Louise - Grandads Girl

Emma Louise has dedicated her life to helping survivors of abuse and trauma. She has helped the police and Spring Lodge, a support and recovery service, in their campaigns to raise awareness of child sex abuse, and continues to do so. Emma is also now a trained counsellor and plans to go to university to do her psychology degree and become a psychologist.

He told me he loved me.

He told me it was normal.

I wanted to believe him.

Emmas grandad was kind and loving, so when she was 11 and he started abusing her, she didnt understand what was happening. He convinced her that what he did to her was normal, and that their relationship was special but then manipulated her into having sex with another man. Over the next seven years, Emmas grandad sold her to over two hundred men, and forced her to keep the shameful secret. This is her true story of survival.

I would like to thank my wonderful family, especially my parents and siblings, who have been amazing. I dont think Id have been able to come as far as I have without their help.

The support from Spring Lodge has been a lifeline. I would also like to acknowledge Tim (false name) from PPU and his colleagues, who have shown me huge respect and support throughout the whole process.

I was never meant to be born. I hurtled into the world defiantly clutching my mums coil in my tiny, scrunched up hand. When Mum realised her contraceptive had failed and she was pregnant again it took a while to adjust to the shock. But from the moment I was placed first in Mums arms and then Dads, a scrap of a thing, I was very much wanted.

I was born on a wintry February day at Lincoln County Hospital. Mum and Dad were childhood sweethearts; theyd been inseparable since the age of 15. The affection they still felt for each other many years on was clear to see, and it spilt over into their fierce love for and protectiveness of their children. They would have moved mountains for us and we felt comforted in the depth of their devotion. Theirs was the kind of idyllic, enduring marriage I dreamt of emulating.

My dad Michael is from Mayo in Ireland and was brought up Catholic. Although he wasnt overly religious, he, Mum, me and my four older siblings always went to church on Sundays. Dad was strict and old-fashioned, believing in traditional values such as that the first person you slept with was the one you should marry.

Dad is one of 16 children and I once overheard him joke: There was no TV in those days. That was the beginning and end of my sex education. No one ever sat me down to have a talk about the birds and the bees. It was just out of bounds, forbidden. Mum and Dad were prudes about that kind of thing.

Mum, Sheena, was a soft touch and Id go to her when Id fallen out with someone and needed a hug. Dont look back; dont let things worry you, love, was one of her favourite sayings. I felt supported and safe.

If I was grounded, Mum would feel sorry for me and sneak some sweets into my room. She gave me a backie on her bike and wed fly through the streets towards school or the park, my arms wrapped tightly around her waist, carefree and happy. I loved how compassionate she was. When I fell over and hurt my knee, she would kiss it better and pretend the floor was naughty for tripping me up.

We were a close-knit brood who lived in a four-bedroom house on an estate in historic Lincoln, but my three sisters Lizzie, Belinda and Clare and brother Joe were much older than me. When I was born, Lizzie was four years old, Belinda six, Joe eight and Clare ten. Throughout my childhood, they seemed so much more sophisticated than me and a little out of reach.

As the baby of the family, I was often indulged and doted on. After having my four siblings, Mum and Dad had decided that their chaotic, cherished family was finally complete. But I, feisty and contrary, had had other ideas. As I grew up, I knew instinctively I had to make my voice heard in an already established household. I was often the recipient of my big sisters hand-me-down clothes or toys, which made me feel I had to fight harder for my parents love and attention. Maybe the fact Id been a happy accident gave me a bit of an outsider complex.

One of my earliest memories is of my nan, Grace Dads mum lifting me onto the kitchen sideboard and handing me a present wrapped in a big red bow. Tucked inside was a pretty cotton dress embroidered with roses. I remember feeling ecstatic. This was one of the first things that was mine from the start not owned by any of my siblings before and it made me feel special. Grace died of ovarian cancer when I was two, so this was a very early memory.

I quickly learnt I could get more attention from Mum and Dad than my brother and sisters but it came at a price being resented by my siblings. But they didnt realise it also meant Mum and Dad kept a closer watch on my movements. I could wrap Dad around my little finger, and if I told him about the detentions or other wrong-doings of my elder siblings, such as arguing or smoking, Id be rewarded with treats from the chippie, corner shop or some extra few minutes playing on the climbing frames in the park. My brother and sisters used to get mad and call me a grass, often leaving me in tears. But my parents would tell them off for being naughty and upsetting me and Id get thanked. In my mind I thought it was best to be honest if I overheard something, so I blurted things out to Mum and Dad. Secretly, it made me feel valued and as if I had a role in my big family. I was often jealous of my brother and sisters freedom and snitching on them gave me a little taste of it.

My family and I, including my siblings, aunts, uncles, nan, step-grandad and various cousins, spent summer holidays together, travelling en masse to Cornwall, Skegness and the Med.

Holidays were a great time to let loose with my brother and sisters. Clare, being the oldest, was the responsible one. She was a good listener, full of pearls of wisdom that made me look up to her and be a little in awe. My brother Joe was the joker and always had me in stitches with his quick wit. But his humour hid a sharp intelligence; I always knew he could do anything he set out to do. My middle sister Belinda was a ball of fun and laughter and always made time for me. Last, but by no means least, was Lizzie. As the closest in age, she was more like a best friend than a sister. In her dungarees and with her boy mates, she was a bit of a tomboy. Wed have late-night chats in our room, catching up on the days gossip.

One year, when I was six, 22 of us flew to the Greek island of Kos. It was such a happy time, eating like kings at an all-inclusive hotel with never-ending buffets.

Dad, I want to jump off the diving board, I pleaded one day, eyeing up the platform towering above me.

Come on love, Im going to teach you how, Dad said, playfully lifting me up and plunging me into the deep end of the pool. I shrieked with delight and was soon leaping down into the pool like an expert. I was fearless; a natural water baby.

On another holiday, this time in Skegness, Dad pulled a dinghy loaded with the whole family into the water and then tipped it over, sending us flying. But although Dad could be a bit of a joker, friendship came second. He was a father first and foremost.

Only Grandad didnt come with us on that holiday. He and my gran Ellie had divorced before I was born and now she was with someone else. Hed stayed away to avoid encountering any awkwardness when he saw them, but I didnt really understand that then.

On my first day of primary school I was excited but terrified. My mum took me, but when she let go of my hand and ushered me towards the school gates, I burst into tears because she had to leave me. I caught her wiping her eyes before turning away.