Pivotal Moments

^{TRIGGER WARNING – Includes discussion of sexual assaults, abuse, family breakdown, criminal behaviour and homelessness.}

30/06/24

By the time I reached fifteen years old, my relationship with mother and her husband (Rassgat) had utterly broken down.

She’d long since made it clear to me that she valued her relationship with him more than she valued her relationship with me.

At the time I had a best friend (Tina) who, although only a year older than me, was about a decade more street and worldly wise than I was. She ran with a crowd that were in their late teens/early twenties, had cars and could legally go to bars and clubs. They were exciting and scary at the same time.

I experienced many ‘firsts’ with her and them: first pub, first club, first weed, first chosen sexual encounter, first minor run-ins with the police.

Several years earlier, sick of always being assumed to be doing bad, wrong things, even when I wasn’t, I’d taken the view that if I was going to be treated as if I’d stolen, lied, cheated, behaved like a whore…then I may as well do those things.

I stayed out, for days and nights at a time, making no contact with home, until eventually mother or the police would track me down and drag me home.

The police wasted so much time and effort looking for me, it got to the stage that if any of the local beat police…

^{(ah, showing my age – this was back in the day when you still had small, local police stations, with police who walked a beat, becoming familiar with the local community thus, ideally, fostering good community relations)}

…if any of the local beat police saw me, they’d semi-jokingly ask me if I was planning to go home at the end of the day.

The day came where mother and Rassgat had enough. I can’t actually remember what the final push was. My social worker was called.

Two days later I’d signed myself into voluntary care and was on my way to a sort of foster care/boarding house situation.

It was a large family home with between 2 to 5 beds in the rented rooms. Some of these beds were occupied by people like me – in care, or just timing out of care. Some were young people just out of borstal/prison. Others were people in their 20s who basically wanted cheap accommodation. It was an odd set up.

At first it was fantastic – everything I dreamed freedom and independence would be.

Although there was some ebb and flow to residents, there was a core group of 15-18 year olds, include the teenage son (Colin) of the homeowners.

We partied together, slouched on the sofa watching TV, bickered, joked, flirted and generally had a good time.

One of this group was a guy called Adam, who I really clicked with.

It was an interesting connection.

Although there was a frisson of sexual tension between us, it was never really what drew us together. It’s hard to explain except to say it’s as if we recognised something in each other.

Even if the sexual attraction had been more intense, we wouldn’t have done anything about it. Inter-resident relationships were forbidden, and a couple had already been made to leave because they started dating.

Then came the night when, as I went to clean my teeth, Colin pushed his way into the bathroom after me, closed the door behind him, and locked it. Gesturing me to be quiet, he pressed me against the basin from behind, pulled my pyjamas down and proceeded to have sex with me.

Afterwards, as he straightened himself up, he said in my ear, “I knew you’d let me, you slag. You’d better not say anything to my girlfriend or anyone. If you do, I’ll tell my parents you’re lying, and that you’re fucking Adam.“

It’s literally only within the last week that it’s dawned on me that this was rape. I’ve always seen it the way Colin expressed it – that I’d let anyone fuck me, and I was ashamed of myself.

This happened repeatedly for months, until one night after he’d locked the door, I told him I’d yell, and his parents would catch him in there with me. I told him he was never going to do this again.

He left.

Two days later Adam and I were told to pack our bags.

Colin had told his parents that he’d caught us in the act, and nothing we could say would make them believe us over him.

We couch-surfed through Adam’s friends and family for a while. They were kind to take us in but were all very much on the wrong side of the law.

Within the influence of that sphere I slowly moved from petty crimes to eventually committing a full breaking and entering, alongside Adam.

Eventually we ran out of options and after about five months, we found ourselves, with a couple of bags containing our entire worldly possessions, sitting in a 24 hour chip shop in the city centre at 2am, wondering where the hell we could sleep.

Don’t ask me how the idea came up, but at about 3am we found ourselves squeezing through a tiny window, entering the crypt of a church, which appeared to have been partially converted to a band practice room.

It was bloody freezing, but it was better than being out in the elements and at the mercy of passers by. We put on as many clothing layers as we had, then took some bits of old carpet from the floor and sort of rolled ourselves up in them.

In hindsight, the weird stone step/shelf things we lay on to sleep were probably where the dead bodies used to be laid out. Glad I didn’t think of it at the time, the place was plenty spooky enough.

We woke in the morning to the sound of voices coming down the passageway to where we were laying. We couldn’t get out quickly enough and so, by default, met the band coming in to practice. Needless to say they were somewhat freaked out to find us there.

