Escape From Evil - Cathy Wilson [141]
I was grateful for the new man’s candour, but in a sense it had come too late. The stress of the constant interrogations and, in particular, intimating that I was Peter’s accomplice had driven me to find a therapist. After years of pretending the name Tobin meant nothing to me, I needed to tell someone every thing. I have to say, it’s going well. The final piece in my recuperation, in fact, is this book. Not one person in the world knows the story you’ve just read. Some have known bits, but no one, until now, has had the full version.
One person who definitely will not be reading this book is Daniel. He had his closure with his father many years ago. Ironically, it was my obsession with giving my son the family I’d been denied that nearly ruined it for both of us. But we survived.
And how! In July 2010 I climbed into my finest stilettos, pulled on my fanciest frock and cheered loudly as Daniel was handed his degree in Business Entrepreneurship from the chancellor of Portsmouth University, the actress Sheila Hancock. Looking around at the hundreds of other jubilant families in the great hall, I wondered if any of them had secrets as chilling as ours. But as I glanced at the proud family gathering of Anne, Geoff and Stuart, all showering praise on my wonderful son, I thought, I don’t care. All that was in the past.
The future – mine, Daniel’s, everyone’s – starts right here. This is where it begins.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
I would like to thank Jef Hudson for his ability to put my memories and emotions into words. Tank you also to my editor, Ingrid Connell, and all the staff at Macmillan who convinced me that I had a story to tell, and my agent, Ben Mason for all his help in overseeing this book.
Above all, thanks to all my friends and family who have loved and supported me through these difficult five years, especially my son, who through his own life has given me the strength and courage to continue with mine.
List of Cathy Wilson Photographs
[1] My grandparents on their wedding day in 1940.
[2] Mummy and me (on the far right) in a mother and baby competition.
[3] Mummy in her wedding dress, holding me, May 1970. It was seeing this photograph when I was fourteen that made me realise I was illegitimate.
[4] With my mother in the back garden of my grandparents’ house in Saltdean, May 1972.
[5] Trying to go fast on my tricycle, aged two in October 1972.
[6] Snapped on the beach, aged four, by the local paper. This was just before my childhood became a lot darker.
[7] My mother, with my first bicycle in the background. The mismatching tyres upset me as a child, perhaps because I knew it was second-hand.
[9] My first motorbike, which I bought in 1986 when I was sixteen. By the autumn of that year I’d moved in with Peter Tobin.
[10] My grandmother holding baby Daniel, who was born on 21 December 1987, while Peter looks on.
[11] My friend Sally lent me her husband and his Daimler as my wedding car – I felt like a princess.
[12] Just married, and happy that in marrying Peter Tobin I was doing the right thing to do for our son.
[13] Gorgeous Daniel, with his father.
[14] Outside my Tea Shoppe with Daniel, in October 1988. Peter wouldn’t help look after him so I took him to work with me.
[15] Christmas with Granny, Daniel and Peter.
[16] Daniel sitting on my bike, outside the house in Bathgate, Scotland.
[17] Tobin with our cat Benji, taken when I was pregnant with Daniel.
[18] A smile from Daniel, my innocent angel.
[19] Camping on Exmoor with Daniel, then aged seventeen and preparing to climb Mt Kilimanjaro. I’m so proud of my beautiful son.
[1] My grandparents on their wedding day in 1940.
[2] Mummy and me (on the far right) in a mother and baby competition.
[3] Mummy in her wedding dress, holding me, May 1970. It was seeing this photograph when I was fourteen that made me realise I was illegitimate.