Читать книгу Who Are You?: With one click she found her perfect man. And he found his perfect victim. A true story of the ultimate deception. - Megan Henley - Страница 8

December 2008–September 2009

It’s said that when a butterfly flaps its wings it can start a chain of events leading to a hurricane somewhere else in the world. I’m not sure how true that is, or how anyone could even begin to try and prove it, but what I do know is that, sometimes, the smallest, most innocuous action can kick-start a life-changing sequence of events.

It did for me.

As night settled one winter’s night, the wood burner in my cottage was blazing. Maxie was sprawled in front of it, his paws twitching as he dreamed of chasing rabbits. Upstairs, Ruby, now four years old, was asleep in her Winnie the Pooh bedroom, her tiny school uniform folded and ready for the next day in Reception class. She’d been tossing and turning for hours that night and I was exhausted. I was living quite a lonely life, the cottage was isolated and I wanted a secure life for Ruby, so I was hesitant about having friends around all the time. Christopher visited sometimes, but I was also wary of bringing anyone into Ruby’s life who might not be there for ever. Being a single parent sometimes felt like fighting a losing battle. I loved my little girl dearly, but the demands were relentless and, tonight, just like every evening, I desperately needed to switch off. The difference was, tonight I thought I might actually manage thirty minutes or so to myself. I made a quick cup of coffee and switched my laptop on, planning to answer a few emails and catch up with friends. I was curled up in the armchair with my computer, half watching telly and half looking at other people’s posts on Facebook, when a friend request appeared on my screen.

I didn’t recognise the name at all and wasn’t in the habit of just accepting strangers, so I had a quick look at their profile.

Vic Morana.

The name showed that the link was music-based. I actually had a number of friends in common with Vic and very similar interests, such as festivals and bands. I still adored music and the life I led with Ruby meant that I had to forge links with people where I could, really – if it meant just chatting to them online, so be it, as I wasn’t exactly in a position where I could go out to gigs every night. Lucas and I had worked through our differences and were now good friends, and he was consistent about having Ruby every other weekend. I thought Vic might be someone I had met at Glastonbury or a gig – I had a terrible memory for names – so I accepted the request.

That was it.

That was the moment my life changed for ever.

With that one, quick, innocent click, I had let him in.

Looking back on it, it was as if I had opened my front door to a stranger, as if I had thrown away every precaution I’d ever put in place, as if I had freely given access to my whole world – all because of some naïve belief that it was ‘just’ a friend request on a social media site. The butterfly had flapped its wings and my life would never be the same again.

I had a closer look at his page to see if I could work out how I knew him. Vic was popular, with over 1,300 other Facebook contacts, which was many, many more than I had, but that wasn’t surprising as he did seem to be doing really well in his field. I was impressed by everything he had on his page but didn’t really expect to have any proper contact with him. I thought I would just see status updates from him every so often, maybe some links to gigs I would be interested in and new music coming out. Nothing happened that night. I chatted to friends, tidied the house a little, and went to bed, thinking that the most noteworthy thing to have occurred was Ruby’s sleeping.

Life continued as usual for a couple of weeks and I thought no more about my new ‘friend’ Vic, but after a while he sent me a message on chat one night, thanking me for accepting his request and saying that he hoped I could support the charity work he was involved in. It wasn’t a terribly personal message and it certainly didn’t set off any alarm bells. I looked into Vic’s page a bit further than I had originally. I learned that he was part of a collective of four DJs, who called themselves StreetBeats. They toured the world doing gigs, and then donated the money they made from their shows back into StreetBeats, which they had set up themselves. The aim was to help street and orphaned kids in Zimbabwe. The charity didn’t have any religious or political affiliation, it was just there to help kids who were either existing in shanty towns or who had nowhere to stay and lived rough. Their stories were awful – about 40 per cent lived below the poverty line, and one in ten children didn’t go to school. There was a huge problem with sexual exploitation of kids, and trafficking was a growing issue. There were so many other problems. I read that the police were often violent, even to children on the streets, that torture was used by some groups, that minority children faced even more discrimination and abuse. It seemed such a worthy cause. As I thought of Ruby, my heart went out to those other children who had none of the love or privileges she had. We might not be rich, but she would never face a life like that.

