3. Jin

Jin had always intimidated me: even when I was very small, I was always happier if Audrey was in the room at the same time. That awful time when my Father had beaten me for drinking the stale wine, and Jin had leered at me through the window was impossible to forget. It was as if I could sense some malevolence in the grizzly old Chinese.

Which as it turned out, was precisely justified, for Jin stole the rest of my childhood.

On the third or fourth occasion he was abusing me, he recounted with glee how he too had been in the toolshed that very evening that I had fellated Gordon. He had been around the corner, deeper inside the cellar, where apparently he sometimes sloped in the evenings, 'reading' (which I understood to mean skiving or having a nap). When he heard the door open and woke up, he had simply remained still and quiet. Watching from the darkness. Watching me with his son, observing our kissing, with a grandstand view of the dirty little slut taking Gordon in her mouth.

Knowing that he had been there made my stomach churn. Even more shame, on top of what he himself was by then doing to me. I truly wanted to die.

Jin was meticulous in his abuse. Careful to balance the physical with the psychological.

He had waited a while to make his first move. I'd gone back to school, and there was a noticeable buzz in class - the anticipation of the final two terms, before most of us moved up to the Diocesan Girls' School. I always enjoyed being at school and by absorbing myself in my schoolwork, I had even managed to put the incidents with the Lam boys behind me. Plenty of time to learn about all that grown-up stuff when I was older, I decided. School was better: predictable, secure and a more appropriate way for a young girl to keep herself amused and busy. Besides, I could always let my imagination wander in the quiet of my bedroom, if the mood took me.

Good old school - I knew where I stood there. Unlike home, which had a ghastly surprise waiting for me that afternoon.

I was putting my bike away in the cubby-hole next to the toolshed. Jin materialised behind me and made me jump with surprise. I made a nervous giggle to show he hadn't really spooked me. He replied with a thin-lipped smile and asked me to follow him. In Cantonese, I�m sure it was. That was unusual -my Father always expected the staff to address us in English. Funny - I can�t remember a single word of Cantonese these days. So I now remember Jin�s words in English, which is inexplicable -perhaps a shrink might explain it but that is never going to happen. I�m going to sort myself out without resorting to that.

Slinging my satchel over my shoulder, I went with him into the toolshed; a brief tingle running through me as I glanced at the corner where the boys and I had spread the old blanket.

Jin saw me look and his lip curled in a wry smile.

"I think your Father would be very cross to learn what you have been doing just there," he stated, indicating the bare patch of floor.

All at once I was on the verge of being sick. My mind was racing, searching for a way to react to this damning statement - I could pretend not to understand what he was talking about, or else I could deny it, or, maybe, try to tough it out? Jin did work for my Father, after all - he was being downright impudent - how dare he say that? One look at the cold expression on the man's face scuppered all those options: he was going to make some big issue of this. I shivered.

He must have loved my reaction, for he simply watched me, saying nothing. My ears were burning, as were my cheeks, and the strength had left my legs.

Jin was of course entirely correct. My Father would indeed kill me if he found out about his dirty little daughter. The thrashing I usually got for a few scattered clothes and toys would be as nothing, compared to what he would do if he found out about me and the boys. In the innocent logic of a ten-year-old-girl, equally bad as the prospect of being beaten senseless was the certainty that I would have blown my chances of joining the Pony Club in the New Territories. I had recently been going along each week with a friend from school and I had every hope of being allowed to join in my own right, provided I brought home yet another excellent school report: Mother had virtually promised it. The bottom was falling out of my world.

Oh God. Not only that - what if my friends found out too? None of the other girls had gone any further than kissing - I had more or less been �doing sex�. School would be unbearable once everyone knew. Word would get out to my new school. I couldn�t face that.

My mind was whirling: why wouldn't he say something? Tell me the worst. Are you going to tell my parents?

Eventually, he showed his uneven, yellowing teeth. He nodded as he spoke.

"Yes, Mr Alistair will not be pleased. Nor will the Mistress. To learn what their filthy daughter has been doing in here."

To hear him talk about me like that, so disrespectfully, merely added to my feeling of despair. I had really lost everything now. He narrowed his eyes until they seemed shut.

"I think Mr Alistair will beat you very, very hard, Miss Penny."

He didn't have to tell me. My mind's eye had already formed that picture and my stomach had turned watery. Life from now on would be a living Hell.

If I gave him a sorrowful, pleading look, it was entirely genuine. And exactly what he wanted to see: his cue to go on.

There was a subtle change in his expression. A look of thoughtfulness. My heart stuttered.

"Of course, your parents don't have to know," he began. He had my utmost undivided attention. Was he going to be kind? Oh please, Jin.

"You must decide: are you a girl who can be trusted?" he said, mysteriously. Open-mouthed, I listened to his words. Then he was gone and I fell back against the wall, shattered.

