doing things to me at home that are wrong and I want him to stop. But no-one will believe me and he said he’ll kill me if I tell. I’m really afraid that you’ll tell him if I tell you. The nun told on me and he thrashed me …”
“Jane, I want to promise you now that I will not phone him and I will not tell him what you tell me today. I want to help you. Tell me exactly what he’s doing to you.”
“He is abusing me!” I burst out. At least now I had the word for it.
“You will have to say more than that, Jane. In what way … how is he abusing you?”
Cautiously I began to explain my story in detail. For the first time I was able to reveal to someone else all the years of childhood pain, rejection and fear.
As Matron listened sympathetically, I became bolder in my revelation and bit by bit I allowed her access to my miserable, offensive adolescent world where I’d been sexually debased, exploited and humiliated.
“How does he make you feel inside, Jane?”
“Dirty. Guilty. Angry. So angry.”
“Jane, sometimes an adult can make it feel nice for the child because adults know where to touch, and if the child enjoys it a little that makes them feel even guiltier afterwards. But you must understand that the adult is always to blame.”
“He never made it nice. I felt like a small insect stuck in a spider web with no way to escape. It was always uncomfortable to my body and sickening to my soul.”
At this point in the discussion I thought Matron was getting angry with me – but suddenly she was hugging me and crying too! Someone believed me at last! Someone believed me and was infuriated with Dad and Mom and Joanne, and not with me! She made a joke about the two of us needing Noah’s ark if we didn’t stop crying and we laughed amidst our tears. The release was both therapeutic and exhausting.
A hideous festering ulcer had finally burst, pouring out the pus of abuse but an enormous gaping wound was left in its place.
Eventually, my lovely Matron fetched a glass of milk for me and, sitting on her couch, wrapped in a blanket, I finally experienced what it was like to be loved and cared for, protected and safe.
When I’d finished the milk, Matron said, “Jane you’d better make that phone call to your Dad.”
“I can’t!” I panicked. “He’ll ask me if I’ve told his secret and I have and he’ll know…”
“Does he always ask you Jane?”
“Yes he does, every time. That’s why I have to phone. So he can check if his secret is safe.”
Matron thought for a moment then said, “I have a plan. Jane you must phone him but this time, you use the white phone and I want to listen in on the black phone,”
“What must I say?”
“Lying is never good but just for tonight you have to do it. It’s got to be the last lie you are ever going to tell about all of this, do you understand?”
“But why?”
Jane I need to hear him ask you the question. It will be like my final proof that everything you have told me is true. It will be good as evidence later on if we need it. Jane, if you say you’ve told me, he’ll probably come and fetch you tonight before we can do anything to prove it and stop him from ever hurting you again. Believe me. It’s the only lie you have to tell. If he asks you the question you say, ‘No, you haven’t told’, okay? That way, you get protection.”
“What if he knows?”
“He won’t!”
Feeling like a conspirator in a spy game, I dialled with trembling hands while Matron held the other phone to her ear. Dad asked about my week’s activities and I answered curtly. Then – his fatal blunder.
“I love you Jane. Jane have you told anybody our special secret?”
Matron Ruth held my hand with her free one and shook her head. I answered: “No Dad.”
“Are you sure, Jane?”
“A-huh.” I clearly remember nodding even though he couldn’t see me.
“Jane remember – not a word. It’s our special love. You do love me Jane, don’t you?” Matron nodded to me.
“You’re my father,” I answered. “I have to go. Bye.”
“Jane…”
I replaced the receiver, shivering and feeling ready to cry again. I looked at matron’s angry face and it dawned on me. He’d played right into matron’s hand! My dad, the wolf spider, had finally caught himself in his own ugly trap.
“I always thought he would know if I was lying. But he didn’t know…”
“No, Jane, he didn’t know. But now I know,” answered Matron Ruth pensively. “And I’m so sorry that it’s taken so long for you to trust me and for me to help you.”
Mulling over Matron’s words, feeling rather stunned, I asked: “What’s going to happen now?”
“Well, I’ll have to contact Mrs Martingale. She’ll get hold of Welfare Services. They’ll probably come around tomorrow and we can all talk about this and find out what’s to be done to help you.”
“Will my Dad get into trouble?”
“Jane, I’m afraid so. Everything he’s done to you is against the law, and the law is made to protect children. But we will look after you and stop him from hurting you anymore. I promise.”
