Читать книгу Hailey's Story - She Was an Eleven-Year-Old Child. He Was Soham Murderer Ian Huntley. This is the Story of How She Survived - Hailey Giblin - Страница 10

WHEN I’D COME TO TERMS WITH THE LOSS OF MY GRANDDAD, MY SCHOOL LIFE WAS CERTAINLY OK. And I was starting to excel in sports: I was good at rounders and cross-country running… well, it wasn’t like cross-country when I was in primary school, it was more like a fun run around the field. As I got older I grew to love netball, which was my main sport.

What really inspired me to play my best was the other girls’ cattiness and negativity. They used to say I was no good at netball, but if I got angry or if someone said, ‘You can’t do this, you can’t play,’ then I would be able to play and that was enough to shut my critics up. I’ll show you, I used to think. I’m just under five feet nine, and when I was younger I used my height to full advantage. The teacher, Mrs Gooseman, used to say that I was a great netball player and I used to feel proud afterwards, thinking, Yes, I can play, never mind everybody saying I can’t.

I’d started playing netball when I was about nine and I carried on until I was about fourteen. Around that time I stopped this and my other sports, too, though I still quite enjoy jogging and the odd hour in the gym. At that age I did all the usual girlie things with my friends. In particular I admired Geri Halliwell, though nobody else in my circle of friends really had Geri down as their favourite Spice Girl. They were all, ‘Well, I like Posh Spice’ and ‘I like her, but we don’t like that one,’ meaning Geri.

To this sort of comment, I used to say, ‘Well, I really like her, she is individual, she is her own sort of person. If she wants to dress in a Union Jack dress, then fine. She’s cool; she’s one of the Spice Girls.’ And I would always confidently predict, ‘When that band split up she will be the only one standing, because she has got something special about her.’

‘No, no. She’s rubbish,’ they would say scornfully, and I used to think, with contempt, Well, people say that about netball and me, but at the end of the day, when you have scored three goals, that’s what counts.

When the girls belittled Geri, I was able to equate my position to hers. I felt I was defending myself when I was defending Geri. I felt my alter ego was Geri Halliwell and, by proxy, I was able to stand up for myself. In a way I felt obliged to defend Geri and I even sympathised with her – not that she would have batted an eyelid at the scorn these schoolgirls showed towards her. I often wondered what would happen if she were to pay a surprise visit to the school. I could just imagine the two-faced traitors licking up to her and gushing through false smiles and gritted teeth, ‘Oh, Geri, we buy all your records. We love you, Geri.’

And I wouldn’t let these same people get away with saying I was useless at netball. I did defend my ego, as that is what I am: a defender. I was able to stamp my authority on the game not just by winning but by scoring good points. By playing better and by proving to myself, rather than to others, that I was capable of achieving my own goals.

My ability to bounce back at this age was inspirational to me and spurred me on. I was young, vibrant and full of life. Just because someone would suggest that I wasn’t good at something wouldn’t put a damper on it. I wouldn’t think, You’ve kicked me, I am down. I would think, I am getting back up, I am going to respond to that with my actions; I am going to show you that I am able to overcome adversity.

This wasn’t just so that I could prove my resilience to others, not to prove them wrong or whatever, but to prove myself right, to prove that if I put my mind to something I could do it. It needn’t have just been about netball, although that is what I have drawn on as an example.

I believe it was my family, in various ways, that helped me challenge those who said I was no good. They have never pushed me forward with calls of ‘Come on, girl, we will support you in whatever you do.’ I believe it is as a consequence of this lack of support that I have overcome certain put-downs. I am my own person. If I want something I won’t rely on anybody to get it for me. I will go out there and work damn hard to get it myself so that people who may want to judge me can’t say, ‘She wouldn’t have that if it wasn’t for me.’ I want to be able to stand on my own merits.

I wasn’t born with a silver spoon in my mouth. Anything I get, earn or achieve is something that I have done myself. Whether that is as a direct result of mirroring my mum’s efforts in working all hours and seeing what she can achieve, and she has bounced back from some tough situations, I don’t know. But I do know that, when I reach 40, I don’t want to be just a wife and a mum.

This determination isn’t something that was instilled into me as a child. This is something that I just put into myself, thinking, I don’t want to just be an ordinary mum. What could have influenced this belief was that my granddad always said that when I walked into a room everybody would look at me. ‘Your eyes sparkle and everybody’s face lights up,’ he told me. ‘You’re special.’

I would like to think that I could influence people for the better. What my granddad told me, all the good things and all the praise, I feel that it did, in fact, work. Without that praise, without being patted on the back, ‘Good girl, you have done well,’ that effect on me may not have happened. I can say with certainty that my granddad’s influence came through to me and made me a stronger person, but not straight away. It was something that permeated me slowly, that took time to mature to what it is today.

