Kate Skylark - Grandads Funeral: A Heartbreaking True Story of Child Abuse, Betrayal and Revenge

GRANDADS FUNERAL

KATE SKYLARK & EMILY WILKINS

Copyright 2016 Kate Skylark

This book is based on true events.

The names of people and places have been changed to protect the innocent.

Cover photograph is posed by a model and is used for illustrative purposes only

For every book sold, a donation will be made to the NSPCC

MORE BOOKS BY KATE SKYLARK

Dirty Little Dog

Daddys Wicked Parties

Ugly Child

If you would like to be first to hear of new and exciting books, as soon as they become available, please do add your name to my private readers list.

I NEVER spam

Just click here to add your name to the list

Or copy this address into your browser

http://eepurl.com/cT7DhT

I m going to do it. Im going to tell them all. Im going to stand here, at my grandads funeral and tell everyone the truth.

The church is full of people. I walk from my seat at the front of the church to the lectern. I am shaking from head to foot. I have a piece of paper in my hand with a speech, telling a story of a kindly grandfather, a man I respected and looked up to, a man who taught me maths, read me Dickens and told me about politics. But Im not going to read that. No, Im finally going to tell the truth.

Because you see, I have a Secret. Its a Secret Ive been carrying with me for years. A Secret that has messed with my head for long enough. Its caused me to feel unspeakable shame, given me panic attacks and nightmares, and has led to my suffering with a serious eating disorder. My physical health, my mental health and my relationship with my family have all suffered because of this Secret. And its time the Secret was told.

Im going to tell them all that Len Wilkins, my grandfather, was not the wonderful, clever exceptional man they all think he is. He was not a pillar of society. He was not a great, or even a respectable man. Im going to tell them that he sexually abused me in the vilest way when I was only eleven years old. Im going to tell them what he really was. He was evil, and Im going to tell them all.

I climb the stairs of the lectern. Four steps. Only four. I actually count them as I go up and wish there were more. At the top I stop and look at the faces of the congregation.

Finally, Im going to tell them all...

...and I open my mouth to speak.

I t all began when my baby brother, Marcus, was born. I remember distinctly the night that Mum was rushed to hospital, in an ambulance, blood pouring down her legs. It was the most terrifying night of my eleven-year-old life. The sight I remember the most was of Mum being helped into the back of the ambulance, still in her nightie. Her big pregnant tummy was sticking out, making the nightie stretch tight, and her belly button was poking out through the thin material. The bottom of the pink nightie was drenched red with blood. It was like something out of a horror film.

The baby wasnt due yet, I knew that. And although Dad told me not to worry, even at that age I realised something was very wrong, that something very serious was happening.

My sister, Pauline, and I sat up almost all night, waiting for news. We watched television until late, trying not to think of the horror we had just seen, trying not to think the awful thought that was going through both our heads. Was Mum going to be okay? Its a terrible thought for any child, to imagine their mother dying. Eventually, I know I fell asleep because the next thing I remember was the phone ringing and Pauline answering it because she was the older sister.

I dont know exactly what Dad said to her but I could tell it was good news. Pauline just kept saying, Thank God! Oh, thank God!

Emily, Mums okay and the babys out, Pauline said as soon as she put the phone down. Its a little boy. Weve got a brother! I remember starting to cry, without knowing why.

No one told me at the time, but apparently my mum needed four pints of blood to save her life. She had had a severe placental abruption and that had caused the bleeding. The doctors told her not to try to get pregnant again. My little brother was born by emergency caesarean section, two months premature. Tiny baby Marcus went straight into an incubator in the special care baby unit to help his little lungs to breathe. He only weighed three and a half pounds.

When Mum was better and came home from hospital, she didnt bring the new baby. He was too small and weak to leave special care. It must have been a tough and terrible time for Mum and Dad in the weeks after Marcus was born. The baby was going to have to live in the incubator for many weeks or even months. The doctors told Mum and Dad it would be some time before he would be strong enough to be able to breathe on his own and come home. I suppose there must have been a danger that he would never come home at all. But that fact was never mentioned to us girls.

Pauline and I only went in to the hospital to see him a couple of times while he was there. We could look through the see-through sides of the incubator. He looked like a scrunched up caterpillar with his little knees folded up under him, and his skin looked a bit like a newborn baby bird, all red and wrinkly. But we couldnt hold him or even touch him, in case we made him ill. His immune system was so weak there was a big risk of infection. Even a little bit of dirt or a normal common cold would have made Marcus terribly ill and might even have killed him. Only Mum and the nursery nurses were allowed to touch Marcus, and only after sterilising their hands over and over. So we didnt hold or touch or play with our baby brother for a long time. He couldnt even have a teddy bear in the incubator to keep him company.

As you probably know, its not good for newborn babies to be separated from their mums because they need to bond with their mothers from the moment they are born. This meant Mum almost had to live in the hospital with baby Marcus. I suppose it must have been really difficult. But if you think about it, she was still weak herself from the operation and from the traumatic birth, so maybe hospital was the best place for her.

Dad went to see the baby in hospital almost every day too. Sometimes we had a babysitter or went to a friends house after school. But most of the time it was down to my thirteen-year-old sister, Pauline, to look after eleven-year-old me, all by herself and for long periods of time.

Mum and Dad didnt think this was fair on either of us. Pauline had often babysat me in the evening for a few hours if Mum and Dad had gone out. But the end of term was just a couple of weeks away. During the summer holiday we girls would be home all day, and it was too much to expect Pauline to become my full-time childminder.

Mum and Dad made the decision to take me out of school early and send me to live with my nanna and grandad. They clearly thought this was a fine plan. I would go to Wales to live with Nanna and Grandad while Mum and Marcus recovered. I would live there until the end of the summer holiday, or until Marcus could come home if that was sooner. Pauline, who was that bit older, would be fine to stay home. She was to spend some of the time alone at home. But she would also be able to go to stay at her best friend Deborahs house whenever she wanted.

It will be such fun for you, Emily, said Dad. You can go to the beach every day with Nanna. And Grandad can do some lessons with you so you dont miss any schoolwork.

Grandad had been a teacher until he retired a few years ago, so it all made sense, according to Dad.

I remember not being too happy about the plan to stay with my grandparents. For a start, I would miss Sports Day at school. Sports Day was one of my favourite days of the whole of the school year. I was an athletic child and I would normally win several medals. (The medals were just different coloured badges that we pinned to our school jumpers but they meant the world to us.) Besides this, I really wasnt looking forward to a whole summer away from Pauline and all my friends.