I WAS RAPED IN FRONT OF MY DAUGHTER.

I WAS RAPED IN FRONT OF MY DAUGHTER.

It had been aa spectacular sunny September afternoon. My 10 year old daughter Zoe and I had spent it at a barbecue in my friend Michelle’s garden.

               Zoe was in great mood when we arrived back at our flat just before 9pm, I was slightly distracted, though thinking about an interview I had the following morning – I was going for a part-time job in a jewellery shop. I’d been training to become a homeopath at college and needed to make some extra cash. I’d been a single mum since Zoe was a toddler after my relationship with her musician father ended. “Ok sweetie, get ready for bed now”, I called to her as I clicked the front door lock into place. We’d lived in our rented two-bedroom flat for ten years and I knew most of our neighbours but I was still security conscious.

               Before I could fix the security chain, there was a knock at the door. “Police,” an authoritative male voice called. “We’re investigating a burglary and we’d like to ask you a few questions”. I wasn’t surprised. The crime rate was fairly high where we lived, so it wasn’t unusual to see police officers patrolling the area. I squinted through the peephole. I could make out a tall man wearing dark trousers standing on the doormat. Instinctively I unlatched the bolt and twisted the door handle. In a flash, he door exploded inwards. The man barged his way inside, pushing me up against my hall wall. He was over six foot tall, with dirty blonde hair and glazed blue eyes. He’s just a druggie looking for a quick score, I immediately thought.

               “Take what you want” I spluttered, catching my breath. Then I heard a high pitched scream. Zoe was standing in the hall, her eyes wide with panic. “Tell her to shut up” the man sneered. “I’ve got a knife in y pocket” Zoe fled into the lounge. Grabbing my arm, the man dragged me after her –Zoe was already clutching the phone receiver frantically trying to dial 999. Without a word he wrenched it from her hand and tore the phone from the wall. “My handbag is in the kitchen..” I started. I didn’t care about the money; I just wanted him out of my house. “Take your clothes off” he ordered. A wave of nausea welled up inside me as I slowly realised this wasn’t a burglary. This man was going to rape me. “God, no”, I panicked, ‘not in front of my little girl’

               Screaming I tried to run for help, but he blocked my path with his enormous frame. Grabbing both Zoe and me, he pulled us over to the sofa. ‘Sit down’ he ordered her. He kept Zoe pinned down with one hand and using the other, he crushed me into the sofa with the weight of his torso. At 5’4” and barely 8st, I was no match for him. He tore off my T-shirt. ‘Run to the door’ I yelled to Zoe, but she was scared stiff and remained rooted to the spot. ‘Please’ I begged him, ‘you don’t need to do this. Tell me your name’ I tried to get him to relax and let Zoe go. ‘Why don’t we go to my room?’ I suggested. But it was no use. While his eyes remained flat and lifeless, his grip on me only tightened. I knew there was no way of reasoning with him.

               As he tore off my jeans with his free hand, I finally gave up struggling. He pulled out a condom and instructed me to put it on him. The sooner this was over, the sooner he would leave, I thought, as I did as he said. Then I stared at the wall and gritted my teeth against the searing pain. ‘When are leaving?’ Zoe asked sobbing. ‘Just keep calm, sweetie’ I urged. ‘Do as he says and we’ll be alright’. But inside I was a mess. He’d done nothing to hide his face and I wasn’t sure he intended ever letting us go.

               After he’d finished with me he turned to Zoe: his big hands lunged at her pretty summer dress, ‘leave her alone’, I screamed, struggling wildly while he groped her tiny body. Zoe sat completely still, tears running down her cheeks. Then after a couple of minutes he stopped. I prayed he would now leave. ‘Hold her down’, he ordered. My blood ran cold when I realised he planned to her too. I was overwhelmed with rage. Screaming I launched myself at him, scratching and tearing at his face with my nails. My anger gave me strength as I grabbed at a pair of Zoe’s scissors lying on the floor. We struggled for a few seconds, before he wrenched them off me. ‘You’ve made a big mistake now’, he said. ‘You’re not going to get out of here alive’.

               At that moment something inside me snapped. The fear left and my mind sharpened with rage. I had nothing to lose and flew at him again, powered by adrenalin. I knocked the scissors from his hand and we slammed into the wall, sending ornaments and houseplants flying. With pure animal force, I managed to slowly edge him towards the doorway. Knowing Zoe was still safely in the lounge and out of harm’s way, I lunged for the front door and fell out into the stairway.

               Naked, I hammered on my neighbour’s door, ‘Help me!’ I screamed. The man raced out behind me and down the stairs. I remember a blur of faces then felt a blanket being draped around my shoulders. Zoe came running out of the flat and clung to me in silence. I looked into her pale face, but she was too stunned to cry.

