“I was drugged and raped by my evil stepdad”
Natasha Hatton, 31, from Liverpool, reveals how she found the courage to face her rapist 16 years after her horrific ordeal
Glancing up from playing with my doll, I could hear Mum calling me. “Coming,” I said, running to see what she wanted. A stranger was standing next to her in the living room. “This is David, my new boyfriend,” Mum said. “He’s going to be your dad.”
I stared at him. I was just four years old and had never met my real dad. It had always been just Mum and me. She’d had me really young, when she was just 15. She was little more than a child herself, but we didn’t need a man around all the time.
“Call me Dad,” the blond man said, and I glared at him before running back to my room.
David Mcleary moved in and Mum was always happy after that. I hardly saw her and David. They’d disappear into her bedroom and I’d hear them giggling.
“It’s lucky I have you,” I said to my doll. She was the only one to keep me company now he was around.
“You’re off to Nan’s for a while,” Mum said one day. I loved Nan. She would buy me toys and treats, but she would also sit and read to me, cuddle in front of the TV and find fun things to do. I didn’t know how long I stayed with Nan, but when I saw Mum she had a fat tummy. And when I went home she had a baby in a pram. “This is your little brother,” she announced.
I looked at him asleep and my heart melted. He was so tiny – just like a boy version of my doll. I loved giving him his bottle, rocking him to sleep. I even liked changing his nappy.
Mum and David would vanish into the bedroom and leave me with my brother.
I’d hear them laughing or fighting.
One time Mum’s lip was swollen and bloody. “What happened?” I asked. She tried to smile. “I walked into the door,” she said.
I started school and it wasn’t long before a letter arrived saying a social worker was coming around.
“Don’t say anything,” David ordered.
Mum made me sit on her lap when the social worker lady came in. She pinched me every time I was asked a question. “Everything’s great,” I lied.
Another letter came soon after.
“No further action needed,” it said. Mum was pleased, but David just shrugged. “She’ll be alright as long as she keeps her mouth shut,” he mumbled.
If I did say anything he didn’t like, he found a quick way of keeping me quiet. Whack!
A hand would come flying. Crack! His fist would hit my cheekbone or jaw. One time he split my lip, just like he had done Mum’s. “Keep it shut,” he yelled and I stepped back, terrified.
Mum had another baby and there were three of us kids. As the oldest I was their little mum, keeping them washed, fed, happy – and out of David’s way.
One day, when I was 13, Mum had taken my brother to school and I was getting ready to leave. “Natasha, come up here,” David yelled.
I ran upstairs. He was still in bed. “What?” I asked, and he pulled the duvet back. He was naked and I was old enough to know that he was aroused.
Horrified, I tried to step back, but he was too quick. He grabbed me and pushed my head down. “Do it,” he said, forcing my head next to his penis. I tried to fight, but he was too strong. He had my neck in a vice-like grip until I’d done what he wanted.
Afterwards he looked at me, his eyes cold. “You’re nothing but a dirty slag,” he said.
I couldn’t stop crying as I cleaned myself up. I didn’t tell anyone. It was too disgusting – and who would believe me?
Horrific abuse
The next time Mum went out David grabbed me and pulled me into their bedroom again. He threw me on the bed and pinned me down. “No, don’t,” I pleaded, trying to fight him off.
He didn’t speak. He pushed aside my smart school uniform I was so proud of and ripped off my pants. His whole 16st weight was bearing down on me and I could hardly breathe. “Stop,” I begged.
But he wasn’t listening. He pushed hard – making me cry even more as he took my virginity. I was sobbing as he grunted on top of me. “Stop fighting,” he said between gritted teeth.
Finally, he collapsed on to me, panting. Then he stood up. “You’re nothing but a dirty whore,” he said. “But you’re my dirty whore.”
I ran to my room, hysterical. I was in shock and didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t tell Mum
‘I didn’t tell anyone. It was too disgusting’
and I didn’t want to break Nan’s heart with such horrible news, so I just stayed in bed.
“I’ve got period pains,” I lied to Mum. I hid away for two days before I felt well enough to go to school. I didn’t trust any of my teachers enough to tell them the truth and I was too ashamed to confide in any of the girls in my class. I didn’t have any close friends, so I kept this shame burning inside me.
