The Step Child (25 page)

HELEN MAY HAVE BEEN
physically out of my life for a few years, but the residue of her impact was still there. I had spent so much of my life doing little more than surviving that I didn’t really have the building blocks all young people deserve, the foundations which would help me on the next stage of my life. Even as a teenager, I had few friends. It was hard for me to trust people; it was hard even to know what to say to them when they asked questions about me. Should I rewrite my past, or just try to evade any investigations, no matter how friendly, when they arose?

From around the age of 14, I started going out to the local youth club, which was held in a church on Easter Road. Even the concept of going out whenever I wanted, to places I chose, was still foreign to me. The youth club itself was probably pretty grotty, but to me it was full of opportunities. Attending the club finally gave me the chance to make some friends and do normal, childhood things which had been denied to me in my life with Helen.

In general we’d all meet up in the church hall and hang out there, playing pool, listening to music. It was just mucking about really, but the innocence of it all seemed like a gift to me. I was completely accepted because no one at the youth club knew
anything about my home life or what had happened there. This was hard for me to come to terms with – I actually thought I was so transparent that people could see my shame. As a child, while the abuse was ongoing, it had eventually dawned on me that it was all hidden, it was all secret. Nobody knew. However, as I got older, my thoughts swung the opposite way, and I found it remarkable that people couldn’t tell just by looking at me what a horrible, shameful girl I was. Wasn’t it obvious? Couldn’t they work it out? When I finally started to believe that they couldn’t see, they couldn’t tell, I really began to look forward to the weekly youth club evening.

The organiser also took us all on trips. I was allowed to go on three of them. As well as the friendship and fun that coloured each occasion, I also began to learn things about myself. One trip was for the day to Yellowcraigs beach; the second was a full weekend break to a barn near Eddleston in Peeblesshire; and the final trip was four days spent on Iona. These were magical places to me, and each of them showed me just how much nature meant to my developing senses, how peaceful and settled I could feel in the right environment. But the trips didn’t come easily. I remember one of the youth leaders coming round to the house in an attempt to persuade my Dad that I should be allowed to go on the Eddleston trip. My Dad was very reluctant. He tried to get out of it by saying he couldn’t afford the cost – naturally a lie since he always had enough for booze – but the youth leader called his bluff by saying she’d pay my contribution. Dad still clung to as many excuses as he could muster – I was too young, I was too irresponsible, I wouldn’t enjoy myself. Obviously, none of this was true. He admitted, once the youth club woman had left, that he just couldn’t run the house without me. Again, his needs were to take priority. I don’t remember what eventually caused him to change his mind – but luckily he did.

Eddleston was such a memorable weekend. We stayed in some old farm buildings, surrounded by fields. We ate and
socialised in a main building and slept in the loft of a barn, which was decked out with campbeds and sleeping bags for all the kids. The ghosts didn’t all stay away – you take your baggage with you even on holiday – but I managed at least to cope with my fear of night-time, the dark and the shadows, all of which had stayed with me since my time in the cellar in Easter Road. We all went on walks through woods and fields; we ate around a big table together; and, in the evenings, the youth leaders (who were all quite young themselves) played guitars and sang around the fire. It was magical for me. Every time I hear ‘A Whiter Shade of Pale’ it reminds me of that time and brings a smile to my face.

The trip to Iona was, however, the most magical of my childhood years. Although there were many other children there that I didn’t know, I had never felt so peaceful. Even the journey there was fascinating. We got the coach to Oban, followed by a ferry to Mull, and then finally a little boat that took us over to Iona itself. Even now when I think about it, I can still feel the bubbles of excitement churning in my stomach. Iona is beautiful with ancient buildings and history, and a landscape to make you think there is no better place in the world. Although Iona is so small that you can walk around it in next to no time, it also feels as if all the world is contained in that one little island. It was just what I needed – the feeling of being part of something much bigger, and of feeling safe on my terms really helped me.

All these experiences helped to open my mind to a world away from Easter Road. They confirmed what I knew, what I had to believe in – someday I’d get away.

Like every other place in Britain during the 1970s, Edinburgh in general – and Easter Road in particular – had its own gangs. This didn’t necessarily mean anything sinister, especially not for a young girl. However, there were specific, yet unwritten, rules
which made it quite clear that the music you liked determined how you dressed, how you acted, and even who your mates could be.