The DJs did session work, production, and all sorts of other music-based professional work with well-known singers and bands. It seemed like they really put their hearts into it and raised a great deal of money. Vic was obviously enthusiastic about it. There were no pictures of any of the DJs on the site, and Vic explained that they had a strict rule of no media coverage, saying that they were in the game to raise money for the charity and they weren’t interested in any of the ‘celebrity’ stuff. He was a funny guy and often made me laugh when we were talking online.

He called me ‘Miss Henley’ a lot and joked about everything and anything. Frequently, awards the collective had won were announced on their Facebook page – MTV awards and things like that – but I respected the way that he didn’t play the fame game. When Vic wasn’t on tour, he lived in a truck in South Wales. He told me he had Romany gypsy roots and had never lived in a house; it all sounded sublime – I would have loved a life of music and being on the road, but it wasn’t likely now that I had responsibilities. He was a bit evasive about some of his family history, but that was fair enough – I was almost a complete stranger to him after all.

Some things best left unsaid, he told me. Families can be funny things.

Vic got in touch a few times to tell me more of the work he was doing. One night, I casually mentioned – quite truthfully – that it was a great cause and asked him how he had decided to start it all up. It was as if I’d opened up a flood of memories for him. In previous messages Vic had been chatty and friendly, but it had all been fairly superficial, which was understandable given that we didn’t know each other; now, I seemed to have asked the question which went to the very heart of him.

I find this hard to talk about.

Don’t say anything – I’m sorry, I replied. Really, I didn’t mean to pry.

No, you’re not prying, he said. It’s just a very raw subject for me.

It turned out that his whole life and career were based on a heartbreaking accident. Vic’s little boy, Zack, had died, run over by a car on a travellers’ site when he was less than two years old. Zack’s mum was meant to be looking after him, but she was drunk or drugged at the time, according to Vic, and her negligence had cost the poor child his life.

I’ll never forgive myself, he said. She was in charge of him, but I should never have let that happen. I was too busy trying to give her a bit of responsibility and Zack paid the price. She had no interest in keeping him safe, she had no interest in anything apart from what came out of a bottle or went up her nose. I’ll regret to my dying day that I didn’t put my foot down and say she couldn’t have anything to do with my son.

The site had been on a farm, and the little boy had run out in front of a car – driven by the farmer’s wife – so quickly that there was no chance. The poor woman had been driving a 4x4 and hadn’t even seen the child. Vic was, naturally, devastated by this and had decided to set up the charity in Zack’s memory, to raise money for those street kids in Zimbabwe. He had already sent tens of thousands, keeping nothing for himself or the other members, just focusing on the less fortunate. He told me that StreetBeats had been set up in little Zack’s memory and that everyone in the collective just withdrew minimal living expenses, as they are so committed to helping these children.

I tried to reach out to Vic as we chatted online, but it was clear, even through such an impersonal medium, that he was hurting.

This is really painful, Megan – he was just a little boy. I try to block it out but there are times when I get a flash of his tiny body, crumpled and broken, and I can’t believe I could have let that happen.

To make matters worse, Vic’s relationship with Zack’s mum was not good, and he told me she had done everything she could to stand in the way of him being able to see the boy – sadly, Vic hadn’t even had much access to him in the months leading up to his death. I told him, It wasn’t your fault! I can tell how much you loved him and it wasn’t your choice that she didn’t give you access and that you couldn’t be there to protect him. It sounds like you were being a really good dad actually – you could have just kept Zack’s mum out of the picture entirely but you were trying to keep that link. I’m not with my little girl’s father but I do try and make sure he sees her. That’s important and it’s just heartbreaking that it didn’t work out for you.

Thanks for understanding xxx he replied.

There were a number of Facebook pages for the charity, including Vic’s personal page, as well as one called Hippy69, which seemed to be run by everyone involved in the higher echelons of StreetBeats. They had an agent and a pretty punishing schedule, and I knew that their Facebook page was constantly being updated with their location and details of forthcoming tours. They were incredibly popular in Europe and spent a lot of time there, so much that all of the members seemed to constantly be going from one place to another, doing the whole festival and rave circuit, always with their eye on the main reason for their work – to raise money for children living terrible lives in memory of one little boy who had died tragically. Even if Vic wasn’t online, someone else from StreetBeats usually was. They worked crazy hours, and I was amazed at their lifestyle – the energy must have kept them going almost twenty-four hours a day, and I felt a bit pathetic that I tended to be exhausted when I was up early with Ruby!

