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Apparently, he’s been touching their Sophie – putting his hand up her skirt and getting her to put her hand down his trousers. He’s been explaining to her in detail what men and women do together in bed. Sophie has been in tears for weeks and finally, tonight, she told them what had been happening.
I managed to assuage Mr and Mrs Clarke by telling them Anthony will be home at the weekend, and he’ll sort it out. They’ve told me Dominic isn’t allowed contact with Sophie again, and I agreed with them.
When Anthony called just before I went to bed, I told him what had happened. He didn’t seem shocked or upset but said he would have a word on Saturday, and I wasn’t to worry about anything.
I always feel better after talking to Anthony. He has a way of calming me down. I sometimes feel guilty about having to make these stories up, but it’s the only way I can get Anthony to notice me, to be the man and tell me what I should do. On the bright side, when Anthony does come home at the weekend, he’ll spend some time with his son, chatting, maybe go for a kick-about in the park. It could help them bond. It’s a win–win situation.
‘Bloody hell.’ I looked up from the diary. Carole had made up a story about her son sexually interfering with a young girl, just so Anthony would spend some time with him. She’d started the entry as if it had really happened, like she was practising convincing herself it was true. I frowned as I shovelled another handful of Maltesers into my mouth and turned the page.
Monday, 21 February 1994
I’ve been given tablets to help me sleep. I told the doctor I spend all night alone, while Anthony’s at work, sitting up in bed, fearing to fall asleep because I’m scared of Dominic. It’s not natural, is it, to be scared of your own child? I can hear him in his room now, just pacing up and down.
Anthony left this morning. He’s driving to Wales then on to Plymouth. He won’t be home until the weekend. I’ve got a whole week on my own with that devil-child.
What’s wrong with him? I’ve been the best mother I know how to be. I’ve given him everything he’s wished for and never shouted at him or chastised him, yet he repays my kindness with his acts of evil.
I flicked back through the entries to see if I’d missed any examples of Dominic’s so-called bad behaviour, but Carole hadn’t given any. She spoke about not sleeping, hardly eating, wishing Anthony was home and struggling to cope on her own, but she didn’t back up her woes with any evidence. Was she lying? There was nobody for me to ask who could give me an honest answer. Anthony hadn’t been there often so wouldn’t have seen what was going on, and if I asked Dominic about his childhood, could his replies be trusted? Their former neighbour, Sylvia, talked about his unruly behaviour, but tipping over dustbins was hardly the work of the devil.
Monday, 11 April 1994
There’s a new doctor at the surgery. He wouldn’t give me a repeat prescription as I’ve been taking the anti-depressants too long, and he said he was more interested in tackling the cause rather than dulling the pain with pills. He wants to see Dominic.
Thursday, 14 April 1994
We went to the doctor today. I had to sit in the waiting room while Dominic went into the consulting room to speak to Dr Glebe on his own. One of the receptionists went in to act as an appropriate adult. They were chatting for over twenty minutes. All sorts were going through my mind while he was in there. Eventually, the receptionist brought him out, and I went in. According to Dr Glebe, Dominic told him about feeling isolated and lonely. Children won’t go near him at school because they’ve heard about his mood swings and are worried he’ll attack them. He has to sit on his own in classes, and he feels tired and drained when he gets home so goes straight to his room. He feels sad all the time as he doesn’t have any friends. My stories seem to have worked.
Dr Glebe said there is a new drug on the market called Fenadine that will help to stabilise Dominic’s moods and, hopefully, improve his behaviour so he is more acceptable and approachable among his peers. I’m to be slowly weaned off my medication while Dominic will begin his on a small dose of only 10mg per day.
I’ve always known my son was ill with psychological problems. I’ve been telling people for years his behaviour is dark and frightening. Now I’m finally being believed. It’s a huge relief.
I had to stop reading as I couldn’t see the words anymore. Tears were blurring my vision. Carole had lied to anyone who would listen, saying that Dominic was disturbed, and people had accepted what she said as the truth. She’d lied to her husband, to doctors, and it had led to Dominic being given a drug that changed his mood and led him to murder Stephanie Griffiths. And the reason Carole had killed herself must have been because she knew her lies had led to the poor girl’s murder, and she was unable to live with herself.
Tuesday, 3 May 1994
I don’t think Dominic’s tablets are working. There’s no improvement. I’m going to make an appointment with Dr Glebe tomorrow to see if he can increase the dosage.
I flicked through the pages and landed on one at random.
Wednesday, 18 September 1996
I mentioned to Dominic about leaving his dirty trainers lying around the house, how he should put them in the cupboard under the stairs instead of on the carpet in the hallway. I’ve told him time and time again. He looked at me with that cold death stare of his, and he struck me. He swiped me so hard across the face I almost fell over. I’m so scared. I wish Anthony was here.
Tuesday, 24 November 1998
The moment Dominic left the house, I secured the chain on the door, so he wouldn’t be able to sneak back in, and I went upstairs to look around his room. He’s put a padlock on the door, but we have a similar one on the shed and the same key fitted, which was a surprise. I can’t remember the last time I was in Dominic’s room, well over a year, and I was shocked by how much it had changed. The walls were still covered in Newcastle United posters, but it was a complete mess. His desk and bookshelves were full of comics and magazines and junk. Every surface was covered in something. There was dust in the air, and it stuck to the back of my throat. I looked in all his drawers; I wanted to find out as much as I could about what he’s getting up to. He seems to have thrown nothing away for years – empty chocolate wrappers, full packets of crisps, old socks, outdated football programmes, boxes and boxes of tablets, a shoe box with the pair of trainers I bought him for Christmas last year that still had their tags on. I hate to say this about my own flesh and blood, but Dominic is seriously abnormal. I’m not sure if I should tell Anthony tonight when he phones. That’s if he does phone. He didn’t ring at all last night.
There were three polaroid photos that accompanied this entry, all depicting Dominic’s mess of a bedroom. I leaned in close to get a good look at the images. All I could see was what appeared to be the bedroom of a normal teenage boy.
‘Dominic, you poor, poor man,’ I said, as I wiped away the tears.
It really was Carole who should have been on medication. She had been forcing an illness onto her son. What was it called… Munchausen by Proxy?
I closed the diary and tossed it onto the floor. I couldn’t read any more. I was so angry. Carole had been mentally ill and nobody could see that. Her actions had led her son to be so heavily medicated that it messed with his brain patterns and led to the attempted rape of Joby Turnbull and the murder of Stephanie White.
I snuggled down under the duvet and wrapped it around myself to form a protective cocoon. I couldn’t help but feel sorry for my father. My father the killer; my father the victim.
Chapter Twenty-Two
