I loved Nanny dearly and I didn’t want to upset her, so I went along with this decision.
None of us had a manual that gave a step-by-step breakdown of what to do. We were all just stumbling along blindly, colliding with walls and doors and all sorts of other obstacles as we tried to find some way out of this situation.
It was arranged that I would go to a meeting with Da’s counsellor. Da wouldn’t be going, though, as I refused to be in the same room as him.
I didn’t find the meeting helpful at all, and I continued to feel hopeless and depressed, more convinced than ever that I should have continued to keep my mouth shut.
*
Back in Celbridge, what had briefly brought me and Joseph together was now sending us further apart. We argued non-stop, and as I was the one with the problems, I felt that I was an easy target. The truth was that we were just not compatible.
I suffered with terrible anxiety and it got to the stage where I was barely able to leave the house. Stepping outside in daylight hours gave me the feeling that you get in dreams when you find yourself suddenly standing naked on a street full of people. I just couldn’t brave it unless I absolutely had to. I wouldn’t go shopping until every last morsel of food in the fridge had been eaten.
Da had hurt me over and over again and would continue to hurt me for the rest of my life. He had admitted to it too.
As far as I was concerned, Da hadn’t lost his family—he had thrown them away. I wasn’t responsible for destroying anyone’s life; again, Da had done that all by himself. It was all his responsibility.
It was inevitable that my relationship with my mother would be affected by what had happened. For a while, I struggled to keep a relationship of some sorts going with Ma. I’d ring her up but if Da answered my heart would skip a beat and I’d slam the phone back down again. I’d ring back a few minutes later, hoping Ma would pick up the phone on the next ring. We were both caught in this impossible situation.
I just plodded along, feeling more and more angry and hurt all the time. I knew it was only a matter of time before something or someone hit the switch and caused it to boil over.
Around this time, my parents decided to sell the huge house in Castleknock and move to another slightly smaller house nearby. So with the money left over from the sale, Ma gave me and my three brothers a couple of thousand pounds each and told us that it was from her and not Da. She was doing her best to help me.
Nothing could compensate me for what Da had done to me, but because Ma gave it to me, I accepted the money as if it was rightly mine, a kind of early inheritance, and one that wasn’t coming from Da. To be honest, I didn’t think twice about taking the money. My car at the time was on its last legs so I used the money to buy a new one.
But the money didn’t bring me any feelings of justice. I had told my family what happened in order to bring some cleanliness and control into my life, but I still felt sullied, and even worse, I still felt that Da had gotten away with it.
Chapter Eleven
Joseph was delighted when he found out I was pregnant. But within a few weeks, our relationship had gone back to being a struggle. I couldn’t stop thinking about how Da had gotten away with everything—his life appeared on the outside to be exactly the same as it was. The only difference now was that he had been exposed as a child abuser to his family. I kept thinking about going to the police and making a complaint, but I’d had some problems already during the pregnancy and the doctors were warning me to take it easy so I certainly didn’t feel ready for the gardaí just yet.
My relationship with Joseph eventually broke down, and he moved out. Looking back, I guess it was inevitable. The pregnancy was a very lonely time for me. My best friend Mary was the one person who was there for me. She really became a support structure that I clung on to. I really needed someone in my life at that point who just accepted me for who I was, and she provided that and more. I took comfort from having her around and from the feeling of my little baby growing inside of me. I cut out drugs and smoking altogether and my only weakness during the pregnancy was a couple of glasses of wine to help me sleep on the really bad nights.
After we spent time apart, Joseph came back for the birth of our son. If I’m truthful, I was glad to have him back, because I was frightened at the thoughts of what lay ahead. When I found out my baby was a boy I thought this might gel us all together.
I can’t explain the feeling of complete and utter unconditional love that welled up inside of me when I first laid eyes on my wonderful, gorgeous baby boy who I named Tyrone. I remember lying in bed and feeling his gentle breath on my cheek and with each breath he breathed I suddenly knew the meaning of love and life. It was the most fulfilling emotion I’d ever felt. I had my baby now and nobody was going to take him away from me. I was completely consumed by him. Me and the little man were the only two people who mattered in the world.
Joseph was equally mad about his son, and we tried to make our relationship work. We plodded along happily enough. He adored the baby and he was great with him.
I breastfed Tyrone for about six months after he was born so I didn’t go out very much. I didn’t mind though. I was happy to spend the weekends with him. I really bonded with Tyrone during this time. I didn’t even find it too hard taking care of him on my own. I’d get up to feed him every night and when I’d put him back in his cot, I’d sit and watch him go back to sleep. I just didn’t want to take my eyes off him.
When Tyrone was a few months old I started to drink wine in the evenings to help me sleep, as I started having more and more nightmares. This time I remembered the details after I woke up. They were all pretty much the same. Da would sneak into Tyrone’s bedroom and steal him from his cot. I couldn’t move in the dream so I wasn’t able to stop him. I felt so helpless. He’d bring him off and introduce him to little girls and teach him how to humiliate and abuse them. I’d dream that he was taking my son under his wing and trying to pass this disease on to him. My son would fall under his spell. Then the guards would burst in and arrest them both but my baby would get the death sentence while Da would walk free. I’d toss and turn in my bed all night with these bad dreams and when I’d wake in the morning I’d be exhausted and tearful, and the memory of the nightmare would linger for the rest of the day.