Self-praise is no praise. I can thank Granddad for showing me that. I remember how I would create something at school, maybe something I never really held aloft as a work of art, but Granddad would give a knowing look and cast his discerning eye over it and say, ‘Oh, can I have that, please?’

That’s how he was able to lay the foundations within me for the road ahead. I would say, ‘Look at what I’ve done at school today, I have done this mosaic.’ Of course, when Granddad asked for it, I used to think, Why, is it that good that he wants this on his fridge? It has got to be good, that’s great. He would go on about the creative arts and making things.

Granddad had this pot – I think Mum has got it now – it was just a clay pot that I made. Everybody else was just making a normal bowl, but I made a square one, and it was really good. I would even be proud of it if I were to make it now. I cut out little leaves, made marks on them and put a row of them all the way around it. Then I painted it black, with the leaves in green. I was quite proud of that. Granddad ended up keeping it and I think when he died Mum put it in the cabinet.

Another time, when I was about 12, we were asked to look at something and be inspired by it. The art teacher just put a load of objects together – a clothes iron, some thick chain, a flower and other things – and said, ‘I want you to draw what you see. Draw an impression of what you believe it represents.’ He added, ‘Don’t just look at a picture, look deeper into the picture.’

My picture was massive, all bright colours, with the chain going right across the page. Mum’s friend Dawn opened a café in Freeman Street and the owner’s son did a similar painting and put it up in the café. Then she asked my mum if she could put my picture up, and she said no.

Mum had a nice frame and glass put on the picture. Then and there, the framer offered her £900 for it. Mum praised the work, cooing, ‘That’s what my daughter did in Year Eight.’ When she came home she gushed, ‘You know that painting, the man that I took it to said he would buy it for £900.’ At the time I was cock-a-hoop and squealed with delight at the prospect of being rich. ‘Oh, and are you going to sell it so that I can have some money?’ I asked.

‘No!’ said Mum.

To this day the cherished painting hangs in Mum’s house. I wasn’t particularly inspired by any Impressionist painter, and to this day I have never painted another thing like it – it was a one-off. I didn’t have an urge to go to art school or the like. I have got to be 110 per cent interested in something, because, if you are only 90 per cent interested, what’s the point?

My hidden artistic talent was never applied to anything more than normal paintings that were just stuck on the fridge. But that Impressionist picture is quite inspired, and you wouldn’t think I had created it. Whether it represented something in my life at that time, I don’t know. Perhaps I was trying to reveal the brighter side of me, because I felt quite dull then. Maybe it represented something in my experience that I was only able to interpret artistically.

You could call it an Expressionist piece, because it was able to express what I couldn’t put into words. In trying to find my thoughts from that period, I came up with: Everyone in this world has got friends and I am on my own, so I will paint this.

I used bright pink and yellow when everyone else was using black and dark green. As I look back, I think in that painting I brought out the way I was feeling then. My strong colours represented a lot of aspects missing in my life, and I was able to use art in a therapeutic way. It embodied everything that I felt I didn’t have at that time: vigour, energy, power.

At that period in my life, everything seemed so uninspiring. This is why I looked at myself for inspiration; it sounds narcissistic, but I wasn’t in love with myself. I felt that I was leading a humdrum, repetitive existence: school, home, homework, school. My escape from it all was to look at the Spice Girls as an example of what could be done to change your life. They were full of vigour and pep, particularly Geri Halliwell; she was the embodiment of all that I wanted to be. I felt I could have been her, so I defended her.

I liked Geri so much that, when we did a talent contest at Cloverfields Primary, I performed as her after getting together with some other Spice Girl wannabes. We had a month to rehearse as the group we wanted to be or to work at portraying a solo singing star. I enjoyed singing and I was doing Geri Halliwell’s bit of ‘Who Do You Think You Are’. So, in a way, I became my idol. I had my hair done and threw myself into the role when we performed on stage in front of the whole school.

A few years later, when I was about 13, I sang Mariah Carey’s ‘Hero’, a solo song. I put a great deal of preparation into that role. I prepared myself about six months beforehand and got my outfit sorted, and on the day, as I went up on stage, I drew a hesitant breath. Everybody saw this performance: parents, children and teachers. In preparation for this role, my friend put my hair up in a spiral and I got dressed up to the nines. I’d never set my heart on becoming a singer: it just flowed out of me and I followed.

And then I wanted to be a singer. In fact, bizarre as it may sound, I wanted to be a singing model. ‘How can you be a singing model?’ people used to say. I would reveal my deepest desire, answering, ‘Well, you stand there in front of the camera and have a few pictures done in the morning, nine till twelve, have some more pictures done and then, one till four, or something like that, you go and sing.’

