So what now? From report to court – part ten

After the verdict and sentencing, it took a while for the dust to settle. The last four years of my life had been consumed by the investigation and trial dates. The ‘ifs’ ‘ands’ and ‘maybes’ had hung in the air, and my life orbited them. When it finally came to an end, it left a void that I didn’t know how to fill. The upside, I was finally free of the CPS, and the constant threat of the trial not happening if I didn’t behave. My speech, actions, and even my career had been under their control. It wasn’t direct control, just the warning that if I stepped out of their lines, the case could be dropped.

I know it could have been worse, I’d read news articles about a woman who’d been told not to have therapy after being raped. The CPS wanted her feelings to be raw when she testified, so she spent years suffering in silence before she was finally able to see a professional and start working through what’d happened. In comparison, me being told I couldn’t approach agents and publishers about my work, and being told I had to stay silent, was no real hardship. But the CPS branded gag being removed took a while to sink in.

When a void is presented to our brains, they do their best to fill it up. A directionless brain is a dangerous thing, and mine was no exception. I’d seen Tim on video link during the sentencing, and I’d been seeing him in my thoughts ever since the verdict. If I could be granted two wishes, the first would be that I could hate him. The second would be that I could feel indifferent about him. My brain, doing its best to fill itself up, chose the confliction of my feelings to do the job.

I dearly wish I could hate him, but I can’t. He did such a good job on my psyche I feel that by reporting him, I betrayed him, making me responsible for the suffering he’s going through. I kept getting mental images of him sad, scared, alone, the big steel doors of a prison, the grey tracksuits British prisoners wear, a tray of unappetising slop being passed through a hatch in his door, I was even having panic attacks as I put myself in his position and thought about how the other inmates would react to him.

The first ‘break through’ came one night as I made dinner. I was only stir frying some peppers and onions, but the thought popped into my mind ‘He won’t be doing this again’. That simple freedom we all take for granted, cooking what we want, when we want. I’d never put a second thought into little actions that mean we’re free. Picking what socks to wear, what temperature to have our shower, what time to get up in the morning, or even when we actually get out of bed.

As the weeks became months, the list of things I was free to do grew, and as each was added I thought, ‘He won’t be doing this again’. I don’t think I’ll ever be free of him, and disturbingly, I don’t think I’ll stop caring about him. But I don’t fear for him anymore. The public, and children are safe from him. His victims that came in the twenty years after me can now google and see that he was stopped. They can choose if that’s enough for them to get closure, or they can come forward and know they aren’t alone. Never again will one of us be with him, around him, under him or his power. As conflicted as my feelings are about my own actions and inactions… that’s a good thing

When I thought about writing this I’d imagined it in four parts: the beginning, the investigation, the court, and the closure, but this is the tenth part. The amount I left out and the amount that had to be cut from drafts could make another ten, but they can wait for now.

I want to write about the CPS and their myriad of failings. I don’t think I on my own can hold their feet to the fire and make them change into an organisation that actually works for public good, but I can maybe be part of doing so. I also want to write about the barrister for the defence, and how someone being paid from the public purse can actively waste such huge amounts of public money and court time, not to mention that she proudly states on her website that she specialises in protecting paedophiles and predators. I want to write about the failures in safeguarding that aren’t being discussed and I’ve only learned about while going through the system. I want to write about so much, but I’m tired. If I’m going to take on these challenges and try to make the legal system a better place for victims, I need to rest first.

So for now, I want to say thank you to all the people that kept my head above water for the last four years, Starting with DC Duff, or as I call him behind his back Rossy-bear. I know I was lucky getting him as my detective, but he can’t be the only ‘good cop’ out there. His tireless dedication to getting an outcome for Alfie and me showed in every step. He not only supported me, he made me feel secure and heard, even when the world was so noisy. Swindon and Wiltshire police are lucky to have him, and I hope they show that to him, as I want to believe that when other people approach the police to make a report, they get a Ross to look after them too.

Ross: You know how fast I can speak, and how many words I can shoe-horn into a sentence, but I’ll never be able to find the words to say thank you properly for what you’ve done. I can see now, that it’s more than just a job for you, it’s a vocation and dedication to fighting for those that can’t fight for themselves, and that, makes you a legend. In the story of my life you are the Knight in shining off-the-peg-suit, but in my real life you’re something else altogether. You’re the man who checked under my bed for monsters, and when you found one you kicked its arse for me.

Witness services: a branch of the Citizens Advice Bureau. They are based in courts up and down the country, and they are nearly all volunteers. From showing Alfie and me around the court ahead of the trial, to sitting with me in the waiting area. As much as I may have felt alone, I wasn’t, and the work you do is invaluable.

Alfie: We’re bonded by fate, in a way that no one else can understand. But if I have to be bonded to someone, I’m glad it’s you.

Phil: You said recently that underneath everything, you can see a sadness in me, and I understand why you say that as well as why you of all people can see it. But while there may be a seed somewhere inside me, it’s not growing and it has no roots. Next time you think you see it, stop, and understand that part of the reason it never gets to take hold of me, is you. You’re like the big brother I never had, and frankly, never asked for. For most of my life I’ve known you are there, and even though I may not have appeared for your help, just knowing you were there if I wanted you, was enough.

The list could go on, Mel, Jen, Jen’s Jon, Mark, Jane, various staff at support organisations and help lines. I can’t write about you all, but I can see now, I was never alone, not for a minute, not even when I wanted to be, and I guess that also means I never will be.

I will for one last moment mention my Jon though (my husband). The man who met a seemingly normal and confident me when I was only twenty-one, and when you found out what a chaotic mess I am, you stayed beside me. You championed me, and cared for me even when I really didn’t deserve it. I’m still here to write this, in no small part, because of your love.

So that’s it. The end of From Report to Court. But I didn’t answer the question I titled this post with, ‘What now?’. That’s because I don’t know, and for once, I’m okay with not knowing. One thing I do know is I will take a break from blogging. Not a long one, but long enough to let me decide what I want to say.

Thank you for reading along, and I hope you’ll stick around for whatever comes next.

You too, are never alone.