Chapter 16
Oakley
My heart was beating as hard and fast as the last time I was standing here. I could feel myself losing control, and all the breathing exercises I’d learnt went out the window.
Breathe in.
Breathe out.
Don’t look at him, I told myself.
I kept my head straight and refused to turn to where he was, not yet ready. It was okay, I would get there.
Inhaling another long breath, I straightened my back.
Cole and my family were back in the public gallery, but I didn’t look at them, either. I was hyper-focused on keeping myself grounded.
The room smelt like antibacterial cleaner, and sun poured through the high windows. It was packed again, every seat taken, but most of them were against my father. They didn’t want to see me fail, they wanted to watch him go down.
I had nothing to worry about.
Strangely, I felt more afraid of him now than I had as a little girl. It took me by surprise because I was so ready to hold him accountable.
Back then, I’d stupidly still held onto some hope that he would change—that he would be a proper dad again. That hope was lost the day he had taken me back to Frank, four years ago.
Now, I saw him for what he was: evil.
No matter how afraid I was, I would not give up. No matter how hard things got, I would stand up and tell everyone what he had done.
He had to pay for what he’d done to me, my whole family, and those other girls.
Linda stood up and walked towards me. Her hair was tied up in a neat bun and she wore a cream suit. She stopped a metre away and smiled. “Could you please state your full name?”
I swallowed my nerves. “Oakley Ruby Farrell.”
“And how old are you?”
“Twenty.”
I was asked a few more straightforward, everyday questions.
What was my date of birth? Where did I live? Who did I live with? Where did I go to school?
It was easing me in. I drew strength from every confident answer I gave, speaking clearly.
But then things turned more serious, and I had to ground myself again. Linda straightened her back and glanced at the judge and jury.
No turning back now.
Refocusing, I set my mind on the end goal, to speak my truth and show him that it wasn’t my life that was over.
Keep going. You’ve got this.
“Miss Farrell, do you understand why we are here?” Linda asked. Her voice projected authority and confidence. The way she looked and moved was almost as if we had already won.
My heart constricted. “Yes,” I replied.
I wanted to elaborate and tell her, tell them all, exactly why we were here, but I couldn’t. I had to keep it simple, not go into detail, and use one-worded answers whenever possible. She would get all of the information she needed the right way.
Don’t get overemotional.
“Did you grow up here?”
“Yes.”
“Where did you live when you were here?”
“Eighteen Turner Road.”
“Who did you live with at that address?”
“My mum, dad, and brother.”
“And how long did you live there?”
“Sixteen years,” I said.
My parents had moved there when Mum was four months pregnant with me. It was the only house I had ever lived in before we’d moved to Australia.
“You just mentioned your father. Do you see him in the courtroom today? Can you point and verbally acknowledge that he is in the courtroom, so our stenographer can enter your response into the court records?”
I took a deep breath and pointed to him. “Yes. He’s there.”
I was careful not to look directly into his eyes, though. I could feel him watching me, burning a hole in the side of my head, trying to put me off, to intimidate me into… what? Another panic attack?
To make me appear like I was crazy.
My back straightened. That wasn’t going to happen.
Linda half-smiled and moved on. “Now, Miss Farrell, we are obviously here today because your father, Mr Farrell, sold you and other children to Mr Frank Glosser for the purpose of sex—”
“Objection,” my father’s defence lawyer, John Bee, cut in. He stood up, towering above everyone else and faced the judge. “Leading.”
The judge, a short, plump woman, leant forward a fraction. “Sustained.”
Linda was told not to lead the jury to a conclusion when the charges were alleged.
Alleged.
It made it sound like I was lying. Did the judge and jury think I was lying?
I couldn’t think like that. By the end of my testimony, they were going to know I wasn’t.
It didn’t seem to faze Linda at all. She turned back to me and continued. She read out a list of the charges and asked if I understood them.
The charges were administering a substance with intent to commit sexual offences; trafficking within the UK for sexual exploitation; controlling a child prostitute or a child involved in pornography; causing or inciting child prostitution or pornography; production of indecent photographs of children; possession of indecent photographs of children; abuse of position of trust, causing or inciting a child to engage in sexual activity; and sexual assault on a child.