Once some selective explanations had been made, these three young guys were the epitome of concern and kindness.

One immediately checked with his flatmates and secured us a bed for that night (and a bath – the most wonderful, wonderful bath). They took us there, fed us, talked to us, and were non-judgemental.

In the end, these wonderful humans let us stay for several days.

They were students so were out at lectures a lot of the time, yet trusted these two strangers in their home, alone.

They also shared the little food resources they had with us.

Truly beautiful people.

The day came when the missing flatmate was due back (the one whose room Adam and I had been occupying).

Since the guys had temporarily taken us under their collective wing, Adam and I had done nothing but discuss where we could go next, We still hadn’t come up with anything.

On that last day, Adam made a phone call to one of his brothers. I wasn’t privy to the conversation, but afterwards he was unusually quiet and broody.

Around mid afternoon, he said he was going to meet up with his brother to get some cash from him. I felt perfectly safe and cosy so was fine about him telling me he’d just nip out by himself..

He never came back.

Around midnight, I got the brother’s number from directory enquiries (remember them?) and was told that Adam had been arrested.

It transpired that, before he met me, Adam had stolen the takings from his employer and so had an arrest warrant out.

When we’d done the B&E together, we’d been seen and Adam had been identified. They’d deduced that I was likely the female accomplice that had been reported alongside him. There were now two warrants for Adam and one for me.

This was why he’d gone quiet after talking to his brother. The police knew the area we were in. It really was just a matter of time before they found us.

He’d decided to go to the nearest police station and hand himself in.

At the time, I felt betrayed and abandoned. He could have at least told me what he was planning. I’ve since come to understand that he didn’t want me to persuade him out of it. He was trying to protect me. He shouldered all responsibility for the B&E, denying I’d been present or even aware after the event, hoping to save me from being brought in.

Faced with Adam’s arrest, I knew I’d reached the end of the road on this particular run. I wouldn’t survive for long on my own.

I did the only thing I could think of and called Tina.

Her father immediately drove her over to collect me.

They were so kind to me. While Tina was something of a wild child, my behaviour had gone far beyond the boundaries, and yet her family took care of me without reprimanding.

Once they’d made sure I was bathed, in clean clothes, properly fed and warmed, they gently told me that I was going to have to go to the police. They were looking for me anyway and it would be better if I presented myself voluntarily.

I was terrified but knew I had to face the music. Tina hugged me as I left with her parents to drive to the police station.

At the station I was quickly booked in and taken behind the desk. With the police officers offering their reassurances to Tina’s parents that they would look after me ‘properly’, I was whisked to a cell.

Once there, I was told to remove my belt and shoelaces in case I hung myself.

My lighter was taken from me but cigarettes left with me (is there a bigger torment for a smoker than having cigarettes but no way to light them?!).

They told me to shout if I wanted a smoke, and they’d come light it for me (again, showing my age – this was back in the day when you could smoke everywhere, including, shockingly, on maternity wards). When I shouted, they told me to be quiet.

Nobody told me anything, and I sat there for hours before dozing off in the early hours of the morning.

Finally, it was explained to me that they couldn’t interview me without an appropriate adult there, and it was all a bit complicated because my social worker wasn’t contactable and technically Mary (the mother of Colin, landlady of the house I’d been thrown out of) was responsible for me, but it had taken a while to persuade her to come.

It was later revealed to me that fortune had been on my side that morning.

When the call came though to Mary, her brother Eddie, had happened to be there. He heard Mary talking to her husband after telling the police she wouldn’t come for my interview. He persuaded her that she couldn’t leave me, a vulnerable young girl, there, held in a cell, on my own. He’d just got out of prison himself.

Anyway, cutting a long story shorter, despite Adam steadfastly refusing to me brazenly denying all knowledge of the matter, I was charged with the breaking and entering; they told me that due to my age a decision would be made by the higher-ups about how they’d proceed, and for now I was free to go.

I stayed with Mary for a very short while, until alternative accommodation could be found. This was beyond traumatic for me as I was now back under the same roof as Colin who, while thankfully no longer attempting to sexually assault me, had taken to spitting the foulest, most degrading insults at me at every given opportunity. As long as no one else was around, obviously.

Eddie took me under his wing for a short while during that time, trying to help me as I struggled to find my way. I think he suspected what Colin had done. He was very protective of me and never inappropriate in any way, shape or form. He desperately wanted me to change course, and not end up in and out of prison, like him.