It was as if we crossed a line the night Vic told me about his little boy, and we started to chat much more online. He made me laugh and I needed that sort of easy friendship in my life. I was really touched by his generosity and the way in which he’d managed to make something so good from his own loss. To be honest, it was rare for me to meet people like him and I really admired his strength of character and philanthropy. What did I give him in return? Just a listening ear, really – I wasn’t part of his real life, so he could be completely open with me about how much he missed Zack and how much he blamed himself for leaving the child in the care of his unreliable mother. It was a tragedy that Vic really couldn’t blame himself for, but I was touched that he had such a strong moral core to even consider that it was all his fault; he was not to blame for the fact that Zack’s mother had made it so difficult for him to see his son. The horrific tragedy which followed was due to her choices but Vic didn’t see it that way – he blamed himself and was paying the ultimate price, empty and bereft without his son. It was so touching that he would try to make me smile in the middle of his own grief. Every so often, he would say ‘Enough about me,’ and move on to telling me some silly story. He made me laugh so much. He wasn’t flirty, just clever and funny, laid back and chatty. Vic always showed an interest in my life and was really supportive, telling me that being a good parent was the most important thing anyone could do.

He was often abroad with the charity, or in an airport waiting for a flight, which meant that someone else from the collective would check messages on the StreetBeats page and even on his own personal one. He’d be online at the strangest times as his itinerary was mad. Whenever I logged in, he’d be there. I was amazed at the awards they won and the plaudits they got; when he wasn’t at gigs or festivals Vic would be working on new mixes, always putting them up online. The gigs were always punted by other people who so enjoyed what he did, and it seemed as if they were in demand across the world. The DJs all trusted each other as they had been through a lot, and Vic seemed particularly close to one member of the group called Valerie. She would reply to me when Vic was unable to, and I started to see her as a friend too, usually chatting through the Hippy69 message option. One day, I got a message from her that made me think that I’d soon be meeting them all.

Hi Megan – just to let you know that we’re planning a surprise birthday party for Vic next month. He doesn’t have a clue, so PLEASE make sure you don’t say anything! I’m trying to get it all organised while he’s out of the country. It would be fantastic if you could make it – do you think there’s any chance? I’ve found the perfect place, a barn where we can all have a great time, lots of dancing and music ☺ I’ll send the date and time to you later – fingers crossed that you’ll be able to come. I know that he would love to meet you, we all would, so please please do try – and don’t mention a word of this to him!

It sounded fantastic! As soon as Valerie confirmed things, I messaged to say that I would try and get a babysitter and – hopefully – see them there. Over 300 people had accepted the invite and it would be a great party, just what I needed, a night of music and new friends.

I really hope you can, she went on. Vic has been talking about you so much; I know that he has really enjoyed chatting and says that you’ve been incredibly understanding about Zack. It was such an awful time for him. He still finds it hard, which is only natural, but he’s one of the good guys, he really is, and if we can keep the party secret it’ll be fantastic. I just want to see the smile on his face when you walk in! I can’t believe he’s opened up to you so much already.

How did she know he’s opened up so much? I asked.

Well, he talks about you a lot – and, anyway, we have no secrets, we all share the password for the sites and messages aren’t private. You’re part of the StreetBeats family now, my dear!

I was really looking forward to the party but there was no ulterior motive. I wasn’t attracted to Vic in any way, I hadn’t even seen a picture of him, and, although I’d split up with Christopher, I certainly wasn’t in the market for another relationship. I just saw Vic as a new friend who had been through a hard time. It was lovely of Valerie to invite me, but I knew that she was asking dozens of others too, lots of them Facebook contacts who only knew Vic through StreetBeats. I did manage to persuade my mum to take Ruby for the night – my parents had divorced by this point, but I tried to keep a good family network for my little girl. Not only did she see her grandparents, but I also made sure Lucas had time with her every other weekend, just as I’d told Vic.

