They Stole My Innocence Read online

  It was night. Outside the windows there was only darkness. A torch was shining, its light blinding me. Behind the glow there were shadowy figures. I could hear whispers, stifled laughter. Hands grabbed my arms and pulled me out of bed. Other girls were receiving the same treatment and our fear hung in the air, taking away our ability to speak. Instead we stood in the middle of the dormitory, shivering with fear and cold. ‘Party time, girls,’ the voices behind the torches said.

  Holding an arm or shoulder, they took us to the stairs leading down to the cellars. Still none of us uttered a word, not even to ask what they wanted. Drink had made them jolly, but that, we were aware, could change to belligerence in seconds. Asking questions had too often resulted in a fist or foot lashing out. We were powerless to do anything but go along with what they wanted and hope it wouldn’t take them too long to become bored with us; we were their toys.

  Down there, in those low-ceilinged rooms, we could hear men’s and women’s voices. Music was playing, harsh, thumping sounds that added to my intense feeling of dread. ‘Swallow this, Madeleine. It’ll make you feel good,’ a voice said. A tablet was slipped between my lips and my chin held upwards until it had gone down my throat. We moved along the passageway to the room where the music was coming from. I felt as though I was floating. Through the flickering candlelight I looked down upon figures writhing on a pile of cushions, and over the music I could hear the laughter and groans of the almost naked men and women who were touching, rubbing and grasping each other. The taste of my first cigarette comes to me, as does the memory of my choking. Hands stroked me, voices told me I was pretty, my pyjama top was unbuttoned and hands touched my still flat chest, before fingers went under the elastic of the bottoms. Then . . . nothing.

  I woke up hours later in my bed. My head throbbed and my body felt sore. My mind, my adult self realised, had not blocked out what had taken place: the pill had. Was it during those holidays that I saw the boy in the shower? He was the second who had killed himself. I know I was still very young. A girl, almost hyperventilating with shock, came running into the common room screaming that there was a dead boy in the showers. Before we could be stopped, we all swarmed in. Like the boy in the tree, he had hanged himself.

  I tried to focus on his feet, which were still moving, but almost imperceptibly, like the pendulum of a clock that has stopped ticking. I didn’t look up – I couldn’t bear to confront those dead eyes – so I only saw him from the waist down. He was wearing grey trousers.

  I knew who he was. He and his sister had arrived at the home just a few weeks earlier. I felt very sorry for them when I heard they had been brought there because their mother was too ill to look after them. It was their closeness to each other that made me notice them. He was about ten, a slight boy, who clung to his sister while she, no more than twelve, would stand with her arm around him, talking softly to him. Over the short time they were in the home they appeared to be inseparable. But not inseparable enough, it seems, to protect him from predators.

  I don’t know what happened to her. I never saw her after that day. What I did know, though, was the almost inevitable fate of pretty boys. And he was certainly that. If he had lived, he would have grown into a very handsome man, with lots of floppy blond hair and big sad eyes. Like other pretty boys, before and after, he had been taken to Victoria Tower, an ancient circular building with a staircase connecting its three small rooms. Surrounded by tree-filled slopes and overlooking the castle and Anne Port Bay, it is a beautiful place. But there was no beauty in the terrible acts that went on there.

  A male warden raped him. Three of us, seeing him being led off, had followed them. From outside the building we heard the boy’s desperate cries, then a long agonised scream and knew instinctively what had happened. We knew there was nothing we could do to intervene so, guiltily, we left our hiding place and returned silently to the common room.

  He escaped from Haut de la Garenne the only way he knew how: by climbing on to a chair, tying one end of a sheet around his neck and the other round the shower rail.

  I cried for him that night as did the other two girls who had been with me when we had followed them. We shared his secret and our guilt.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  Did Colin Tilbrook send for me again? He must have, but there’s a merciful blank where that particular memory should be, as is my journey back to school. However, when I close my eyes, the nightmares I had over that term slip into my mind. They still plague me. They woke Sister Carmen, who hurried into my room. ‘Just a bad dream, Madeleine,’ she told me soothingly, and sat with me until I fell asleep.

  ‘Did you watch television and see some horror movies you shouldn’t?’ she asked. That was how she explained my bad dreams and I didn’t correct her. Gradually they diminished, then ceased: nothing bad would happen at that school. No one was going to pull me out of bed and march me away.

  As the Easter holidays approached, the other girls chattered about their forthcoming holiday. Maybe they’ll think it’s too short to send me back to Jersey, I speculated hopefully.

  No, they did not.

  Michelle was waiting for me when I arrived. ‘Good news,’ she told me, with a huge smile. ‘I’ve arranged for you to spend this holiday at La Preference. Madeleine, it’s a really great place. I know some of the staff there and they make sure that holiday time is fun. It’s not nearly as big as Haut de la Garenne, so it’s nice and cosy. And there are lots of things to do there.’

