Hayley McGregor - Teachers Pet

He manipulated me by making me feel special then duped me into thinking I was to blame.

Hayley was just 12 when she met the new drama teacher, Mr Willson. Good-looking and charismatic, he was classic schoolgirl-crush material. Hayley was flattered by his attention, and was pleased when he befriended her parents. Little did they know they were all being groomed. Hayley allowed Mr Willson to do unspeakable things to her and, after the relationship ended, it took almost 20 years of guilt and cripplingly low self-esteem before a complete breakdown made her go to the police.

This is the shocking true story of a schoolgirl abused by her teacher, and her courageous journey to heal the wrongs of the past.

Hayley McGregor is an actress and drama teacher, and is in the process of starting her own theatre company, YOLO, to bring awareness about mental health and confidence issues to young people. She lives with her partner Leroy and two dogs, Biffy and Bella, in Greater Manchester.

To my Leroy. Thank you for being my shining star in the darkness. Thank you being the lighthouse in this storm. I love you.

In February 2016, my former teacher, Andrew Victor Willson, pleaded guilty to five counts of indecent assault against me. He denied all other charges. Having pleaded guilty, he was convicted of only those five crimes.

I was all over the place at the time, and I didnt care about the sentence or the number of assaults that he chose to confess to. I didnt push for anything more. For me it was never about the prison sentence, it was about him admitting his guilt and taking responsibility, which he eventually did for those five crimes, at least.

I want this book to be balanced and fair, so Im telling you now: he only admitted, and was only ever convicted of, those five offences. He confessed that he kissed me on one occasion in his office; on one occasion in his car. He said that in an affair (or rather, as it should properly be called, an abusive relationship) lasting more than a year we kissed only twice and were intimate on just three occasions.

But thats not how I remember it.

For more than twenty years, I have stayed quiet about all this, shamed into silence by my feelings of guilt and worthlessness. But I will not be a silent victim anymore. So Im telling my story in the hope that it will help others perhaps encourage other women and men to come forward to share their own dark secrets, or cause the blinkers to fall from the eyes of other young girls and boys who are currently as besotted with their teacher as I once was. And Im telling my full story, because I think its important to know how a teachers smile can segue into a kiss and how once theyve got you used to the kissing events, step by step, can take a twisting path into an intimacy that gets more and more intense until theres no way back.

Andrew Willson, according to his pleas in court, doesnt agree with my version of events. He has admitted hurting me but only five times.

Thats his side of the story; this is mine.

When I was a little girl, my mum used to read me fairy tales.

Once upon a time, there was a beautiful young woman with flowing golden hair and beautiful big blue eyes. She was often lonely and sad, and yearned to meet her soulmate.

One day, a charming prince a handsome knight in shining armour became entranced by her youthful beauty and confessed his undying love. He promised they would be together forever, and the young woman fell head over heels in love. After a passionate kiss, during which the prince completely swept her off her feet, they rode off together into the sunset and lived happily ever after.

I always thought that was what real life was like. I thought that was how all love affairs played out.

It turns out, I was wrong.

The day began like any other. With my mates Nicola and Cari beside me, I boarded the red double-decker school bus and the three of us headed as we always did to the back seat on the lower deck, where we formed a little clan, me facing the direction of travel with my feet up on the seat in front. We were the first kids collected on the journey so we had our pick of the seats, but we always chose that corner. It was inconspicuous and out of the way so that, when the older, rowdier students later boarded the bus as it meandered through the Lancashire hills, we didnt draw any unwanted attention to ourselves.

Even though I was in Year 8 my second year of secondary school I was still a bit overawed at being at big school: a small fish in a very intimidating pond. I wasnt one of those young kids who walked around cockily; in fact, I still got lost on occasion on my way to lessons because the school seemed so sprawling. In a way I had a bit of a split personality: in my spare time I was a dancer (Id done ballet since I was three years old, as well as tap and contemporary) and I loved nothing more than being in the limelight, but offstage I wouldnt have said boo to a goose especially to the older students, who had a reputation for being tough. I wasnt a confident girl inside at all, it was only on the surface.

At least I had Nicola and Cari to look out for me. Theyd befriended me in the previous September of 1992, as wed all caught the bus together on my very first day in Year 7. They were both in the year above me and theyd taken me under their wing. Cari was an edgy, funky sort of girl, whereas Nicola was more geeky though she was also far more quick-witted than either of us. She lived just around the corner from me so we spent a lot of time together in the evenings and at weekends, in our bedrooms listening to our favourite artists, Take That for me and Tracy Chapman for Nicola. A wispy brunette, Nicola was known for her big, beaming smile.

None of us were smiling on that particular morning though. Why would we when all that lay ahead was just another boring day at school? I sighed and shifted awkwardly in my seat, fiddling with my striped school tie; the rebel fashion was to wear it with just a little bit at the front, but I wasnt quite confident enough to break the rules so mine was an unfashionable fat sausage that hung down the chest of my white school shirt. Our uniform colour scheme was grey and maroon, which I thought was just vile. We had to wear these maroon jumpers horrible woollen things that made my thick blonde hair even frizzier than normal when I pulled the starchy sweater over my head. I stared glumly out of the window as the bus drove on, and gave another deep sigh when I caught sight of my reflection.

At twelve years old, I hated the way I looked. For a start, I was only about five foot and was always told I looked really young for my age, not what any imminent teenager wants to hear. I was also quite a chubby girl; it was puppy fat, or so my dance teachers told me. All I was told, over and over, was: Its puppy fat, itll drop off. All I heard was: Youre fat, youre fat, youre fat. When I felt brave enough to do so, Id sometimes untuck my shirt at school so that it would cover up what I thought of as my big bum. My thick long hair almost reached my bottom, but it didnt quite do the job.