All My Fault: The True Story of a Sadistic Father and a Little Girl Left Destroyed (5 page)

Tap dancing was an escape for me. I knew I was good at

it and, for a little while at least, I could forget my troubles.

*

I hadn’t been dancing long when I was asked to attend an audition for a commercial on RTÉ. The auditions were to be held in a studio that Billie Barry had built at the back of her garden and Billie herself would be picking the children she thought were good enough to proceed to the next round.

A lot of the kids had been in the club for yonks and were really good, so when I got picked to audition I was thrilled.

I wore a red-and-white striped catsuit to the audition. I thought it looked really cool. But on my way there, I wore a jacket that covered the top part of the suit, so it looked like I was just wearing red and white trousers, which, on their own, didn’t look nearly as cool. I was teased all the way to the audition, with other kids laughing at me and saying I looked square.

My confidence was shattered by the time I arrived at Billie Barry’s house. I would go as far as to say that I was convinced that I had worn the wrong outfit and now looked stupid, so I struggled through the audition.

When I was called back a week later for another audition, I thought it was a mistake. This time, I was told to bring two sets of clothes with me and both had to be Irish made. Ma was always very supportive of my desire to dance, and she was proud as punch when I got the call back. She made sure that I had all the outfits I needed, and we both headed off for the audition. This time round my confidence was high and my heart was fully in it. I did the audition and a few weeks later Ma got a call telling her I’d got the job. Myself and a good few other kids would be singing a song about chicken. The song went like this:

You can do a lot with chicken.

Chicken in a sanger.

You can do a lot with chicken.

Chicken Maryland.

You can put it in a stew.

It’s full of goodness too.

You can do a lot, do a lot, do a lot with chicken.

I only appeared on screen for a few seconds but getting picked was still a great feeling of accomplishment. I think I got paid about £60 for it too if I remember correctly. Plus, I got to go to RTÉ and I was excited about what stars I’d get to meet there. I had my heart set on seeing Mr Spring and Mr Sprong. They were cartoon characters from an advert for the biscuits Jacobs Kimberley Mikado and Coconut Creams. I obviously didn’t get to see them but I still got to feel like a mini celebrity for the day.

Dancing and singing allowed me to hide the dirt inside me from the outside world, or so I believed. This was the only explanation for why the people from RTÉ had hired me for the advertisement. Obviously they couldn’t see the real me, otherwise they’d never have put me on telly. When I was singing and dancing, an invisible barrier surrounded me and allowed me to hide the real me. It was a great feeling. I could disguise myself and, for a short while, I could pretend I was clean and normal, just like everyone else.

*

Dancing was a form of escapism which distracted me from my secret life, which at times threatened to consume me.

Da was continuing to visit my room at night in order to abuse me. I would lie in bed, rigid with fear wondering if he would leave me alone. I was so afraid to fall asleep, as believe it or not, I felt I would be more vulnerable if I was asleep. Because he worked in an office, his hands were smooth and soft, but compared to those of an eight-year-old’s, they were huge. His large fingers would probe my vagina roughly, and he would thrust them into me as he rubbed his erection against my back, breathing heavily in my ear. My body was so tense and tight that I couldn’t help but gasp with pain as he roughly grabbed me, but I quickly learned to zone out of my physical situation by a variety of different means.

By this stage, I had learned to pretend to be asleep and try to clear my head of all thoughts except for those about dancing.

At other times, I’d pick away at the wallpaper on my bedroom wall, slowly peeling it away in miniature strips, as he abused me.

It was a simple form of distraction. I would have done anything to distract my mind from the monster my father had become.

But, of course, peeling the wall paper also got me into trouble.

I had come to look on my bedroom not as a place of sanctuary but as a place of torture.

I didn’t care what it looked like and was content to leave it untidy with clothes and toys left strewn all over the floor. I would go so far as to say that walking through it was like walking through a minefield. Ma was always asking me to keep it clean. But I hated the fucking place. Why would I want to keep my room tidy when I despised it? I didn’t want to spend time there. It was a dirty place in my eyes anyway—with or without all the junk littering it. I associated it with depravation and humiliation.