I was all ready to go when, the day before the party, I got another message from Valerie. It was to everyone who had been invited and was to the point.

Sorry, everyone, but the party’s been cancelled. Vic’s niece has been in a terrible accident and we feel it would be inappropriate for the event to go ahead. We had to tell him it was planned, so he is aware of how much we all care for him. Family comes first though.

That same day, Vic’s profile picture changed to one of a cherubic-looking little girl, but there were no posts from him and he wasn’t online for days. I messaged Valerie to say that I was thinking of him and was really sorry to hear something bad had happened, but didn’t hear back. After a while, I thought I would check with Vic himself to see whether he was OK. I sent a quick message, not prying, not trying to find out any details … just a bit concerned.

Vic got back to me to say that he really appreciated that I got in touch. When he had found out about the planned party, he’d really been looking forward to meeting me.

Any chance of meeting up for coffee? he asked. I’m not really wanting to be around lots of people yet but I feel I can talk to you. Trust you.

I said yes, partly because I’d always rather help people out when I can but also partly because Vic lived far enough away from me that, if I didn’t want to have any more contact after meeting in real life, there was a decent distance. There was no chance that I would bump into him on the street; I could just gradually fade away online. I only wanted to offer a listening ear while he was having a difficult time; I just hoped that I could offer this kind man some friendly support. Because of the distance, we agreed to meet halfway, in Newbury.

I was already feeling terribly sorry for Vic, but I wasn’t entirely relishing meeting up as I wasn’t sure I could offer anything, but when I got there he seemed fine and it was very easy. He was clearly a good guy who had suffered a rough life. He started by telling me about how difficult work was – the management who controlled them as DJs were just pushing them into the most horrendous schedule. I knew that already as I’d seen how hard he worked by watching stuff online, but he then went on to tell me things I could never have imagined.

‘Life’s been hard,’ he said, and it was such an understatement. He told me so much about his abusive childhood and various losses, and I was really touched that he felt safe enough to reveal all of this. He was, after all, a superstar DJ and yet he was so alone; I also felt very privileged that someone like him trusted someone like me.

Vic’s story was a dramatic and complicated one. He touched again on the loss of Zack, but it transpired that there were troubles running through the whole Morana family. I listened for ages as he told me of the recent death of his niece, of his Romany background, and of the threats he kept getting as he tried to break out of the culture that kept reeling him back in. Vic was shaking as he told me his story, and said that he never imagined he would be able to tell one person so much in such a short time.

‘I’d just like a quiet life, but there’s not much chance with my family,’ he revealed. ‘I’ve got to go to Dina’s funeral next week.’

‘Funerals are never easy,’ I agreed.

‘No, no, that’s true, but this one …’ he began.

‘Well, she was so young,’ I said. It was all I knew really, that she was ten years old.

‘More than that … God!’ he exclaimed, putting his hands to his face and rubbing his eyes. ‘Megan – my family. I don’t know where to start.’

‘You don’t have to tell me anything,’ I assured him.

‘But I want to – I feel like I can talk to you. You see, I don’t really have anyone. Leah, Valerie, Clare – they’re all brilliant, brilliant DJs, brilliant people, but the management company has us over a barrel so I hardly ever see them. They’re a lifeline but they have their own careers and their own lives.’ He laughed bitterly. ‘You’re about the only real person I’ve spoken to in real life that I can trust for months.’

His story came pouring out.

‘Kat, my sister, is a bloody nightmare. Of course it’s heartbreaking that she’s lost her kid, no one knows how that feels more than I do, but … she was a shit mother. She’d go off for days on end, leaving Dina by herself. You’d think she would have changed by now, but she only cares for herself – now her daughter’s paid the price.’