*
When Tyrone was one year old, Joseph proposed to me. Divorce had been legalised in Ireland so he and his ex-wife were now divorced. We were in a lift in Blanchardstown Shopping Centre, heading down to Dunnes to do some grocery shopping, when he turned to me with a nervous look on his face.
‘Will you marry me, like for real, as soon as we can?’ he asked.
‘Yes,’ I stuttered, completely caught off guard. Me and Joseph had been up and down and generally all over the place for the last few years but I did love him and I knew Tyrone needed a father figure in his life. Plus, as an added bonus I would be able to get rid of the name ‘Delaney’ that I hated. Even though I loved my family, I still couldn’t help but associate the name with being dirty and my father.
I had a few drinks with my girlfriends to celebrate the wedding. But, with all the drinking and the craic, things got out of hand during the night and I somehow ended up shaving my head. I loved a bit of craic but it wasn’t till the next morning that I realised what I had done. I wouldn’t have minded so much only I had the wedding looming. One minute I had long blonde hair down to my bum and the next I had a mousy brown number-two cut. I felt like someone had died when I looked in the mirror the next day and saw my bald head staring back at me.
*
A lot of work went into planning the wedding. The first thing we had to do was make sure that everything was finalised with Joseph’s divorce. The divorce law had only recently been passed in this country so the system was still catching up with itself and a lot of paperwork had to be filed.
We decided to get married in England as the registry offices over there were a lot nicer than the ones in Ireland. Since Joseph had
already been married, a church wedding was not an option. It also helped with my own family situation to go for a minimal wedding. That way I didn’t have to worry so much about who knew what and who had to be kept apart from who. It just made life easier.
So just eight weeks after Joseph first proposed, we got married in England. Ma, my three brothers and a few close friends came over. Depending on who was asking, I had different excuses for why Da wasn’t there.
My dress on the day was floor length and ivory. It wasn’t my dream dress but I hadn’t any money at the time and wedding dresses cost a small fortune. I looked everywhere for one that I could afford and, eventually, I found a dress in a sale for £100—a bargain.
The ceremony in the registry office was very emotional. Joseph even shed a few tears when he saw me and Tyrone walking in. Tyrone looked so cute in a top hat and tails.
We spent the honeymoon in Joseph’s Ma’s flat in the centre of Bristol. Joseph and I spent most of our honeymoon apart from each other, mixing with different people.
It didn’t take me long to realise that our wedding wouldn’t have a fairytale ending. But at least I knew Joseph inside out by now—the good parts and the bad. And that, if nothing else, was a source of comfort.
*
After the wedding, as the months flew by, I found myself getting more and more over-protective of Tyrone. I couldn’t bear the thought of anyone harming a hair on his head. I would have killed for him.
At this point I got a book about the subconscious mind—it was all about how to train your mind to think more positively. This started giving me the strength to get through the really bad times.
I started studying different religions and positive thinking, and I formed a technique that had a common denominator with most teachings. My children and I use this technique today. God is at the centre and we train our minds to pray for what we want and we get it. It is full of love and thankfulness, and is non judgemental. It has taken me about eight years to learn about using your subconscious and your soul. But it worked right from the beginning when I started.
The concept made me more determined than ever before to put the pieces of my life back together. And playing happy families with Da was not the way to do that.
I wasn’t playing happy families at home with Joseph either. Our relationship had started to breakdown once more. When we weren’t fighting, our house was deathly quiet which was nearly worse. Joseph and I could go for weeks without exchanging any words at all. The only thing that made it bearable was the odd weekend visit from my friend Mary. We would go for a few drinks and have the craic and it reminded me of the life I might have.
It was only when I fell pregnant a second time that I decided I had to leave Joseph. My best mate helped me fill the car with clothes, and myself, her and my big belly left the house in Celbridge. The breakup wasn’t anyone’s fault. The relationship between the two of us just didn’t work out.
One of my brothers put me and Tyrone up for a couple of months. I made sure I kept to myself and stayed out of his way as much as possible. But it was hard not to feel in the way when you’re living in someone else’s house and I began to miss my own place in Celbridge. I made an appointment to speak to someone in a women’s support group about my situation and to find out what my rights were in relation to the house. The woman I met with advised me that if I wanted to retain any rights at all I would have to move back in and stake my claim.
So back I went.
Myself and Tyrone moved into the spare bedroom and tried to stay out of Joseph’s way as much as possible. It wasn’t pleasant but we got by. Well, really, my best mate Mary helped me get by. Everyone needs someone to support them in times like that, and she was my someone.