I did what I could to make it a safe place for me.

When Puddens was born, I used to drag his cot from the boys’ room into mine, so I could go to sleep with him beside me.

It gave me a lovely warm feeling inside having him nearby. I was always very maternal. Da always moved his cot back to the boys’ room though. I don’t know why he did this when I clearly liked having him there. With Puddens beside me, I didn’t feel lonely anymore.

I always lay on my left side at night, facing the wall, so that when I needed to escape things I could just reach over and start picking at the wallpaper.

I couldn’t stop my father from abusing my body but even as a young girl I managed to escape mentally by not looking at what he did—it was a way of travelling to a different world.

I didn’t take in any of the noises or things that happened to me. In many ways, peeling away the wallpaper was my private drug.

I can recall lying there as Da abused me and discovering that our house had clearly been owned by loads of families before us ’cause underneath my floral layer of wallpaper there were old layers and patterns that fascinated me. I liked imagining the different families and the different rooms that matched each layer. I’d use the patterns to make up stories in my head—the flowery pattern, the stripey one; they all had a different story. With each layer, I was uncovering a different life, and the best part was that it wasn’t my life so I could make it as nice and adventurous as I liked.

But every morning, more and more bits of discarded wallpaper would be scattered all over my bed like flecks of confetti, until eventually there was a big, circular bare patch left on the wall. As obvious as it was that I was responsible for it, I denied it to Ma. I swore blind it wasn’t me. I knew she knew it was me and she knew that I knew but I still wouldn’t admit it. Looking back, I was just daring her to catch me doing it; I was practically begging her.

I now believe that I was trying to force Ma to come into my bedroom to catch Da.

Peeling the wallpaper was my way of saying, ‘Why don’t you look in on me at night, Ma? You know I’m up to no good in here, peeling the wallpaper away. Catch me. See who’s in here with me. Take the time. Come on in and see what I’m doing.’

I’m not sure if I really wanted her to catch Da with me though. In fact, I know I didn’t. I knew her heart would have been broken. I wasn’t sure if I could handle that.

I didn’t want to break up our family. I knew there was something wrong with Da though I wasn’t exactly sure what it was.

More than anything, I didn’t want Ma to be hurt. I loved her so much, I wanted to protect her. I was also frightened of what might happen. So I just continued peeling away the wallpaper and dancing.

*

Coming up to Christmas during my second year in the school, Billie Barry held more auditions for the Christmas pantomime in the Gaiety. Only the very best would make the grade. There were hundreds of kids auditioning and each one seemed even better than the last. The actress and singer Maureen Potter was in the panto. I thought she was great, so performing with her would be a dream come true.

Ma had been bringing me and my brothers to pantomimes since we were tiny so I knew what a big deal it was and how good you had to be. They were choosing kids for both the main roles and for understudies in case the main kids ever got sick. I’d have been over the moon to be picked as an understudy and to get to the stage for even just one night out of the whole run. I’d have sacrificed anything for the chance. I even swore I’d go to Mass. For a long time now, I’d been getting away with not going. On Sunday mornings Ma would go up to Fairview church and get Mass out of the way early so that she could spend the afternoon baking and cooking for the big roast dinner. We were all told to go when we got up but I usually either played sick or just wandered up the lane for an hour and then came back. I hated Mass but for a chance to be an understudy in the pantomime, I was prepared to do anything.

The auditions finally arrived and, like the ones for RTÉ, they narrowed us down to a small group of hopefuls. Then they called out our names. I’ll never forget it. A big group of us were standing in the middle of the hall, all practically biting our fingernails down to the cuticles with the nerves. I thought I was hearing things when they called my name out. I was going to be in the Gaiety with Maureen Potter and I was part of the team, not just an understudy. My brother
Fergus
was picked as well but because of his age he had to share the role with another little lad. But it was doubly exciting that the two of us had gotten through. I couldn’t stop hugging and kissing him and his big blue eyes got even bigger because I was squeezing him so tightly. I’d even managed to get away with my promise to God that I’d go back to Mass ’cause I’d sworn I’d go back only if I got to be an understudy; I had made the full team so that was different.

