Daddy’s Little Earner: A heartbreaking true story of a brave little girl's escape from violence

‘Don’t ever bring that bloody thing home again!’

He never wanted me to do anything that would be outside his control, outside the little world where he was the undisputed king. I desperately wanted to go to Sunday school like my best friend at the time, because it would have been a chance to get out of the house and because I knew the children who attended used to be given milk and biscuits and would come back home with pictures they had painted, but Dad wasn’t going to allow that. He was the same about me joining the Brownies or the Guides or doing anything else that other little girls did. It was as if he thought that as a family we were too different and special to behave like everyone else, reinforcing in me the idea that I would never be able to fit in or be as good as everyone else.

There was a lovely church called St Catherine’s a few streets from where we lived, which was used by our school for their Christmas and Easter festivities. When I was eight they asked me if I would like to be an angel in the school nativity play and I was over the moon but as usual Dad forbade me from taking part. He didn’t give any reason – he didn’t feel he had to – and I was left with the feeling that such things were too good for someone like me. Each time I asked to be allowed to do something he would tell me that I wouldn’t be capable of it, that I would make a fool of myself, and I believed him. I believed I was useless and didn’t deserve to have any of the things other children had or do any of the things they did.

I used to have a recurring nightmare during the years we lived with Dad. I would feel like I was caught in the centre of a spiral of colourful circles. As the spiral gathered speed I would feel trapped, falling faster and deeper into nothingness, certain that if I didn’t get out I was going to die. I would try to scream for help but no sounds would come out of my mouth and I would wake up feeling dizzy and nauseous. The nightmares went on for many years, both waking and sleeping.

Chapter Six

upsetting nanny

One winter morning when I was about eight, Dad, Terry and I were relaxing indoors watching television and eating chips. It was snowy outside but the sun was streaming in through the windows and the doors of the coal-burning stove were standing open, making the room feel warm and cosy in the light of the flames. At moments like that I loved our family life, just the three of us together and safe from the outside world in our own home. Eager to maintain the peaceful mood and keep Dad happy I stood up to clear away our plates after eating, thinking I was being a good girl, when something caught my attention on the television. As I watched the screen my concentration slipped for a second, my hand tilted without me noticing and some grease slid off the plate onto the carpet. Dad saw it first and bellowed at me, startling me so much I froze on the spot and the grease continued to flow, making him even angrier, as if I was deliberately disobeying him.