All My Fault: The True Story of a Sadistic Father and a Little Girl Left Destroyed (18 page)

*

The following day, my best friend Mary flew over from England and she took me out for a few drinks. It was lovely having her there. Mary is the kind of friend who never judges or criticises you. Just because she may not necessarily understand something, doesn’t mean she has to try and take over the situation and come up with a solution. She takes me as I am, warts and all. We balance each other out—she’s the practical one and I’m the emotional one. Having her there the weekend after the hearing was brilliant. By the time she left, I felt calmer and more prepared for the next two weeks of clock-watching.

As the two weeks crept slowly by, I began to think about what outfit to wear to the sentencing. I only had two suits to my name; I’d already worn the cream one but everyone seemed dead set against me wearing the red one. I still couldn’t understand why but I was in no frame of mind to be asking questions or making decisions that week. So I went and bought myself a nice black skirt and jacket.

The day before the sentencing, I had the dogs in the room with me as I was getting my outfit together. When I turned around, I saw one of the dogs making for the doorway with a familiar-looking black object clenched between his teeth. It was one of my shoes. I ran after him but by the time I’d wrestled the shoe back he had it half-chewed to bits. I was devastated. I spent the next hour ringing around trying to find someone with a size-three foot who could give me a loan. It all seemed so important at the time. Like what I wore could really change the judge’s mind. But it was easier to focus on small stuff like this, than let my mind wander on to the bigger stuff.

*

On the day of the sentencing, we all gathered in the courtroom early. I had Mary on one side of me holding my hand and another good friend on the other side. We’d already spent the last two weeks waiting.

I really didn’t know what to expect. Judge Delahunt explained that changes in legislation during the period in which Da had abused me and the others meant the maximum penalty available to her in some of the cases was two years’ imprisonment, while the sentence available in the later offences was ten years. She said it was important that we understood this so we didn’t think she was minimising the impact of the abuse.

Then she began to deliver the sentence. It was a surreal moment. She said she took into account the multiplicity of the charges, the number and young ages of the victims, and the fact that his actions represented a breach of trust and that he abused some of his victims while other people were present.

Then she began listing all the different charges and for each one she read out a jail sentence. They were only sample charges but they added up to 32 years in total. At the end of all this, the judge announced, ‘Bernard Delaney is to be given a sentence of five years, of which four are to be served in custody and one year suspended. He is also to continue treatment.’

So what had happened to the other 27 years? How did 32 suddenly become 5? My head was spinning.

Then I thought, Christ, Da is going to prison. It was so hard to take in. He was a professional man, with designer suits and all. After all this time you would think I would be prepared. But I never wanted to visualise this day, as it hurt too much. It was definitely the outcome I knew I wanted—justice, acknowledgement.

I would have been devastated if he had gotten off, or received a suspended sentence, so I was pleased with the custodial sentence. To me, it meant the justice system takes it seriously when a man hurts and sexually abuses a child. He was now on the sex offenders register; it was all confusing and my heart was racing. I left the courtroom as soon as it was over and ran towards the glass so I could stare out and shed some more tears without having to see Da leave. Plus it gave me a private window in my head to make sense of it.

I just stared out the window, trembling, as people poured through the court doors. All I wanted was a drink. The reporters took a step back, giving me time to take in what had happened. I knew they wanted their story and I had chosen to waive my right to anonymity. There was no point in doing all this in my eyes without using it to give strength to others. The atmosphere was chaotic.

‘What happened, what did he get?’

Everyone was confused, especially me. This had been the end to a long emotionally pulled battle between my mind, heart, body and soul.

The only thing that really mattered though was that we had won. The law had sided with us and had recognised all the damage and wrong Da had done. So many cases likes ours never even make it past the DPP due to lack of evidence or proof. Either that or the poor victim drops the charges because they’re not mentally able for the trial.

I knew that we had accomplished something great by overcoming all the obstacles. The judge and the guards had trusted us and believed in us. And I felt that maybe just maybe I could start to do the same.

Afterwards, outside the courthouse, people were keen to fill me in on his reaction.

‘Your da looked shocked—in complete disbelief.’

‘You could see the fear in his eyes as they were handcuffing him.’

*

How did I feel about the outcome? I certainly wasn’t outraged. I knew I could never get complete justice for what had happened. I was completely split in two. The fight was over and he was locked up. I knew he was shocked and hurt. I felt sorry for him when the judge handed out the sentence. He looked amazed, stunned and was in a state of utter disbelief. I had to turn away. I didn’t want him to see me. I guess it’s normal to still have some sort of bond with a parent. But I couldn’t let that get in the way of what he did. Here I was feeling sorry for him and I was broken-hearted myself. It went against the grain to take your own da to court.

The strongest feeling overriding all the emotions mixed up inside me was I DID IT. We did it. Me—this little person who had only two weeks ago sat four feet away from Da, violently shaking while answering questions. I collapsed a few times and my legs went like jelly.

I was not a bit disappointed with the result. I feel these guys should be locked up forever, but that’s not going to happen. So instead he has to sit there night after night, week after week knowing he has four years to serve.

I on the other hand was aware he would be out in four years. I wanted it to be known what he was capable of, so that when he does get out, people would be aware of what he had done. Children should be protected. He was being named and shamed.

Da was taken away in a prison van. He was heading to jail for one of the worst crimes there is. Da had been locked up for being a paedophile. Surely, there was no more room for denial.