               In my neighbour’s lounge I was passed a phone to call the police. ‘I’ve been raped’. I cried. Then I called my friend Michelle. She’d only dropped us off less than an hour earlier. The attack has lasted 40 horrific minutes. When the police arrived she took Zoe, while I went with them to the police station. Swabs were taken and evidence collected from my skin, pubic hair and fingernails. I was tested for STDs but because the rapist had used a condom the risk was low. The next day, I returned with Zoe. While I helped the police compile an identikit picture, a child psychologist took Zoe’s statement.

               I was worried sick about her having to relive the attack but she was so brave and calm. ‘Children are resilient’, the child psychologist reassured me. ‘She’ll get over this’. I decided that all I could do was how her love and support and allow her to deal with the trauma in her own time. ‘I’m here’, I told her ‘anytime you want to talk’,

               We never returned to our flat. I couldn’t bring myself to go back there. I’d packed a few belongings and spent the next few months staying with friends. Then the police rang to tell me that thieves had cut through the padlock they’d used to secure the flat. – they’d stolen our video, CD collection and Zoe’s bike. It was another devastating blow. But I was amazed by Zoe’s ability to pick herself up and carry on – she insisted on returning to school a week later. Despite wanting to sleep in my bed since the attack, she was beginning to move on.

               By contrast, I was consumed by visions of my rapist. Every time I closed my eyes I saw his glazed expression and smelt the stale alcohol that wafted from his body. I was guilt-ridden that as a mother I hadn’t been able to protect Zoe. Even though we were now living in a completely different area, if she was even just few minutes late from school I would go into blind panic. The man who attacked us was still at large. What if he found us?

               At night, my panic intensified. I’d check the locks on the doors and windows a dozen times. I paced the flat with knife in each hand and kept another by my bedside. I’d wake up, certain I could hear footsteps treading across the roof. But there was never anyone there. The police were fantastic. We were appointed a chaperone who made regular checks of the house. But I still didn’t feel safe.

               A week after the attack, an identikit picture was published in the local newspaper. Almost immediately the police station received a call. A man had checked himself into a nearby psychiatric hospital the day after the attack. ‘I’ve done something terrible’, he told staff, ‘but I can’t remember it’ they immediately noticed his resemblance to the identikit picture and contacted the police. At the time of my attack, the 27 year old man had been on parole for stabbing a woman. Two years before, he’d been convicted for a sex attack on a 6 year old girl.

               Realising that the police were on to him, my attacker fled overseas and the police began extradition procedures to force him to return to the UK. Was relieved he was out of the country, even though he hadn’t been caught.

               Around the same time, I started work at the jewellery shop. I’d missed the interview, but after hearing why, the manageress very kindly offered me the position anyway. It was hard to get into the swing of it. Normal life suddenly seem so trivial. Some days I would stand in the shop thinking ‘I’ve just been raped. I really don’t care whether your earrings match your skirt’.

               Then a month later, the police called to tell me that my rapist had taken an overdose of paracetemol and collapsed with liver damage. Believing he would need a transplant, his doctors decided to send him back to the UK. He was arrested as soon as he arrived back on British Soil and charged with rape and indecent assault. He was transferred to hospital and put under police guard. I prayed he wouldn’t die – I wanted him to live, so he could suffer for what he’d done to us.

               Eventually he made full recovery, but he denied the charges. Only when police informed him his DNA had been recovered from hairs and used condom found at the scene, he changed his plea to guilty. He was sent for mental health assessment, but was found to be sane and aware of his actions. One year after the attack, my rapist appeared in court for sentencing. Zoe chose not to go. ‘I don’t want to think about it anymore, mummy’, she told me. But I had to go and see the man who’d devastated our lives. I hoped that by facing him, I could finally move on and forget him.

               Walking into the courtroom, I began shaking and crying. I’d built up to be a monster, but when I finally saw him he just looked sick and frightened. I wanted to hate him but instead I pitied him. He looked over to me fleetingly, but his expression remained blank when our eyes met.

               His defence claimed that he hadn’t known what he was doing. That he’d been drinking heavily before the attack and suffered from a psychopathic disorder. ‘You knew precisely what you were doing’, said the judge in his summing up. ‘The attack lasted for a substantial period and you committed these offences in the presence of a 10 year old girl’. He then sentenced him to three life sentences and an additional eight years for each of the five charges of assault, to be served concurrently.

               I was pleased with the severity of his sentence. With my rapist in jail, I could regain control of my life. I was inspired by Zoe’s bravery. She has never really spoken about the attack, but isn’t in denial; she really has managed to put the ordeal behind her and is growing up to be a happy, well adjusted girl. I have decided to follow her lead. My rapist changed my life forever, but I won’t let him to ruin it.   

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