Array Girl A - Girl A - My Story

So I thought about that. And I realised that while I was being ravaged by the men, and flipped this way and that way – treated as though I might have been one of those naked, plastic models they have in department-store windows – Jake had come on to me and he had used me too.

And, finally, I tried desperately hard to imagine that I was leading a normal life and could actually choose someone to be my partner – someone to love and to look after me; someone to value and respect me.

All of that was beyond me for ever, I thought. I could feel Jane studying me as I scribbled my list of ‘Perfect Partner’ words for her, but she had only an inkling of why I was wiping away tears.

I’d written:

Caring

Nice body

Honest

Fit

Nice

Money

Drinks

Car

Funny

Trustworthy

Good looking

Kind

Job

Romantic

‘Well done, Hannah,’ she said. ‘It looks a lovely list.’

A week later, on 28 November, Jane was back in school, and this time she asked me the question I’d been pushing to the back of my mind – it filled me with dread and fear.

Would I talk to the police again? she asked. Would I tell them what the gang had been doing to me since the days with Daddy?

‘No way,’ I said. ‘I only told you because I’m not involved any more. And it’s confidential.’

Inside, I was shuddering, and wondering how the hell she could even ask such a question – even though I was bluffing, and was actually still caught up by the gang.

I’d reported it all to the police nearly four months earlier, and what had happened? Nothing. Who was Jane to be suggesting that I talk to them again now?

‘No,’ I said again.

Jane realised she’d crossed a line with me that I wasn’t about to go over, and held up her hands as if to say, ‘I surrender.’ Then, while I sat there, sullen, eyes down, staring into my lap, she changed the subject.

She talked for what seemed like ages, and, slowly, as I came round from being angry with her, I gradually began to take in what she was saying.

She was talking about exploitation, sexual exploitation, of girls like me who some men saw as easy meat. They were young and they were vulnerable, and they were afraid to come forward and tell people who could help them.

‘It’s happening to lots of girls, Hannah,’ she said softly.

I looked up, but only for a second.

She carried on. ‘I’ve seen them over the years, talked to them, and all of us at Crisis have tried to help them. And, Hannah…’ She paused. ‘Hannah, I know it’s still happening to you, and that you don’t want it to be. It’s fine that you don’t want to speak to the police again for now, but maybe one day you will. And if that happens, then I’ll help you with that. Do you understand?’

I understood, but it was still difficult for me to deal with. We sat there in silence for a couple of minutes, me undecided, one moment raising my head to speak, the next lowering it again, too frightened, too ashamed.

Eventually, though, I found my tongue. ‘I’m still not going to the police,’ I whispered, ‘but I’ll tell you.’

So for the next few minutes I gave her some of the pieces of the awful, broken jigsaw that Emma had made of my life.

I told her about the flats and houses I’d been to, the ones in Rochdale, Bradford, Leeds and Oldham. ‘The men don’t usually live in these places,’ I said. ‘They just meet there. Sometimes they’re just empty.’ And then: ‘Did you know I’ve been raped?’

‘I’m not sure…’ she said, her voice trailing off to a silence.

So I told her, told her about that first time with Daddy, and the room above the Balti House, and the clock, the children’s clock, that kept on ticking, and how he’d forced me even after I’d said no. I told her how I’d been shouting for Emma, whose only response had been to tell me to shut up.

I told her how Daddy had made me feel sick, and how after that first rape it had all got into sort of a pattern that always had Emma at the heart of it.

I told her about the time I’d gone with Emma and Roxanne to a flat in Rochdale where I’d been slapped for refusing to have sex with one of the men. And the time a taxi driver I’d never met pulled off the road onto a dirt track. Emma had told me to give him oral sex and I’d refused. Why couldn’t she do it? ‘Because we can’t get home if you don’t – and he wants you to do it.’ And, shamed and humiliated, I told her I’d done what Emma had told me to do and the driver had dropped us off in Heywood.

I told Jane what a bully Emma was, and how scared of her I was. I told her how sorry I felt for Roxanne and Paige because they didn’t stand up to her. As if I ever did.

Jane seemed to be on the verge of tears herself when I told her about the time Emma had told Roxanne to sleep with two men, but had handed over her mobile so she would be safe – as if a girl of thirteen could be safe with two paedophiles four times her age. That night, Emma had tried to ring Roxanne to check on her but the phone had been switched off. When we’d finally found her, Emma had gone mad with the kid because she’d only got £5 for sleeping with each of the men, twice. Emma had screamed at her and hit her.

I told Jane about Tariq, and that even though Emma’s mum knew what he was up to, she’d let him drive her around in his taxi. I also told her how Emma had gleefully confessed to blackmailing another man by telling him she was pregnant, even though that couldn’t have been true because she’d had the hormone implant.

In the middle of that heart-to-heart, Jane got to know how the people at Harry’s place knew exactly what Emma was doing, and didn’t lift a finger when she’d take little kids with her when she went to meet the men in the Asian gang. She’d say one of them was her kid. Around this time, in fact, Emma was mad with Crisis Intervention for telling Childcare Services that she sometimes took a little niece of hers with her when she was out ‘partying’. It wasn’t Crisis Intervention, as it turned out, but that’s what she thought.

I was also really worried for Paige, I said, because she looked so young and I knew she was still involved with Emma. In the same way she’d softened me up, she was taking Paige out. Though in her case, because at that time she was still only thirteen and a virgin, Emma just made her give the men blow jobs.

She was also making her stay at Harry’s new house – one we’d all moved into a couple of weeks earlier. Later, I learnt that Paige’s sister was worried for her, but she hadn’t got the new address and so couldn’t rescue her.

Both school and social services knew that Paige was massively at risk. Miss Crabtree and a social worker called Anne had even had a meeting about her, because there was talk of her and other girls meeting Eagle taxi drivers at the Lidl car park in Heywood.

I looked Jane in the eye when I told her how firmly in Emma’s grip she was. ‘Paige won’t say no to her,’ I said.

And I should know, of course.

Eventually, the school bell rang and it was time for me to head away. Jane looked as though she wanted to carry on talking, but for me it was a welcome break.

As I left the room, I caught sight of Paige walking away up the corridor, quicker than she would normally. Suddenly, I wondered whether she’d been listening at the door and had overheard our conversation: heard me talking to Jane like I was a grass.

I decided I couldn’t face any more school that day, and ran out through the gates, terrified my cover was blown. I was thinking, Now Emma will know I’ve been talking to Jane. Paige will tell her .