I went into labour with my second baby a week early. Ma was with me when my waters broke and she rang a friend of Joseph’s who took me to the Rotunda Hospital in Dublin where I was shown to a waiting room full of other expectant mothers. Most of them had their partners with them. I envied them. Joseph hadn’t been around for any of the check-ups or the antenatal classes, because we had agreed to separate. I loved being pregnant but I think it was probably the loneliest time in my life.
The fluid was still gushing out of me while I was seated in the waiting room. A small puddle had formed at my feet that was quickly becoming a lake. It was mortifying—I felt like I’d just gone to the loo in front of everybody. While the mothers-to-be all broke into a chorus of, ‘Ahhh look, her waters just broke. She’s going to have her baby,’ the blokes beside them grew pale and looked like they were having second thoughts about holding their partners’ hands during the birth.
For the second time, Joseph came back into my life for the birth of our child. I was annoyed at him for showing up. It felt like a charade but he was trying to make the best of a bad situation. Several hours of labour later, I had a beautiful baby girl who I named Robin. Joseph held her for a few minutes and oooh’ed and aaah’ed. At the time, I hated him for having come to the hospital at all but, looking back, I guess I’m glad he was there. Nowadays, my two kids love poring over old photographs and their eyes light up when they see the ones from the hospital with their da in them. It means a lot to them that their daddy loved them enough to see them being born.
Joseph eventually moved out of the house in Celbridge and moved to England. This time we split for good. So it was just me and my two babies now. With only me left to pay the mortgage, and no real income to my name, it wasn’t long before I fell behind with payments and the mortgage company started threatening to repossess the house. I was left with no other choice but to put my babies in a crèche and get a job. It nearly tore me in two to leave them with strangers. But it was either that or become homeless.
I was thousands of pounds in arrears at this stage so the new job barely made a dent in things, but I liked the job and they liked me. I wasn’t used to compliments or at least I never accepted them, but here I was told that I was a breath of fresh air around the place, and how intelligent I was. I had been feeling so utterly low after the breakdown of my relationship, so the timing was utterly perfect from my point of view. Beautiful things were said and my work was appreciated, and I began to feel someway towards ‘normal’. I worked hard and remained focused on my children, choosing to remain celibate and on my own for the foreseeable future.
At home when I was alone at night, the horrors would start again. I’ve been a fan of the band Aslan for many years, and in the evenings I would put on their music and attempt to drown my sorrows with some wine. One song in particular tore at my heart when I listened to it. The title was ‘Crazy World’, and when I would hear the lyrics ‘how can I protect you in this crazy world’ I would sob deeply. It meant so many things to me. I couldn’t help thinking of my own children and how desperately I wanted to protect them. I also cried because that’s what my da should have been doing; it was his job to protect me. I’m proud to say that my children know I would do anything to keep them safe. It was when I was at home crying to this song that I realised I wasn’t really keeping them safe as long as Da was still out on the streets. There was only one thing to do. As I sat listening to this anthem about protecting the ones you love, I knew I had to press charges against Da. It took me a little more time to build up the strength.
*
One day Ma rang me out of the blue to tell me that Da had been admitted to hospital ’cause of problems with his heart. I hadn’t seen Da in years but I remember thinking to myself that I’d be in hospital too with a heart problem if I had the same things on my conscience as Da. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself. It even crossed my mind that I didn’t care if he died. But the second that thought occurred to me, I realised it wasn’t true. I did care. Not because I felt sorry for him either or ’cause I wanted to make my peace with him. He was the one who had broken the peace. No, I didn’t want him to die because I wanted justice. I wanted acknowledgement. I wanted to make sure that he never hurt another child again. I didn’t want him to ha
ve a funeral with people crying over him. I knew exactly what the mourners would be saying:
‘The poor man. And did you hear his horrible daughter stopped talking to him long before he died? Sure she didn’t even come to his funeral.’
I wanted justice not just for me but for anyone else Da had hurt in the past. I guessed I wasn’t the only one. They deserved to know that none of it was their fault. I felt that because I was his daughter it was more my responsibility than anyone else’s to make right this wrong. And I wanted my children to be safe from people like my da in the future and for them to be proud of me for standing up to him.
I couldn’t bear the thought of Da living in an estate full of small children and no one knowing how dangerous he was. I’d had enough.
After years and years of building up the courage, brick by brick, I finally decided to go to the gardaí.
When I made the decision to report Da, the gardaí began an investigation which located other women he had abused over the years. I managed to get in touch with these women and realised we were all on the same page and our objective was to press charges against my da, and name and shame him. It wasn’t going to be easy and I was full of nerves but at least now I wasn’t alone. The only thing that did isolate me from these girls was the fact that it was my da behind it all so while my family was affected they still had theirs to support them. We were all equally terrified though: terrified both for ourselves, and for the people around us, that a court case would have negative ripple effects on their lives.
Each meeting we had, I came away more and more shocked by what was revealed by the other girls. We started as a group of five but before long there were seven of us, all willing to prosecute. There were plenty more girls that we either heard of or spoke to directly who my da had abused too but, emotionally, they just weren’t ready to go to the gardaí.
All My Fault: The True Story of a Sadistic Father and a Little Girl Left Destroyed Page 11