“What will the people coming tomorrow do?” I was still worried; afraid of what I’d now done to my father.
“They will most likely have to ask you a lot of questions, like I did tonight and you’ll hate it because you’re going to have to tell all of this again.”
“Why?” I panicked. “That’s not fair. I trusted you but I don’t want to tell other people. Why can’t you just tell them, now that you know? You heard my Dad ask the question tonight. You know it’s true. It’s really embarrassing to tell. You feel so dirty an
d bad … like no-one’s ever going to like you again because of what you’ve done.”
“Jane, listen to me. It is not what you have done. It is what he did to you. It is your Dad that has done a lot of bad things, not you.”
“But I let him and I was too scared to tell. What if the people don’t believe me tomorrow? What if they phone my Dad! People don’t believe children…”
“I think the real problem is that no-one wants to think of a child being badly treated, so we hide away from the truth. People are strange. We often hope that if we ignore something nasty it will go away.”
“But it doesn’t ….”
“No, it doesn’t. But now, this is going to stop!”
“Who will I have to tell?”
“Probably the police, the social workers, a doctor and some people at the courts. People who want to help you.”
“That’s not fair. I don’t want to tell everybody….”
“I know, Jane. But it’s just the way the law works. You’ll have to tell them yourself and be very careful to tell the whole truth the whole time. Never make up anything and never change your story. If you do that they’ll stop believing you straight away.”
“But you believe me?”
“Yes. I do Jane and I am so sorry.”
“It’s not your fault…” I said quietly, feeling very vulnerable and ye very adult at the same time .
Chapter 19
“Vindicate me, O God,
And plead my cause against an ungodly nation;
Rescue me from deceitful and wicked men.
You are my God my stronghold.”
Psalm 43:1-2
Later that night, utterly exhausted, each stair up to the dormitory demanded my leaden legs make an enormous effort.
I lay in bed, afraid, confused and lonely. Eventually I sank into the oblivion of sleep but all too soon, morning invaded my peace. Looking at my red swollen eyes in the mirror, I was reminded that yesterday was no hallucination and today’s reality was only just beginning.
“You look a real mess today,” remarked Tinkie truthfully. “Looks like you were crying again last night. Do you want some anti-wrinkle cream?”
“Leave me alone,” I responded without much conviction.
“Leave me alone,” Tinkie imitated.
“Tinkie stop it,” interrupted Megan, throwing a pillow at her. “You’re being a real cow. What’s wrong Jane?”
Megan moved from her bed to sit on the foot of mine. “You came to bed really late last night. I heard you sneaking in. Where were you?”
What would be the use in hiding it? I had no doubt all the teachers would be talking about me and as soon as social workers and police arrived at school everyone would know something had happened.
I took a deep breath and decided to share my story with my room-mates. At least if I told them first they’d get the truth.
“Alright, I’ll tell you. But you have to promise not to think it’s a joke…”
My friends sat open-mouthed and spell-bound at my sorry tale.
“I don’t believe you!” was Tinkie’s first response. “You don’t know the first thing about sex. Look at the questions you always ask us!”
“How come you were the one always asking us about those things if you knew the answers…I mean if it was already happening to you at home?” added Megan more gently.
Humiliated I said, “Well, I was trying to find out if the things happening to me were…normal…like if you also had them happening to you…”
“So that’s why you said you hated going home…”
“How could a father do that?”
“I’d kill my dad…”
“Was it terribly sore?”
“Weren’t you embarrassed?”
“Where was your stepmother…?” and so the questions rolled.
Soon the whole dorm was in my room. The girls were all so busy talking to me about my terrible life that we were late for class. At last I was believed and all my miseries and tears had been justified. I was important and at least for today, everyone was sorry for being ugly to me. They were angry that I’d been abused by my Dad and treated so vilely by my selfish stepmother. At least for today, they all cared.
Today they all felt important as they wrestled with the knowledge that an unmentionable taboo had found a home right in their midst.
Around ten that morning I was summoned to the office and taken back to the hostel by Mr Emerson. Two women in suits waited for me in matron’s office. I walked in fearfully and Matron told me they were plain-clothes police officers who needed to hear my story.
Instead of devouring it with outrage and hunger like my friends did, or with gentle compassion like Matron Ruth, they were cold and guarded, warning me to tell only the truth and making me repeat my story in what seemed like a hundred different ways.