The last one, in particular, turned my stomach, and I almost gagged. It was something I already knew. One of his victims had already given evidence, but I wanted to throw up every time I heard it.
I hated him.
My eyes drifted to the jury and then back to Linda. I didn’t look for long, not wanting them to feel like I was trying to manipulate them.
Twelve men and women. They held so much power.
Swallowing the urge to sob, I focused on Linda. “Yes. I understand the charges.”
“Miss Farrell,” Linda started again, smiling encouragingly.
I wished she would just call me by my first name. Farrell was my dad. Why hadn’t I thought to change it? To take Mum’s maiden name.
“On or around the twentieth of September 2019, did you make contact with the Clearview Police Department?”
“Yes.”
“What was your reason for contacting them?”
“To report my father for offering me to his friend—”
“Objection,” John roared. “The witness is being led.”
“Overruled,” the judge responded. “Miss Farrell, you may answer the question.”
I wanted to stick my finger up at John as he shrank back to his seat.
“I reported my father for allowing his friend to sexually abuse me.”
“Miss Farrell, can you recall the first time this happened?”
I could never forget. “Yes, it was when I was five.”
“How do remember that you were five, since that was so long ago?”
“Because it was shortly after my teddy-bear picnic party, which was for my fifth birthday.”
The side of Linda’s mouth tugged so quickly that I almost missed it.
Keep going.
Always make sure you link the time with an event, so the jury knows you’re sure of your dates.
That’s what she’d told me.
“And when did this stop?”
“After I turned thirteen.”
“To the best of your memory, can you tell us exactly what happened, from the beginning?”
Ice slid up my spine. “Yes.” I cleared my throat.
“At first, Frank would just join me and Dad when we went camping.” I took another deep breath as blood pumped in my ears.
“But, after a couple of times of joining us on trips, Frank started to get me to sit on his lap while he read to me… then he touched me over my clothes.”
“Can you tell us where?”
I don’t want to.
Tell them.
Just do it.
My eyes filled with tears, and I blinked until it they went away. “My chest to begin with.”
I went somewhere else, my body feeling as if it was floating, protecting me, as I went into more detail, explaining everything he did to me. How it gradually progressed, and how sick and scared and broken I’d felt.
I told them how I hadn’t really understood what he was doing at the time, but that it’d felt wrong, and I hadn’t liked it.
I told them how my dad had made it sound normal—like something that happened to everyone.
I told them that, even today, I could still taste the amber drink Dad had given me that made me feel sleepy.
Juice, he’d said, but I knew it wasn’t apple… and it’d burned my throat.
I explained that, when I’d told Dad I didn’t like what Frank was doing, he’d shouted at me for questioning him and slapped me. I had been scared and thought that I’d let him down. I’d thought he must be really disappointed and must have hated me for him to have hit me.
I also told them that, when I’d attempted to tell my mum, Dad had arrived just in time to stop me from actually saying anything.
When we had been alone in my room, he’d threatened me with some hideous things.
He’d told me, if Mum found out, it would kill her, and at five years old, I had taken those words literally.
As I had gotten a little older, he’d said no one would believe me, and Jasper and I would be taken away if I dared to make any allegations.
I told them how every time Frank had abused me, my dad was there, in the caravan or tent, sometimes watching, sometimes taking pictures.
Lastly, I told them that, when I was ten, Dad had stood by and let Frank rape me for the first time, and that when I’d looked to him for help, but he’d just stared on with a blank expression and dead eyes that I still didn’t understand now.
I didn’t have the courage to look up at the public gallery as I repeated everything I had endured. Not that I would have seen much as my vision had become blurred again.
My heart was heavy, stomach wound so tight I might actually vomit. But I’d done it. I’d opened up about the worst time in my life and bled live in front of an audience.
That was my story, my truth, and now everyone knew.
I raised my eyes to Linda, standing tall and unafraid.
I was so thankful that I’d told Mum in private everything that had happened, but Cole and Jasper hadn’t known all of the details. Nor did the rest of my family or Cole’s.
Going through it all again felt like being cut open, but I also felt about a stone lighter, my shoulders losing the ache that’d been there for years.
I was emotionally drained and exhausted but proud. I’d not managed to stop every tear, but I’d dabbed them away as quickly as they’d fallen.
Saying those words aloud meant that I’d finally heard them properly for the first time, too.