Making the full team also meant extra classes. You did your normal tap classes with Billie Barry and then you were sent for extra training in the hall next door where Billie Barry’s daughter Lorraine taught modern dancing. Now, this style of dance was much cooler. I was in my element and what made it even sweeter was that the classes were free. The rehearsals for the Gaiety were then separate to the modern-dance classes so I was spending loads of time every week doing the thing I loved.

Alongside Maureen Potter, the rest of the cast seemed lovely. All the girls were head over heels in love with this new, up-and-coming singer called Johnny Logan, who later went on to win the Eurovision for Ireland. They thought he was gorgeous. I barely noticed him though because I had a crush on Jonathan Ryan, the guy who played my father on stage. There was just something really lovely about him.

*

When the panto kicked off, we were on stage every night of the week and twice on Saturdays and Sundays. Even as the weeks went by and I got used to the routine, I still realised how lucky I was to be there and I never once took it for granted. It went on from October to just past Easter and I didn’t miss one show. The reason I remember it going on until Easter is because Maureen threw a big Easter party for the kids at the end of the run and she even bought us all eggs.

It was a fabulous few months. The kids were only on stage for the first half of the show, and after that it was just the adults. I’d have loved to have stayed for the whole thing but there were laws about how long children were allowed work for. I could see why they needed understudies, though, because some of the kids ran out of energy as the shows went on, or got sick, so there was always a bit of swapping going on. I didn’t want to miss a moment of the glory and fun but there was one particular night when I really thought I had blown it for myself.

I was on stage one night during a love song—I think it was ‘The First Time I Ever Saw Your Face’. Johnny Logan started singing and myself and another girl in the panto had to sit at his feet, looking up at him and listening attentively. It was the only song that we didn’t have to dance to. We just had to sit still and do nothing. Now it wasn’t that I didn’t like Johnny—I did—but I could be a bit of a devil at times. I don’t know what got into me this one night but I just couldn’t help myself. Johnny was wearing a pair of knee-length panto-style trousers and it was too tempting not to start plucking at the hairs on his legs. I knew I was hurting him and that he was struggling to sing but here I was in the Gaiety, with the spotlight on me, and poor Johnny at my mercy. It was too much of a high to pass up on. So I just kept plucking away at the hairs on his legs. The girl sitting the other side of him saw me and started giggling as she started on his other leg. It was the funniest thing ever. The conductor in the orchestra pit saw what we were at and started narrowing his eyes at us, so we calmed down a bit but by then the song was nearly over.

I knew I was in big trouble.

At half time I was waiting for them to kick me out of the show altogether. But nobody said a word to me so I was kept in stomach-knotting suspense until the following night. The wait was terrible. I don’t remember who gave out to me. It wasn’t Johnny anyway. It could have been our choreographer. But I got a stern warning and reprimanded something awful. They let us stay in the end though. They had plenty of kids to fill my space so they could easily have kicked me out. I was so happy and relieved.

You might ask why I engaged in such behaviour. The truth is that I did it to attract attention. The abuse at my father’s hands was now an almost nightly occurrence. My actions were all aimed at drawing attention to myself in the hope that someone would rescue me. It was my way of screaming for help without raising my voice. I was no longer a child because he had stolen my childhood.

*

The very last night of the pantomime was heartbreaking. My co-stars had become like a family to me over those few months. I can remember buying goodbye presents to give to Maureen and Jonathan. I bought Maureen a cheap little ornament. I was a little shy about giving it to her so I waited until she was alone before going up to her.

‘Here Aunt Maureen, I got you a goodbye present,’ I said.

Her eyes widened and she oooh’ed and aaah’ed as if I was giving her a piece of treasure that she’d been searching for her whole life.