Just 12 when pervert pounced
Giggling and clutching the chains, my legs flew up in the air. ‘Higher!’ I squealed, as my mum’s boyfriend Charles pushed me on the swing.
Out the corner of my eye, I could see Mum smiling at us.
It was April 1992, and
I hadn’t seen my dad since he’d divorced Mum three years earlier.
Aged 8, I’d longed for a father figure. Then Charles King had moved in next door but one.
Chatty and polite, he’d soon made a good impression, and he and Mum became an item.
Charles would come round most nights. With Mum working late during the week, he’d watch TV with me after school, make dinner.
He didn’t have kids of his own, but fell into the parenting role with ease.
Then one day, when Charles picked me up from school, I called him ‘Dad’.
It felt natural.
And Charles’ face lit up. ‘Why don’t you change your surname to mine?’ he asked.
‘OK!’ I squealed, jumping
up and down excitedly.
A month later, Mum and I changed our name by deed poll.
‘Gayle King,’ I repeated happily, letting my new name roll off my tongue.
Time passed and I settled into life with my new family.
But Charles’ behaviour had started to change.
He’d lose his temper often. If I didn’t finish my dinner, he’d slap me across the head. Or if my room wasn’t tidy enough, he’d beat me.
Suddenly, he wasn’t the perfect new dad I thought he was.
Then, in October 1995, Mum organised a family party for my 12th birthday.
I was so excited.
While she was at work, I helped Charles blow up balloons, ready for the evening. Only, suddenly...
‘Do you know how to kiss?’ Charles said in between puffs. What?
‘No,’ I replied, confused. Was he going to tell me about the birds and the bees?
Cringe!
Anyway, I was a bit young for a boyfriend.
But that’s not what he had in mind...
‘I’ll show you,’ he leered. With that, Charles leaned in and kissed me.
What’s happening?
I thought as his tongue twisted in my mouth.
A minute passed and he finally stopped. Didn’t say another word.
But what he’d done felt wrong.
An hour later, Mum arrived home. And even though it was my birthday, I couldn’t shake a burning sense of shame.
Do all daddies kiss their daughters like that?
For the next three days, I tried my best to keep out of Charles’ way.
But a week later, I was asleep in bed when I heard the door creak open.
I opened my eyes a fraction, saw Charles standing by my bed. He had no clothes on, and was touching himself. Panic shot through me.
If I pretend to be asleep, he’ll go away, I thought.
But instead, Charles tried to force himself into my mouth.
When that didn’t work, he slipped underneath my duvet, lifted my nightie, and pulled down my underwear.
Then he touched my private parts.
Moments later, he pulled my knickers back up and left the room.
I burst into tears the second the door closed.
The next morning, I woke to find Charles cooking breakfast in the kitchen with Mum. ‘Fancy some eggs?’ he smiled. How can he act like nothing happened?
‘I don’t feel well,’ I lied. Fled upstairs.
But I was too scared of Charles to tell Mum what had happened.
And, despite everything, I didn’t want to break up our family.
So I stayed quiet.
But the abuse got worse. Soon it was happening
Did all daddies kiss their daughters like that?
several times a week.
Charles warned me I’d get in trouble if I breathed a word.
I’d seen his violent side. I was terrified he’d beat me if I did say anything.
Three months later, in January 1996, I was waking up one morning when Charles walked in.
‘I’ll help you get ready for school,’ he grinned.
I could tell from the look on his face what was going to happen.
In silence, he lifted up my nightie and pulled down my underwear again.
Charles began trying to push himself inside me as I sobbed. ‘Please don’t,’ I wept.
It was agony.
Finally, he gave up trying. I could barely process what had happened. Charles was supposed to be my dad… Why is he doing this to me? At school later that day, I burst into tears. I realised I had to say something, so I went to a trusted teacher, told him everything. ‘My dad tried to rape me,’ I said, sobbing.
His face dropped.
‘I need to report this,’ he said. ‘But everything is going to be OK.’
I nodded.
Half an hour later, police and social workers arrived. I was taken down to the police station to make a statement, and have swabs taken. Mum was waiting for me when I arrived.
‘My baby!’ she cried. ‘Why didn’t you tell me sooner?’ she asked, in tears. ‘I was scared,’ I wept. Charles was arrested, charged, and Mum chucked him out.
In September 1996, Charles King, then 31, was found guilty of lewd and libidinous practices and attempting unlawful sexual intercourse. He was jailed for just two years.
He barely served a year before he was out again.
I was disgusted. Still am. The following year, I changed my surname back.
Mum blamed herself. But it’s not her fault.
Charles ruined my childhood, and I suffer from post traumatic stress disorder.
I’ve moved away from the area, and never bumped into King. But I know he’s out there ... somewhere.
It makes me sick. Every time I think about what he did, I cry.
He was jailed briefly, 23 years ago, while my sentence never ends. A year’s jail for a lifetime of nightmares.
Where’s the fairness, the justice?
Moving on,
I put King’s abuse to the back of my mind when it came to new relationships.
But it can be hard to forget. All I can do is try to be the best mum I can to my four beautiful children. But I never let them out of my sight because of what happened.
That man was supposed to be a father to me.
But he was a monster.
I moved away. But I know he’s out there... somewhere
If you’ve been affected by this story, call NAPAC on 0808 801 0331 for free support in recovery from childhood abuse.