From the age of seven I wanted to be a model. These svelte women parading the latest Paris fashions on the catwalk looked breathtaking. I guess that is every little girl’s dream: to aspire to become something great, to achieve something special in life.

I didn’t want to become subservient, I wanted to be an individual, because I saw all these women walking along the catwalk and I thought, I could do that, but I could do that better. I would really work hard to do that. So I wouldn’t say anybody inspired me. Although if I had to pick someone with attitude, it would be someone like Jordan. In spite of the setbacks she has had in her life, she still comes back fighting and she doesn’t hide from the public gaze. She is loud and outspoken, so, in a way, she could be a role model, but not because of her modelling; I didn’t look at her because of that. I like her attitude to life: she won’t be pushed about. Jordan sang in the Eurovision Song Contest and, although she had a song knocked back, she was my ideal role model as a singer too.

I remember watching America’s Next Top Model on TV, and the girl who won one of the shows was recruiting other girls: it was like a competition to become her protégée. But it wasn’t just about looks, but the way she was as a whole. That girl’s looks, Jordan’s attitude and Catherine Zeta Jones’s lifestyle add up to my ideal role model, the one I could truly aspire to be.

At the age of 11, I was caught between playing with my Barbie doll and experimenting with make-up, as most girls of that age do. I was the epitome of a beautiful little girl, with tresses of long, flowing hair, and I regularly wore party frocks on a Saturday.

From wanting to be a catwalk model, as I came into puberty I was changing my outlook on life. At times I would be happy being at home playing with my Barbie dolls and my teddy bears, and pushing my pram down the street.

That is how I was playing and doing my hair at 11. By 13, I was completely changed, with short hair, because of the things that had happened to me at the hands of Ian Huntley. But I don’t want to go into that yet.

For two or three years, we lived in the cramped flat above the butcher’s shop and then we moved to a three-bedroomed house, also in Humberston. I was living with my five brothers, my mother and my stepfather. One of the downstairs rooms had been converted into a fourth bedroom, and that was mine.

Life for me was one of protected innocence. On a Saturday Mum would say, ‘Put your dress on, put your little shoes on.’ With my flowing hair I was like a little Pear’s Soap girl. People think they can’t have a perfect child, but I was at that stage.

Around this time my dad went bankrupt and lost his butcher’s business because, he said, Tesco had opened up just down the road and the new supermarket took his customers.

Mum was still a care worker, moving about within the industry. Dad was working for Kimberley Clark, the toilet-roll manufacturers, and also became a special constable. At home Mum was still the pack leader.

I don’t recall having quality time as a family, trips out to the cinema or going out for a meal together. None of that close bonding family thing happened. I remember, though, when I was about 14, going to Ikea in Leeds with Mum, Dad and my two youngest brothers. And there was one family holiday, when I was about 12, when we went to Disneyland in Florida for two weeks. The two eldest boys stayed at home, so it was Mum, Dad, Hayden, Joshua, Hadleigh and me. It was fun, but I think they would all agree with me that Hayden monumentally ruined the holiday because he was just miserable throughout. He was just at that difficult age, two years older than me, and I don’t think Disneyland was really for him.

The problem was that Hayden smoked and he was suffering withdrawal symptoms. He was dragging his heels and had to be practically hauled on to the plane. I must admit, he was excited to an extent, but then he wanted some cigarettes even though he couldn’t smoke in front of my parents. I smoked as well. I don’t think Mum knew this, but I believe she knew Hayden did.

Over 18 months, I had saved up money by taking two paper rounds, cleaning my next-door neighbour’s car, tidying up and doing little jobs like that. I ended up with £500 for the holiday. Hayden had saved up roughly the same, but he had spent it all before we set off.

While we were in America, he kept demanding, ‘Go on, ask that lady for a fag.’

I would snap, ‘No, if you had saved your money, then you would have been able to go and buy some. No, I’m not going.’

Then he would sweet-talk me, ‘Just go and ask her, please.’

‘No, it’s bloody cheeky.’

‘No, no, no, it’s not. Just go and ask her.’

‘No. I’m not going to. If you wanted fags you should have saved up your money and bought some or brought some with you and stuck them in your bag.’

So Hayden was pretty miserable on that holiday, but I enjoyed it and took in the whole Disney tour. It was a fond memory. It wasn’t worthless or a wasted two weeks. It was better than a day trip to Ikea!

After that, the nearest I got to a close-knit family life was when I would sit in the front room with Mum and Dad and my two youngest brothers to eat my tea or dinner. But then the elder one would go to his bedroom to eat his and the younger one to his bedroom to do the same. It was a bit like the story of the three little piggies, each little pig with its own house to retreat to.