I’m sure Da was probably still wondering what all the fuss was about. How had it come to this? Sure, he hadn’t done very much had he? It had all happened so long ago. Everyone was making a big deal out of nothing and blowing it out of all proportion. I wondered if he was scared as he was led out of the courtroom. Was he worried about what lay ahead of him—of the hard men that he was going to be thrown in with? I couldn’t bear to think of him in his cell. I know others wanted him to suffer but that wasn’t how I felt. All I’d wanted all along was for Da to realise what he was doing and stop. I just wanted the abuse to stop somewhere.

So while Da was being led to his new home for the next four years, I headed straight for the pub. There were loads of us gathered there but I think me and the six other girls felt very much separate to everyone else—like we were members of a secret club. Friends and relatives were offering us all sorts of advice on how to move on with our lives. But a lot of the well-meant advice was not what I wanted or needed. I think every one of us just wanted to feel like we were back in control of our lives after lifetimes of doubt and worry.

It wasn’t long before the media were hot on my heels looking for their interviews. I was the only one of the seven victims to waive my right to anonymity so all the pressure to get our message out to the general public fell on my shoulders. With the others by my side, I went back over to the Four Courts to face the cameras. I couldn’t believe the number of photographers and reporters awaiting me. But, surprisingly, I didn’t feel scared. Something was driving me on; somewhere deep inside me there was a voice screaming for release.

Standing before all the media, I read the statement that had been in my head for years. I started off by thanking the people who had helped put my da behind bars; the six other girls, as well as the dedication of Detective Cooney. I said what it meant to us.

This is by no means closure for any of us or for the other poor sufferers this man has preyed on. He took a sense of innocence and self-worth away from all of us and left us with a pain in our hearts that will never be healed. The issues we carried yesterday, we still have to deal with tomorrow and the next day. On a daily basis, our families feel the hurt and the knock-on effect of what he has done.

Putting my father, Bernard Delaney, in prison was not an act of revenge as it doesn’t really make a difference to us seven women whether or not he is locked up; he has already done his utmost damage to us. But it will make a difference to you the public, to your children, your nieces and nephews, brothers, sisters and grandchildren. We have managed to take one paedophile off the streets in an effort to save future innocent little spirits.

I went on to say what was most important to me about this case.

I would like to appeal to the general public to do the same. If you know of a paedophile, please stand up and pass the shame on to them. It isn’t your shame to suffer with. Give the abused—whether they are still young or have reached adulthood—the support and backing they will need to expose these violators. It is a horrific crime. 1 am doing my best to protect your children, please do the same for mine. This crime is all too often swept under the carpet in this country for various reasons but at the end of the day the safety and well-being of our children is all that matters. It shouldn’t matter if in-laws, neighbours or anyone else is afraid of the effect coming clean may have on them. All you need is one person who is on your side and willing to help you.

Somebody had to be prepared to put themselves on the line for these innocent and defenceless kids. I am sorry that it took so long to get our case to court. It took years and years and during that time we were not allowed to speak publicly about our abuser or we would never have got him off the streets today. I have chosen to go public in the hope that I might be able to give hope and strength to others. But our legal system allows you to remain anonymous if you so wish.

As a mother, I would not have been able to call myself a good person knowing there was a paedophile living in Dublin with access to your children. I would hope others feel the same and that they would be willing to protect my children if the time came. These violations are not one-off crimes, they are compulsions that will make the abuser offend again and again until somebody stops them.

This case was never about causing anarchy as this is of no benefit to the sufferers in the long run. It was about giving broken children or adults everywhere acknowledgement and vindication and, above all, giving them a second chance in life. My aim is to educate children on what abuse is; how it starts, how manipulators can groom you over a period of time and how the person closest to you can often be the one you should most fear. It’s not just the infamous stranger in the car with sweets that children should stay clear of. Most abusers are known and loved by their victims. That is why it is so difficult to speak up.

Seven of us came forward in this case but we are representing many others whom we know have been affected by this man. We hope that this outcome will not only help us to put the past behind us but that it might also safeguard the future of our precious little children.

*

Back at the pub, the drink continued to flow. But my emotions were running so high that I needed something more; something to keep the dark thoughts away. So I secretly got some cocaine and sniffed it for what I swore would be the last time. I didn’t really consider coke a problem—I was more addicted to the anxiety tablets and the sleeping pills. But that night, even though we had gotten the verdict we wanted, I didn’t feel happy and I needed something to stop the downward spiral. I couldn’t stop thinking about Da. At one point in the evening I turned around to one of my friends and said, ‘Jesus, my da is spending his first night in the cell, it’s unbearable to think about it.’

‘Don’t think about it,’ my friend advised. ‘Just try to go back and get some sleep.’

Myself and Mary had booked into a bed and breakfast in Malahide on the outskirts of Dublin for the next two nights. I was in no state to drive all the way home and I needed to take a little time out before returning to the real world.

I went back to the B&B and took my sleeping pills and tranquillisers. The couple who owned the B&B couldn’t have been nicer to me. They treated me like a princess. I had a lovely long lie-in, a killer breakfast and one of the staff even went to the shop and brought back that day’s papers for me. I couldn’t believe it when I saw my face sprawled across nearly every front page.

Some of the papers published a nice write-up and had gotten in all of the main points of my statement, but I was so disappointed to see that others reduced it to a mere tabloid headline. Printed above a picture of me in one tabloid was the headline ‘My Sex Beast Dad’ in huge bold print. They had basically printed the opposite to my message. I wanted the public to understand that it’s not ‘beasts’ who abuse children but statistically it is more often loved ones who abuse. They are not strange-looking creatures that have horns and jump out from behind trees. They do not look like beasts, which means that it’s much harder for a child to identify these people as dangerous.

Tyrone and Robin were staying with a friend of mine and I had warned her not to bring them into any newsagents for sweets as my face was everywhere—rows and rows of me pictured from different angles.