It transpired that Kat owned a yard in Manchester and she rented out spaces in it to other gypsies. She’d leave for days on end, paying a couple of hundred quid to people she barely knew to look out for her child. They rarely did. Dina had got out of the yard, and had virtually run out in front of a car. He had been really close to Dina, as his sister was a terrible mother from the outset from what I could gather, and frequently left her daughter for long periods of time while she went off sorting out drug deals and other dodgy stuff. Kat was still heavily involved in the Romany culture they had been born into. She was really violent and very rich due to her drug dealing. Their father, Jay, sounded like a real nasty piece of work; from what I could tell he was some kind of gypsy king who kept lots of people in fear and at his beck and call. Vic’s mother and father lived in Spain and it sounded like Kat was determined to follow in their footsteps. Vic would often bring Dina to stay with him whenever he was back in England, and had been trying to negotiate with his sister for the child to come and live with him as she was so neglected by her mother. He told me that Dina regarded him as her father figure and he, in turn, desperately missed having a child of his own.

‘It just brings everything back that I went through with Zack,’ Vic said quietly. ‘I can’t believe another little one has been lost.’

It was awful – but what was really getting to Vic was that, by going to the funeral, he would be right back in the middle of the family he had tried to escape many years ago. Vic had been living as a New Age traveller for the past fifteen years, a break from how he was raised, but it was as if they keep reeling him back in. His parents had moved back to Spain when he was in his twenties and he was now forty-one. Kat had never tried to leave the gypsy community. In fact, it sounded as if she revelled in the drama and violence. She sounded like a bit of a thug herself, acting as her father’s minion and glorying in the punishments meted out to anyone who crossed them.

‘She’s completely unhinged,’ Vic told me. ‘Unpredictable, vengeful – I wonder how we can be related at all sometimes. Of course, I’d do anything to protect the people I love, but Kat jumps in so soon; it only takes a look her way for her to decide someone needs sorting. If anyone pisses her off, she’s after them. And she would decide you’d pissed her off as soon as look at you.’

She sounded awful; only a few years younger than Vic, but already embroiled in a life of drugs and violence. The way she had neglected Dina didn’t appear to have had any impact on her, and no one but Vic was blaming her. She seemed to be the golden girl of the family as she just followed their path, whereas Vic was the outsider, and he was hated for breaking free.

‘It’s such a relief to get this off my chest; I feel as if I’ve known you for ever,’ he told me. ‘It’s so odd – I just get this sense that we’ve got a connection; no one else seems to “get” me in this same way. I can’t believe we’ve only just met.’ I knew what he meant. I felt as if I’d made an immediate, true friend.

It was lovely that we had shared so much that day but I wasn’t sure that I’d ever see him in person again; maybe the odd FB message, but I was convinced it would fizzle out. He had struck me as a bit of a paradox – needy and tragic on one hand, but he was also this superstar DJ with his MTV awards and lauded public appearances. Two sides of one personality – both of which were quite attractive. I wanted to protect him, to be honest, but he was so cool and successful that he was out of my league. He knew so many people: he had DJ’d at Fatboy Slim’s fortieth birthday party, done tracks with the Prodigy, he’d gone out with Katie Melua for a while, been sought after by the best drum and bass people. He’d been on the scene for so long that he knew everyone and was known by them all. He’d seen people come and go, and was still recovering from the loss of good friends who hadn’t been as strong as him and had succumbed to drink or drugs or just the lure of an unsustainable lifestyle. Amy Winehouse was a good friend of his, and he spoke of her with such affection, telling me he hated the way her talent was being wasted when she could have such amazing things ahead of her if someone would only step in and set her on the right path. They both spent hours talking about their tattoos, what they planned to get next, and who the best artists were. Vic stayed out of the drug scene and only really drank socially, but he could see the damage it did to others. He really did mix in an amazing world.

‘With my family, it’s best to keep on your toes,’ he told me. ‘It’s best to not get involved in anything that can dull your senses. You never know who’s watching, who’s behind you.’

It was incredible that he was such a success, given all he had to think about. It would have been easy for him to just slide into a life of threats and violence, to take his place in the gypsy hierarchy, but I found him inspirational in the way he had made his own way and rejected all of that.

When we finally parted company, we hugged, and I was glad that Vic had been able to confide in me. No one should have to face his challenges alone, and the more people he had on his side, the better. I was so glad to have had the chance to meet him, but, to be honest, had no plans to meet again. I was used to picking up ‘waifs and strays’, but I’d never expected that it would be something that would cause me such hurt; and I certainly had no idea that, this time, a trap had been set.