I did have two ‘friends’ in my adolescent years. Neither of them went to the same school as me, but they did live locally and we had formed some sort of bond when playing in the ‘street’ (which, in itself, was still a novelty to me). These girls weren’t friends in the sense of being great pals with whom I could share every secret, every thought. They were really just people I hung out with. We were in the same place at the same time – but they were still the nearest I had. I remember two main things about them – their family life and the strict fashion codes they adhered to. If I ever managed to get anywhere close to a best friend, it was Joan MacKenzie. She was from a family of five girls and one boy who lived nearby, and they made such a difference to me. Joan was the youngest of the family; they all called her ‘Tootie’. I still had a problem working out why anyone would be nice to me without asking for something in return, but the MacKenzies always tried so hard. They would give me their cast-off clothes, ask me round for tea, and even include me in their Christmas parties. I’ve always wondered whether they suspected any of what I had been through, or whether they were just basically good people who helped those around them without question. They were such a loving family, and even though they didn’t have much, they shared with me and with others. This was another world to me – I had rarely seen generosity or kindness for its own sake before, and although it warmed me to the core, it also made me utterly ashamed of my home life.

Joan didn’t go to the same school as me, but two of her elder sisters did, which was the only way I was able to get a school uniform for Leith Academy. We weren’t drawn to each other because of our similarities at all. Joan was really popular as she was very confident. She was so different to me, and so was her home life, yet we did get along well. We’d hang around together
whenever I could get time away from my chores. What I remember really clearly about her is that she always knew exactly what to wear, exactly how to look so that she could fit in. She knew the rules, and everything about her just seemed effortless.

Joan had long light-brown hair, in contrast to my short dark crop. I was trying to hide, make myself invisible to anyone who might be inclined to show an interest in me, but Joan didn’t have to worry – her solid, happy home life meant she could have a solid, happy adolescence too.

Music was really important to all of us. Joan was Donny Osmond mad. She’d play his album over and over, and spoke about him all the time. Teenage pop star obsession is fickle, and although we were all sure we would absolutely die for love, it didn’t take much more than a new face on the scene to convince us that things needed to change. I took my cue from Joan. Donny and the rest of the Osmonds were soon ousted when the Bay City Rollers arrived. Not only did they seem impossibly gorgeous to us, they were from Edinburgh too! Joan got all their records and was even allowed to dress like them, with extra bits of tartan added to the bottom of her cropped trousers. Tootie was always more fashionable, more popular and much happier than I was. I felt so dull next to her, but I also felt that was what I deserved.

The other friend I had at that time was Sandra Dunlop. Sandra was also a different type of person from me entirely. She seemed so much more mature than me. Even though I had been through unthinkable things from such a young age, it didn’t make me precocious or mature for my years. Instead, I looked to these other girls for clues as to how should I act. What would look normal? Joan and Sandra gave off very different messages.

Sandra’s family felt different to Joan’s. Sandra had more freedom of an adult sort, in that she went to parties and had a
harder confidence to that of Tootie, but I didn’t envy her in the same way. Sandra lived in Easter Road too. Her first-floor flat was the cleanest place I had ever seen. At that time, I used to marvel at how house-proud her mother was – she’d get up at the crack of dawn every day and start to scrub. Mrs Dunlop didn’t put down her duster, her bleach, her scrubbing brush or her vinegar until she went to bed. Sandra’s father had some connection with the whaling industry, which wasn’t unusual in that part of Edinburgh at the time, and Mrs Dunlop was always fussing about all the pieces of carved whalebone on their mantelpiece. In those days, all that struck me as remarkable was the fact that I got lamb chops when I once went for my tea. Lamb chops! It was like another world.

Our definition of ‘party’ may seem a bit pathetic – some of us going round to someone else’s house and sitting about – but these get-togethers were infinitely better than anything I associated with the word when Helen was in my life. Sandra would arrange for four or five of us to go over to a boy’s house while his parents were out. We’d listen to David Bowie’s
Spiders from Mars
album over and over, and all share a bottle of cheap Pomagne. Quite the high life when you’re 15! Once or twice a boy called Graham Forrest would be there, and he was really the only one I ever had any ‘action’ with at the time. Graham and I would snog and he’d ‘try it on’, but frankly I was so petrified of any intimate contact that I’d spurn him as soon as he started. At one point he got really annoyed with me, jumped up from the sofa, and informed the entire room that I was ‘tighter than a duck’s arse’. I could deal with it. I’d dealt with worse. If people wanted to see me as a virginal type who barely knew how to deal with boys, that was preferable to them knowing the truth or even uncovering my terror of them.

One day, Sandra wasn’t around. I didn’t bother to ask where she was as we all came and went without any promises to each other. But, as the days stretched into weeks, Sandra’s absence
became more and more marked. Eventually, someone told me she had gone to live with her Auntie. Now, that was one of the great euphemisms of our day. ‘Going to live with your Auntie’ could mean only one thing – Sandra was pregnant.