When I left that house, we lost touch. Given his age and heath back then, I suspect he’s long since deceased. I wish I could have thanked him. I love him to the bottom of my socks.

Desperate to get away, I gladly accepted the only offer my poor, harassed social worker could find in such a short time. It was a room in a ‘bad girls home’ run by a church – the sort of place where you were forced to pray before every meal, and to go to group worship on Sundays.

For the record, I’m not at all religious. Spiritual? Maybe. Organised, theistic religion? Not for me, thanks.

Suffice to say, it didn’t go well. The friction between me and staff was evident from the outset, exacerbated when I chummed up with the baddest of the bad girls in there.

It culminated one night, with me slightly drunk from an illicit pub visit, yelling over my shoulder, “Oh, I’m a devil child am I? I’ll show you who’s a fucking devil!“, all the while stomping up the staircase, turning each crucifix I encountered upside-down.

My social worker arrived in the morning.

This time, she caved to my wheedling, and pleading for proper independence, and helped me find a crummy little bedsit of my own. Much against her wishes, I snatched the first place we could find. It was crumbling, damp, sticky, mouldy (pulled down not long after I left!) but it was mine. No one could tell me what to do in there.

I heard from the police about the breaking and entering charges. In light of Adam refusing to acknowledge that I’d been present or a part of the break in in any way, and as I hadn’t admitted it either, they’d decided to just caution me.

Adam was sent to prison for some months. I’m eternally grateful to him for the nobility of his decision to shoulder all the blame.

I say the decision was taken to ‘just’ caution me. It was an excruciating experience for me (albeit nowhere near as terrifying as a young offenders institute would have been).

I had to stand in front of a top policeman, all dressed in his best award laden uniform, while he first asked me questions about my life, then told me in no uncertain terms what a fuck up I was being. He was so stern, and yet simultaneously so heartbreakingly kind.

He explained that this was my one and only chance. Any more law breaking and I’d be in a custodial institute, no question.

He told me that he believed I could turn things around, and that I shouldn’t waste this chance.

I left, thoroughly chastened, and filled with determination to not let him down. He was a really good officer.

As an aside, years later I was applying for a job that required me to mention any prior convictions. As I was unsure if the now ‘spent’ caution should be mentioned, I called a police station to enquire. I explained my situation to the person who answered the phone and he said he just check with a colleague. Without putting me on hold he called across and I heard him describe me as having been, “a fine upstanding citizen since the caution”. It still makes me glow with pride – I didn’t let my police commissioner down.

I found myself a job as an office junior and settled into a relatively quiet, steady rhythm, diligently doing my job and having a small social life, mainly through work colleagues.

On one of these quiet nights out in a pub, I met Martin. He was kind and gentle, funny and genuinely interested in me, we kissed but never had sex.

He was just about to start a three month prison sentence. We dated for the 10 days or so before he went in. He didn’t ask me to wait and it didn’t occur to me that I would.

Around four months later I looked out of the office window to see Martin sitting on the bench across the road, smiling and gesturing what time was my lunch break?

He said that he’d thought a lot before coming to see me. He knew about my past and knew that I was trying to change my trajectory. He also felt he wanted to ‘go straight’ but was honest enough about himself, his family and his circumstances to know that he couldn’t make me any solid promises.

In an extremely rare moment of sensible, rational decision making, I told him no. I couldn’t be with him. I really liked him. I wanted to believe in him, but my gut told me it would be a bad choice for me.

My relationship with law breaking was over. I knew how close I’d come to no return, and I didn’t want to even risk ending up back in that life.

He was kind and understanding, loving even. He clearly hoped for a different answer, but was respectful about my decision.

I never saw him again. I really hope he’s made good choices and had a great life. He was a decent person in bad circumstances.

Having realised I had to change my ways, lashing out at the world was no longer an option for me to express the pain and trauma I was experiencing. So, naturally, I turned it all inwards.

I then proceeded to follow a path of self-hatred which repeatedly lead me into abusive situations and relationships, but that’s an exploration for another time.

What I’m extremely proud of is that I’ve never waivered from the decision, made at 16 years old, in the Officer’s room, to become an honest, upstanding citizen. I might not always have 100% succeeded ^{(ahem, weed, truffles)}, but I have turned my life around, and away from the path I was on.

I’m so grateful for the chance the Officer gave me, and equally grateful I was wise enough to take it.

If at 16 I had the wisdom and courage to stand still, take stock and change course, then I’m damned sure I can do it again, albeit for different reasons, at 55.

Go 16 year old me, being an inspiration and all.

JP