Paparazzi Jo Fenton (the first e reader .txt) 📖

She feels like she’s failed as a mother. She hasn’t, of course. Mum’s great, and she always protected me, even when it meant her getting hit instead.”

I don’t ask why Joanna stayed with her abusive husband. I’ve interviewed a lot of abuse victims over the years, and the reasons become obvious after a while. The abusers (and women can be culprits and victims) gradually remove all confidence from their prey, depriving them of the ability to leave. I met so many women and men over the years who’d plucked up the courage to leave but were terrified that they wouldn’t cope alone.

“Your mum did well to escape then.”

“Yeah, well. It’s not often that cancer is a godsend, but Dad couldn’t cope with illness unless he’d inflicted it. Cancer was well out of his comfort zone. He packed his bags and left. The only downside was it was after he’d gambled away Mum’s inheritance, and it left Mum penniless and ill. She came to live with me for a while, but it was just after my marriage breakdown. I don’t think I looked after her as well as I should have done. As soon as they gave Mum the all-clear, she left to come down here and find you.”

“So when did your dad walk out, and when did he go to prison? I’m just trying to get a sense of the timelines.”

“He left Mum about eighteen months ago, and six months later he was sentenced for assaulting the bailiff that came round to his new girlfriend’s house. I’d hazard a guess that the old git gambled away her savings and wages as well.”

“It sounds probable, doesn’t it?”

“Dad had a pattern. I mean, I don’t really remember him ever being nice to Mum, but I guess he must have been at one time. But then, by the time I came along, he’d be going to the bookies every afternoon, and placing bets on the horses. If he won, everything would be great. He’d treat us to fish and chips, and play games and watch TV with us in the evenings…” Will tails off, lost in the past.

I give him a moment, but then prompt him. “And when he lost?”

“When he lost, he’d get roaring drunk. Sometimes at the pub; other times he’d come home, raid Mum’s purse and grab some booze from the off-licence. Either way, a few drinks in, he’d start having a go at Mum. Criticising her for everything – the house wasn’t clean enough, she wasn’t making any effort with her appearance, all sorts of shit. Then if she answered back, he’d start hitting her. Mum worked full-time and looked after me. I mean, this went on from as long as I can remember. I guess back to when I started at school, so I’d have been about five. But then it carried on, throughout primary school, and secondary school, and college. He’d hit me too if Mum wasn’t around, but I learnt fast to stay out of his way. The problem was, Mum didn’t have any family to go to. There felt like no escape. I don’t know how she survived it. But his violence was always within boundaries, even when he was really pissed. He’d go from being sober enough to know just how hard he was hitting, to falling asleep when the alcohol levels got too high. I guess that little trick saved our lives. He probably realised he couldn’t explain away a dead wife and kid.”

“I’m sorry, Will. That sounds like a hellish way to grow up.”

“It was bloody awful. I left home at sixteen, as soon as I could get out of there, but I rang Mum most days. I had to check she was okay. I was twenty-five when she told me she had cancer. In all the years of living with Dad, I’ve never been so terrified in my life. I thought I was going to lose her.”

“Your mum’s a survivor. She’s the strongest woman I know. You can be very proud of her.” I remind myself that I need to ask Joanna about when she got involved with Roger. I can’t quite get my head around the timings. “So tell me about your dad, and prison. When did he get out, and how did you find out?”

“That’s an easy one. He got out on Friday. And he was at my flat yesterday, threatening to kill me if I didn’t tell him where Mum was.”

“You’re still alive, so did you tell him?”

“The prick threatened me from outside my front door. I was inside with the chain on. I stood well back and threatened to call the police if he didn’t back off. He’d have been back inside faster than a computer can add two and two. He left, but not until he said he’d kill Mum if he found her.”

“Did he give a reason?”

“Not a coherent one. He blethered on about Mum tipping off the bailiffs, but it’s a pile of crap. I think there’s something else going on his head. He muttered about working with drugs, and that he needed to sort everything out, or ‘those bastards inside’d be after him’. I don’t know what he meant. As soon as he’d gone, I called Mum and arranged to come here. I didn’t want to tell her why until I got here. I sorted the hire car. I mean, I was supposed to come on Monday anyway. Mum said she needed some help with something on the computer. Computers are my job. I’m a security geek. I set up anti-hacking, anti-virus, anti-phishing, all sorts of defences that people might need.”

“I guess you can hack them too?”

“Of course. Can’t beat the hackers if you can’t play them at their own game.”

“I can see that would be important. Can you hack the prison service records?” I take a mouthful of lukewarm coffee.

“Possibly. What help would that be?”

“I just wondered if you could find out why your dad was let out so soon, and what