JUST FORGET IT...

Maureen Thompson, 54, from Notting ham, found the courage to speak out, but it only made things worse…

- LUCY BRYANT

Watching my mum as she chatted away, the TV noise blaring, all I could really hear were my own thoughts.

I desperately wanted to tell her the truth.

But, every time I opened my mouth to speak, I couldn’t find the words to explain.

Those crucial words that I didn’t dare say; ‘I’m being abused.’

I was just 10, and it had been going for months.

The man was close with my mum, and my family trusted him.

Visiting our home, he’d sneak upstairs and into my room.

Climbing into my single bed, with its pretty flowery bedding, his hands snaked across my young body.

I froze, terrified.

He pushed his hands down my pyjama bottoms.

I could feel it was wrong, but I didn’t dare scream.

He started abusing me at every opportunity that he could.

Then, there were nights when he’d lay on top of me, and I could barely breathe. All I could smell was the sickening stench wafting from his armpits as he raped me.

It was absolutely terrifying, I felt physically sick.

‘If you tell anyone, they’ll hate you,’ he spat at me after his assaults.

He told me that Mum would cry, that I’d be sent far away to another family I didn’t know.

It went on and on.

For six long years.

When I moved into my own place at the age of 16, I thought I’d escaped him.

But, even then, he’d still find excuses to visit me.

‘Leave me alone,’ I hissed at him.

But he never listened.

And still, I never said a word to Mum or my brothers Jerry and Des.

Not even when I had kids of my own.

I tried to bury the secret deep inside, but it still haunted me.