At home, I tried to avoid David, but if Mum went out he’d come looking for me. “Touch me,” he’d order, unzipping his trousers. I was too afraid to disobey.
One night he called me downstairs. Mum was asleep. I was shaking as I knew what was coming. David smiled. “Here,” he said. “Take this. It will make you feel better.”
Inside his palm was a white powder. I shook my head. “Take it,” he barked, forcing my mouth open. Then he handed me a drink. “Swallow,” he said.
The drug didn’t take long to work. It was amphetamine and made my heart race and my head pound. I was disorientated. “No,” I mumbled when he began to take off my clothes, but I couldn’t fight him.
“Don’t bother telling anyone,” he said after he raped me. “No one would ever believe you.” I nodded, utterly broken inside.
One morning I was in the downstairs bathroom off the kitchen, where David hung about with his horrible friends. As I left the room, he ripped off my towel just to humiliate me in front of them. I was his toy. If I fought back I got a beating.
I wanted to talk to Mum but she’d scoot out of the room when I came near. “Does she know?” I’d wonder, crying myself to sleep. But I’d tell myself she couldn’t. What mother would allow that?
I left school without any qualifications. I couldn’t focus. I was too busy hiding my awful secret. At 17, I plucked up the courage to tell Mum the truth. “You’re a liar,” she said.
I knew I had to get away from her. She was besotted with that monster. I went to stay with my cousin. I didn’t have to worry about the bathroom or bedroom door flying open suddenly. I could watch TV without dreading him sidling into the living room to prey on me. I was free of him.
It felt good for a while, but I couldn’t get a job and I was so shy I didn’t know how to talk to people. I was terrible around boys. Somehow, I got a boyfriend,
Steve, but I didn’t like being intimate. It reminded me of that monster and I wanted to forget. After we split, I hit self-destruct. I drank. I married a bad boy with tattoos and a drug habit. I wanted to forget the past and would drink and drink until it didn’t hurt any more.
Years passed and I ballooned from a size 10 to a size 20 as I drank cheap white wine every day. My marriage fell apart.
I lived in my dressing gown, surrounded by empty bottles. I didn’t want to be sober otherwise I’d remember what happened. And then one day, a family friend turned up to see me. Martin Bradley, 54, had known me since I was a little girl and was one of the kindest people I knew. “Why don’t you sober up?” he said gently. “I hate seeing you like this.”
He promised to help, no strings attached. I told him what had happened and he said he’d back me whatever I decided to do.
If I got sober, I could seek justice and I’d be able to punish that monster for what he did to me. I went cold turkey. It was hard, but no harder than what I’d already been through. By August 2017, I felt strong enough. I’d lost weight. I wasn’t drinking. I wanted justice.
Courageous steps
Taking a deep breath, I picked up the phone. “Police please,” I told the operator. “I want to report a rape.”
A detective came to interview me that afternoon. Even though the crimes had taken place 15 years before, he promised to investigate. David was arrested the next day.
It felt like everything was on fast forward after that. I gave statements, he was charged and a trial date was set for March 2020 at Liverpool Crown Court.
I took the stand behind a screen. I didn’t want that monster’s eyes on me. But I held my head up, ignored the fear twisting in my stomach and told everyone what had happened. I was at home when the jury’s verdict came in. My heart began pounding when my police liaison officer rang. “Guilty on 10 offences,” he said, and I broke down, relieved.
They included five counts of rape, one count of indecent assault and three counts of causing a child to engage in sexual activity.
Mcleary, 47, of Birkenhead, was also found guilty of administering a substance with intent of stupefying or overpowering a child, so as to enable him to engage in sexual activity.
Sentencing him to 16 years in jail, Judge Andrew Menary QC said he had “no doubt” Mcleary was violent and abusive towards me and had “systematically sexually abused me”.
I’d done it. The monster who had stolen my virginity and ruined my life was where he belonged. It had taken 16 years, but finally I’d got justice.
I’m going to become a volunteer looking after witnesses before and during their trials. It means I can use my past to help others while
Mcleary rots in jail.