Why did I let my dad do it? Did I enjoy it? When his fingers touched me did it feel pleasant? Did I ever say no? Why didn’t I stop him? Why didn’t I tell my mom? What about my stepmother? How could he always manage to corner me when Joanne was bathing the kids? Where was my brother? How quick was he? How did it look? How did it feel? What else did he make me do?
They infuriated me. Why did they need to ask over and over? Didn’t they have ears? It seemed like everyone was intent on proving me a liar and eventually I even began to doubt myself. Their voices stopped making sense and I felt they were all staring into my naked soul. I began to cry. “I don’t know any more. I can’t think…”
Matron suggested a tea break and she gave me a hug.
Their questions made me feel ill. It was bad enough living through all of that but I could hide away in that place outside myself while it was happening and wait till it was over before I had to think again. Now they were making me come out of my little place of protection. They were forcing me to look at that girl and that man together. I didn’t want to see them together, to think or to remember.
My interrogation continued after the break and they never smiled or made me feel anything except guilty for finally telling the truth.
Eventually one of them said, “We are going to have to send you to the State Hospital where the district surgeon will examine you. He will decide if you are telling the truth.”
I was appalled! All that time! All that effort – and they still didn’t believe me!
Friday 8 September 1989
I am so alone and afraid. I wish I could just go inside a hole and die. Even God doesn’t seem to be around anymore. A social worker is coming to school to see me tomorrow but I don’t really know what she will do.
The following morning was Saturday. I was one of only three girls left in the hostel and later that morning the other two went home. I was called into Matron’s office. “Jane this is Miriam. She is a social worker. She works for the Welfare Department. The Welfare looks after people … children, whose parents don’t or can’t look after them properly… ”
“Hi, Jane!” Miriam smiled. She was young and pretty. She asked about my favourite movies and TV programmes and my school sports. She chatted about school work and pets and asked if she could come and visit me again on Monday.
Saturday 9 September 1989
Miriam, the social worker asked me a few questions but she didn’t interrogate me like everyone else did. I asked her why and she said her job is not to question me. It’s to make sure I’m safe! I think I like her.
She said she will take me to a State Hospital on Monday where they will check my body and see what my dad did to me. I asked what they could do about it since Dr Harris never did anything. Miriam said maybe he just didn’t know what he should be looking for or perhaps he didn’t want to ‘get involved’. I’m really worried.
Sunday 10 September 1989
Guess what? I was sitting in my room feeling all alone when Miriam came to the hostel to chat and she had lunch with Matron and me. She says the district surgeon is a lady and explained what will happen tomorrow. Apparently the doctor will use some
medical instruments to examine me internally. Now I’m even more worried. Miriam kindly offered to stay with me while the doctor examines me but I still feel pretty angry with God for not stopping all this long ago.
Chapter 20
“ Hear, O LORD, my righteous plea;
listen to my cry...
May my vindication come from you...”
Psalm 17:1-2
The trip to the hospital on Monday took over an hour. Miriam tried to reassure me and asked me to tell her some nice things about my childhood.
I told her about our motor-bikes and the swimming pool at my father’s place. I noticed Miriam’s pretty nails holding the steering wheel and commented on how nice they looked. She asked to look at my hands, which was embarrassing as my nails were bitten and I still had thin scabs and scars on them from getting so angry.
“I used to bite mine,” she said, “but eventually I stopped. It was a nervous habit.”
“Mine too,” I agreed. “But it also annoys my dad because he likes me to paint my nails red on the weekends and in the holidays.”
We chatted away about little things and nice things like movies and music. She never asked about what Dad did to me and I was so glad.
The hospital was just another government-grey building. The waiting room smelt of antiseptic and furniture polish.
There were a few other people in there also waiting to be seen. Most of them were women. I wondered if any of them were there for the same reason I was. When they finally called me, the doctor asked if I wanted Miriam to come in too. I definitely did. Dr Mary Chandler and Miriam seemed to know each other. The doctor read some details in a file on her desk and then leaned forward to me. “Hello Jane. You can call me Doctor Mary. Jane this is a very serious thing you’re saying about your father. You realise that, I hope.”
There was no emotion in her voice. It reminded me for a moment, of Joanne when she wasn’t angry. I panicked and immediately started thinking, “She hates me. She won’t believe me. She already thinks I’m going to lie. I should just leave.”
Dr Mary interrupted my thoughts. “Jane, tell me about the things that you say have been happening at home.”
Unspoken - Kiss of the Wolf Spider, Part I Page 11
