Chapters (87)
- Cover
- Praise
- Dedication
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Twenty-Four
- Twenty-Five
- Twenty-Six
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- Twenty-Nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-One
- Thirty-Two
- Thirty-Three
- Thirty-Four
- Thirty-Five
- Thirty-Six
- Thirty-Seven
- Thirty-Eight
- Thirty-Nine
- Forty
- Forty-One
- Forty-Two
- Forty-Three
- Forty-Four
- Forty-Five
- Forty-Six
- Forty-Seven
- Forty-Eight
- Forty-Nine
- Fifty
- Fifty-One
- Fifty-Two
- Fifty-Three
- Fifty-Four
- Fifty-Five
- Fifty-Six
- Fifty-Seven
- Fifty-Eight
- Fifty-Nine
- Sixty
- Sixty-One
- Sixty-Two
- Sixty-Three
- Sixty-Four
- Sixty-Five
- Sixty-Six
- Sixty-Seven
- Sixty-Eight
- Sixty-Nine
- Seventy
- Seventy-One
- Seventy-Two
- Seventy-Three
- Seventy-Four
- Seventy-Five
- Seventy-Six
- Seventy-Seven
- Seventy-Eight
- Seventy-Nine
- Eighty
- Epilogue
- Acknowledgements
- Extract from To Keep You Safe
- About the Author
I think if we had all been born later, it might’ve been OK. Now people are more aware. Behaviour problems have found medical recognition. Someone, somewhere, would’ve been able to offer us support. At the time there was no Google search, no help groups. At the time, we thought it was just us. And when you think you are the only ones, you don’t talk. You keep shtum. It’s hard – even as adults being abused by loved ones – but you fear the not being believed, the nothing changing, the shame of being found out and not being understood. Nick worried about people thinking he was an abuser, but not able to put them right. Both of us found it easier to bear the shame of people thinking he beat me rather than us trying to find a way to find a way to say: No, you’re wrong, it’s our son.
Nick and I have had our problems, but he was a good father and a good husband. In many ways, he will always be my hero.
I wish someone had asked. When he and I were still in a good place with each other, if someone had raised a question, we would’ve cried out in response, glad for help. But instead, we were on our own with it and we just didn’t know what to do. We loved our son; we just kept hoping he would grow out of it. Besides, what else could we do? We could hardly just give him away as faulty goods. Sorry, have you got another one? We think this one is broken.
Don’t think that there weren’t dark moments, during dark nights, when I didn’t think of it. But it was rare.
But on we went and on went the bad times that kept amassing like stones in a cairn; they built up, defiant against raw elements, until there were too many to take down. Sometimes, I would stand, metaphorically hands on hips, and just look at my life. And not believe.
There were just so many times, so many stones.
We all heaped our stones on that cairn. Not just our son. Nick and I brought our imperfections to our family life.
But a huge one, the stone that started the topple, was the death of Winston. Like the key all those decades later, the dog’s death caused a huge earthquake through our world. What he did to the dog changed our family forever. Winston was so lovely. In some ways, he was like Nick’s and my second baby. But as soon as our son was old enough, he made it clear he didn’t like our family dog. Even as a twelve-month-old, he would throw his Lego bricks at him.
By the time he was three, I no longer allowed him to be alone with Winston. Except that one time, the day of the letter.