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Hugs of terror

They should have brought comfort - instead they gave me nightmares


Published by: Laura Hinton and Joe Mellor
Published on: 22 November 2012

Most kids are upset when they're told their parents are splitting up. Not me. As I watched my dad Peter walk out of the front door, suitcases packed, I felt nothing but relief. Maybe now my nightmare could end. Ever since I was five, I'd been sexually abused by Daddy. Up until then, he'd been my hero, the one me and my brother Steve always wanted to play with. Then, one night, he'd come to tuck me into bed. And, slowly, his cold hands had crawled underneath my nighty.
‘Daddy?' I'd whimpered. ‘This is our special time,' he'd growled, his voice low. ‘Say anything and you're in trouble.' I could still remember the smell of oil and grease on him from where he worked as a mechanic. I'd held my breath as the fear and pain shuddered through me.
Ever since, I'd endured constant abuse. He'd constantly threaten to split up the family if I told anyone. That frightened me too much. What would they think of me? They'd be disgusted. Surely I was protecting us all? It was why Dad had managed to get away with it even now I was 19. Inside, I was still that terrified little five-year-old... So I'd kept quiet, thinking I was protecting us all. But now, I'm free, I thought, as
I watched Dad drive off. Yes, I was glad my parents had split. So, so glad.
The house was still full of memories, though. Desperate to put it all behind me now, I moved out just a few months later and started work at a nursing college in another town. That's where I met Tom. He was the first person I slept with and the first few times I had to focus on the fact this was Tom. It wasn't Dad's grubby hands on me. I still saw Dad, but he'd remarried and was busy with his new family. Tom didn't know anything about my past, though. ‘He's your dad,' he told me. ‘Surely you want to see him?'
Finally, I buckled under the pressure. When we turned up at Dad's, he pulled me into a hug. My skin crawled at his touch. But nothing chilled me more than what happened next.
‘I've got my hands full,' he laughed. He'd been left to look after his step-grandchildren. They were just three and five. Dad made us a cuppa, then he wrinkled up his nose. ‘I think someone needs a change,' he chuckled, glancing towards his step-grandaughter in her cot. Moments later, I watched him change her nappy and my stomach churned. Grimacing, I remembered how we'd been on a family holiday in Cornwall when Dad had taken the opportunity to get close while Mum and Steve were playing outside.
Afterwards, Dad had gone and played football with Steve. Watching them both through the steamed-up little window in our caravan, I'd felt so confused.
Why couldn't he be a normal dad to me, I thought.
‘Everything alright?' Tom asked, snapping me back to reality. ‘You've gone really pale...'
‘Fine,' I lied. ‘Just tired.'
A few minutes later, though, I whispered to him that I wanted to leave. Soon, we'd said our goodbyes. I felt sick. I was horrified to see that Dad had been trusted with those children. That night, I tossed and turned in bed. Seeing Dad with those children had brought it all back to the surface. More than anything,
I felt guilty. He'd married into this family and they didn't know what he was capable of.
A month on, I still couldn't get it off my mind. Lying there in bed, my mind drifted. For a minute,
I was back in my childhood home. Scrunching my eyes shut, I'd heard the stairs creaking, Dad's footsteps getting closer... ‘Not tonight,' I'd whispered. Yet again, my heart had sunk when I'd heard my bedroom door open. ‘Daddy,' I'd begged, as his hands slipped under the sheets. ‘Please, stop.'
I had to talk to someone about what I'd gone through, so I rang the Samaritans. ‘I don't know what to do,' I sobbed down the phone. They gave me the contact details of a local counselling centre, and just a few weeks
later, I found myself letting it all out to them.
‘What's the turning point for coming here?' the counsellor asked. ‘I'm worried he might abuse someone else,' I said, finally admitting the truth to myself.
I couldn't bear the thought of those kids going through what I had. ‘You should contact the police,' she told me. I didn't want to, but I had no other choice. First, though, I had to tell Tom.
By the time he got home from work that night, I was in pieces.
‘I'm so sorry I didn't tell you,' I wept, apologetic almost. Even now, I couldn't help but feel like I was partly to blame. ‘I just can't believe it,' he said, wrapping his arms around me. Somehow, I plucked up the courage to go to the police, but they said they needed to interview Mum and Steve if they were to take it any further. ‘I'm too ashamed to tell them,' I cried to Tom. ‘I'll do it,' he said.
So he did. When I got home from work one night, they were both there, pale-faced and clearly in shock.
‘Oh, love,' Mum cried, her arms held open for me. ‘I'm so sorry. I wish I could have stopped this.'
I felt so warm, so safe... ‘We're behind you 100 per cent,' Steve said, choking back the tears.
Two weeks on, Dad was arrested and a trial date set. One day blurred into the next.
I just wanted to get it over and done with. I couldn't believe it, though, when he later swore on oath that I was lying. It was a hung jury. A retrial was arranged for nine months later.
I had to go through it all again, but was determined to push on.
‘I have to protect those kids,' I told Mum. ‘I'm really proud of you,' she smiled, weakly.
Second time around was just as tough. This time, though, it seemed Dad had found his conscience. Peter John Woolnough, 53, pleaded guilty to three counts of indecent assault on a female. He was given a three-year sentence and put on the sex offenders register for life.
Three years on, Dad is already out. He served just 18 months. Thankfully, his wife left him so I know those children are safe.
Sadly, me and Tom have broken up - we simply grew apart.
I wouldn't change any of the decisions I've made about speaking out. Thanks to those children, I realised what I had to do.
I hope no other innocent lives are destroyed at the hands of my dad.

*Some names have been changed 
Jodie Finney, 29, Caister-on-Sea, Norfolk