  She was right. It was even better than she had described. There were bikes that groups of us could explore the countryside on, a record player, music, books and a big assortment of toys and games. There were even several copies of the popular girls’ magazine, Jackie. Every day was different and interesting: the staff encouraged us to go outside unless it rained and then board games and jigsaw puzzles were brought out. My mother was even given tea and was made welcome when she came to La Preference to see me, and I was given permission several times to visit her. This time the days went far too quickly.

  It was not until Michelle collected me at the end of the holiday that she told me she was leaving Jersey for good the following month. She wouldn’t be there when I returned for my summer holidays. She reassured me that she would write and told me she wanted to hear that I was continuing to do well at school. But, however hard she tried, I felt abandoned. Out of all the people in authority I had encountered, she was the only one I felt I actually mattered to. She hugged me as she said goodbye at the airport and repeated her promise to write and then, with a final tearful wave, I walked towards the boarding gate.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  The long summer holidays arrived. Although I wished I was staying with my mother, I was looking forward to spending time at La Preference. Even though the Easter holiday had been short, I had made some friends. I glanced around the plane at the other passengers. Although there were several teenagers who, I presumed, were also returning to Jersey for the holidays, as usual I was the only one travelling alone. There was a little group of girls, slightly older than me; from the snippets of their conversation I overheard, I gathered that they were all at the same boarding-school and were excited at the prospects of a fun-filled holiday. On the short flight, I looked forward to seeing my family and thought of all the things I wanted to do once I was back at La Preference.

  I had asked whether my mother could meet me at the airport and take me to La Preference but Sister Carmen had informed me that I had to be accompanied by a social worker: it was a court requirement. I was met by a woman of stocky build, somewhere in her thirties. She gave me her social-worker smile, as her eyes examined me, and introduced herself as Mrs Henry.

  I saw the group of girls from the plane rushing towards their parents with cries of excitement, straight into welcoming arms. I could only guess what they were being told as they were hugged and kissed, how well they looked, how much they had been missed and then assurances that lots had been planned for them to do. Oh, how I wan
ted the same warm welcome. I wanted it so badly it hurt.

  ‘Well, Madeleine, are you pleased to be back in Jersey?’ she asked, breaking into my daydream. I nodded, already missing the friendly, easy-going Michelle who, with her generous smile, always made me feel she was genuinely happy to spend time with me.

  ‘I’ve spoken to your mother,’ she told me, as she led the way to her car. ‘She can’t wait to visit you.’ I couldn’t think of anything to say to that, for I knew my mother missed me. ‘And I expect you’re looking forward to seeing her too?’ she probed. I nodded and she, ignoring my lack of response, carried on with her almost scripted questioning.

  A few more standard items about school, making friends and the lessons I liked most, then her efforts dried up. Now I could relax.

  I was lost in another daydream of being with my mother on the beach, our faces turned up to the sun, so I didn’t notice straight away that we were on the wrong road. ‘This isn’t the way to La Preference,’ I said, feeling my first flicker of unease.

  ‘Oh, were you not told?’ She knew the answer to that question as well as I did.

  ‘Told what?’

  ‘We have had to make different arrangements for you. There wasn’t any room there, so we arranged for you to stay somewhere just as suitable.’

  ‘So where are you taking me?’ I asked, feeling as though a stone had lodged in my stomach.

  ‘You’re to spend this holiday at Haut de la Garenne.’

  The effect of hearing that name was immediate. My heart pounded and my hands became clammy with sweat. I pressed myself back in the seat. ‘No.’ I’m sure she had been told how I would react and had wanted to reach the home before I realised where I was being taken.

  I knew that nothing would make her turn the car around and drive in the direction I wanted to go but that didn’t stop me protesting. I didn’t want to sound like a petulant child but the words refused to stay inside me. In a continuous babble I said I hated Haut de la Garenne, it wasn’t fair that I was being taken there, why could I not be with my mother, and if Michelle was still in Jersey this would not be happening. It all fell on what seemed to me to be disinterested ears. She didn’t think to question why a child who had appeared normal, if quiet, on her arrival at the airport had become almost hysterical at hearing the name Haut de la Garenne.

  She told me to stop being a silly little girl: she had more important things to do than listen to my irrational nonsense. I tried once more and this time she became angry. ‘Madeleine, if you don’t stop this right now I’ll have to report you when we arrive. Now,’ her voice softened slightly, ‘I don’t want to have to do that. Not on your first day back.’

  I forced myself to be both quiet and still, but my mind was working furiously. Let her believe the threat’s worked, I thought, as a little voice in my head whispered, ‘Escape, Madeleine.’

  I told her I was sorry. I needed to make her relax. At the same time I surreptitiously released the catch on my seatbelt. She neither noticed my fingers pressing it nor that I was watching the traffic lights. They had changed to amber and she, like the drivers in front of us, was slowing to a crawl. I opened the door and, before she could grab me, my feet were on the ground. She was shouting angrily, demanding I get back into the car ‘right now’ as though that would make me change my mind.

  ‘Screw that for a laugh,’ I said to myself, as, giggling, I took off. She couldn’t leave her car at the traffic lights with other vehicles behind her. There was nothing she could do until she was able to pull over and park. As my feet pounded along the pavement I ignored the stitch in my side, turned down a side-street and kept going.

