It didn’t seem to faze Linda at all. She turned back to me and continued. She read out a list of the charges and asked if I understood them.
The charges were: administering a substance with intent to commit sexual offences; trafficking within the UK for sexual exploitation; controlling a child prostitute or a child involved in pornography; causing or inciting child prostitution or pornography; Production of indecent photographs of children; Possession of indecent photographs of children; abuse of position of trust; causing or inciting a child to engage in sexual activity; sexual assault on a child.
The last one in particular turned my stomach. While in University, where he met Frank, he had abused a little girl for the first time.
Gulping back the urge to sob, I stood tall. I couldn’t believe this man was my dad. “Yes. I understand the charges.”
“Miss Farrell,” she started again. I wished she would just call me by my first name. I now regretted not changing my surname, but no one had ever called me by my father’s name until now. “On or about the twentieth of August 2008, did you make contact with the Clearview police department?”
“Yes.”
“What was your reason for contacting them?”
“To report my father for offering me to his friend—”
“Objection,” John roared. “The witness is being led.”
“Overruled,” the judge responded, and I wanted to stick my tongue out at him as he shrank back to his seat. “Please continue,” she instructed Linda.
Linda carried on, but not before a small smile had flickered across her face at the judge’s intervention.
“Miss Farrell, can you recall the first time this happened?”
“When I was five.”
“How do remember that you were five, since it was so long ago?”
“Because it was shortly after my teddy-bear picnic party, which was for my fifth birthday.”
The side of Linda’s mouth tugged so quickly I almost missed it. Always make sure you link the time with an event, so the jury know you’re sure of your dates.
“And when did this stop?”
“After I turned thirteen.”
“To the best of your memory, can you tell us exactly what happened?”
My stomach turned, and I squeezed my eyes shut. “Yes.” I gulped. “At first Frank would just join me and Dad when we went fishing.” I took another deep breath and swallowed hard. I could hear the blood pumping in my ears. Clenching my hands into fists, I continued. “But after a couple times he started touching me over my clothes.”
“Can you tell us where?”
I clenched my jaw and closed my eyes. Tell them. Just do it. When I opened my eyes again, I launched into every detail. I told them how I didn’t understand what he was doing at the time, but that it felt wrong, and I didn’t like it. I told them how my dad made it sound normal and something that happened to everyone. I told them I could still taste the amber drink Dad gave me that made me feel sleepy today.
I explained that when I told Dad I didn’t like it, he shouted at me for questioning him and slapped me. I was scared and thought that I’d let him down; I thought he must be really disappointed and must have hated me for him to hit me.
I also told them that when I attempted to tell my mum, Dad arrived just in time to stop me actually saying anything. When we were alone in my room, he threatened some hideous things: he told me if Mum found out, that it would kill her, which at five, I took literally. As I got a little older, he said no one would believe me, and I would be taken away if I dared to make any allegations.
I told them how every time Frank abused me my dad was there, watching. That he took pictures. Lastly, I told them that when I was ten, Dad stood by and let Frank rape me for the first time and that I looked to him for help, but he just stared on with a blank expression I still didn’t understand now.
I didn’t dare look up at the public gallery as I repeated everything that I had endured; not that I could have seen much as my vision became blurred. I’d done it though. I was so thankful that I’d told Mum in private everything that had happened, but Cole and Jasper didn’t know the details. Nor did the rest of my family or Cole’s.
I breathed out deeply. Going through it all again felt like being cut open, but I also felt about a stone lighter. It was such a relief when I finished speaking that I almost broke down. Saying those words aloud, I finally heard them properly for the first time: none of the blame was on me, none of it was my fault.
Letting go of blame was hard, but it was the most incredible feeling in the world. Even if the jury didn’t believe me, I had stood up to my father and that counted for a lot.
“And was Mr Farrell present every time this abuse took place?”
I nodded. “Yes.”
“Did he ever say anything to you?”
“No. He occasionally snapped and told me to do as Frank said, but after a while, I learnt that he wasn’t going to help and so I just did what I was told to straight away.”