  Nothing was going to stop me. I didn’t think in those first few minutes about where I could go to hide from the authorities or ask myself what they would do to me when they found me. That was not something I was prepared to face. All I could think was that I was free and that I had finally cocked a snook at those who ruled my life.

  Going straight to my mother’s was out of the question. Her flat would be the first place they looked for me. The moment the police were informed that I had run away, a patrol car with a couple of burly policemen inside would be dispatched to pay her a visit. For the first time I felt a pang of remorse. No doubt whoever was sent would act as though they didn’t believe a word she said. They would practically accuse her of lying and insist on looking in every room. I thought of her distress, not just because I was missing but because of the sneers she would see on their faces.

  The adventure was already beginning to pall.

  In the end I went to one of my mother’s friends.

  ‘There’ll be trouble all right,’ she said, when I told her what I had done. ‘Still, you might as well make the best of it before they find you.’

  She agreed to pop round to my mother’s flat, as she put it, to make sure the coast was clear. ‘But not until the police have been and gone,’ she said sensibly. ‘You don’t want to get your mum into any trouble, do you?’

  It was dark when, under cover of the shadows, I made my way to the small block of flats where my mother lived.

  ‘Oh, Madeleine darling, what have you done? The police have been here looking for you,’ she exclaimed, the moment she saw me. ‘They told us that if you turned up here we had to get in touch straight away. That if we let you stay, we’d be charged. The cheek of it, saying I’d be in trouble for spending time with my own daughter,’ she added indignantly.

  ‘I’ve run away. I don’t want to go back to Haut de la Garenne. I just can’t, Mum.’

  ‘I know you hate it there, love. But what choice is there? It’s only for a few weeks, and then you’ll be back at that nice school. You don’t want that spoilt now, do you? You’re happy there.’

  ‘You know she’s right, Madeleine,’ said a worried Frank. ‘You’ll have to go back. There’ll be a load of trouble for us, too, if you don’t. Better if you do it yourself and not wait for them to find you. Look, I’ll come with you, if you like. I can take you to the children’s office, not the police. Then you say you’re sorry and they’ll take you to Haut de la Garenne. It’s the only solution, Madeleine.’

  I knew he was right. I could see from the worried look on my mother’s face that she was scared of the repercussions if I was caught at the flat.

  ‘If they think I put you up to it, they might stop us seeing you,’ she said.

  The fight went out of me when I saw tears were not far away. They were right, of course: until I was back in the home the police would keep coming back to my mother’s flat, for Jersey was a tiny place. ‘Can I have something to eat first?’ I asked.

  ‘And then we’ll go to the children’s office,’ Frank said.

  ‘No, I’ll go. You don’t need to come with me,’ I said firmly, suddenly understanding that they, too, were scared of the authorities. I had heard my mother curse them, but I had not understood that she was frightened of the police and the social workers. Maybe she believed that one mistake would cost her Alfie as well as all her other children.

  ‘If I go on my own, it will look as though you never saw me,’ I said.

  He hugged me, and that expression of gratitude warmed me.

  A worn frying pan was placed on the stove, a generous slice of butter melted and then in went a slice of bread, two eggs and a thick rasher of streaky bacon. In no time I was tucking into what we called an Irish fry. The only things missing were black pudding and laughter.

  I knew there was trouble ahead for me and so did they.

  As soon as I had swallowed the last mouthful I left. In my pocket I had the coins Frank had given me to make a phone call and a scrap of paper with the children’s office’s number on it.

  I never got to the phone box: I was spotted by a police car and taken to the station. Two members of staff came for me: Morag and Anthony Jordan. I was thrown into the back of the car, and Morag climbed in beside me. ‘I wouldn’t try to get away from me. Anthony might just run you over when we chase you.’ She laughed.


  Once we were through the home’s doors they picked me up by the arms, dragged me down those stairs and threw me into the detention cells. I screamed and kicked. I tried to place my feet against the wall to prevent them dragging me but, however hard I struggled, it was no good. Mercifully they didn’t strip me that time but there was no blanket and, although it was a summer evening, I was instantly cold. They turned off the lights and I was left in the dark, huddled in the corner furthest from the door.

  CHAPTER FORTY

  The door swung open, letting in light. Thinking I was going to have my clothes stripped off, I wrapped my arms round my body and stayed huddled in the corner with my head down. ‘It’s all right, Madeleine.’ Through my terror I heard Anne’s voice for the first time. She was saying she had been sent to fetch me and that everything was going to be all right. Even then I recognised something in her voice that told me she would not turn into a sadistic bully like the majority of her workmates. ‘I’m going to take you to get your breakfast.’

  Glancing up, I saw a round-faced young woman whose soft, coffee-brown eyes gazed compassionately at me. She took my hand, wrapped warm fingers around mine and pulled me gently to my feet. ‘Come,’ she said, and led me out of the cell.

  Once we had climbed the short flight of steps that led us back into the main part of the building, she told me she had been asked to talk to me.