The next day, as he walked past me in the garden, he murmured, again in Cantonese, I think. "Are you a girl who can be trusted, Miss Penny? Or a bad girl? You tell me on Sunday, after Church."

I hardly slept the rest of the week.

That weekend he did put me out of my misery as promised. And plunged me into a new, private nightmare.

He didn�t just hurt me - he delighted in humiliating me as well, and his glee was written all over his leathery face. On that Sunday afternoon, as my parents took their afternoon siesta, I kept my appointment with Jin. He had a proposal, which I had no choice but to accept. In return for his keeping quiet about my disgusting behaviour, I had to make a solemn promise to give him an hour of my time each week. In the toolshed. To do his bidding and keep my mouth shut.

He relaxed triumphantly - he had trapped me and I was at his mercy. We had given each other our word and in Hong Kong, that is an immensely powerful commitment, no matter what your age or circumstances. He stroked my cheek and growled out of the corner of his mouth that now he really would show me what happens to dirty little girls.

I was naturally very nervous when he bolted the door and let down the blinds. He led me around to his den at the far end of the cellar. Without a word, and all the time staring me coldly in the eye, he unfastened my Sunday dress and pulled it over my head, then stripped off the rest of my clothes.

I had to let him. I had given my word.

The touch of his big, rough, adult hands on my body made me shiver and cringe, but that merely encouraged him. He felt me all over, his breath rasping in my ear. It was unpleasant, but I consoled myself that I had brought this on myself, through my dirtiness. It was probably no more than I deserved.

But I had no idea that the pawing was just the prelude. Only when I was placed down on all fours on the floor, and I felt a cold wetness between my buttocks as he rubbed in some form of lubricant, did I begin to have a notion of what was to follow. Even then I didn�t believe it was happening - the playground chatter had never mentioned anything like this. I squealed when his finger entered my bottom and cried out loud when he forced his penis in afterwards, squatting behind me and pushing with his whole weight until he had overcome the resistance of my sphincter. He became very cross when I kept falling forward and I had to grip the legs of his workbench to hold my body still as he bore down on me.

And that scene was repeated, week in, week out. It was part of my routine: Sunday School in the morning, gripping the bench and being sodomised by Jin on the floor of the toolshed in the afternoon.

I could never look him in the eye, either during those sessions or at other times about the house. For his part, if no-one was looking, he could never pass the opportunity to put his hand up my skirt and squeeze my crotch, to remind me that he was in charge.

For the rest of my week, I became adept at blanking it out, and it only became real as I came home after Sunday School.

Afterwards, once I had washed myself, and aside from the lingering ache in my backside, I used to continue the rest of my Sunday, outwardly as if nothing had happened.

So began the first of my double lives.

Autumn 1979. Onward to a new school. It was in its own grounds and really quite close to home, but still a huge surprise when I got there.

It was what can genuinely be described a 'culture shock'. From the voluble familiarity of the compact and cosy Junior School to this seemingly vast, anonymous township of learning, with me at the very bottom of the food chain. So much to absorb - rules, routines, unfamiliar subjects, an entirely new pecking order.

For me, it was as if I no longer had any solid objects to cling on to, once going to school had ceased to be a reassuring routine. I felt very alone. From being a daily moment of happiness, leaving the villa for school became another challenge to be faced each morning. I had lost my remaining place of stability, for by now, home was not the sanctuary it should be to a small girl; it was instead just somewhere I occasionally encountered my parents (and had to fight for their attention). And the place where each week I would let myself be degraded even further.

On the positive side, preparation for secondary school had at least meant that I had some more time alone with my Mother, as she bustled around ticking off items on the endless list of uniform and kit. My Father even found time in his diary to attend the introductory parents� evening shortly after the beginning of term. Highly unusual, although he spent most of the time discussing business with other parents.

But I was now completely adrift. I couldn't seem to catch my breath, to master the school layout and synchronise with the timetable. I was always rushing or late. I forgot to bring the right books. I slept badly, fell asleep in class.

As each Wednesday afternoon approached, I could barely concentrate. I knew what was waiting for me at home. For Jin had moved the day of our session from Sunday, shortly after I began at my new school: he had quickly worked out that it gave him more time alone with me. With Father at work and Mother out at her regular bridge club, we would have the entire house to ourselves. So no longer did he have me in the toolshed. He had graduated from that, and upped the stakes. In the summer holidays, a few weeks after my eleventh birthday, he raped me for the first time.

August had been steamy and hot. The start of the monsoon.

During the holidays, I had been trying my damndest to avoid being at home, at least when Mother or Father were both away. I'd managed to persuade them to let me spend much of my time at the riding school and almost every day when I was not there polishing ponies, I would arrange to pedal around the neighbourhood to stay and play with one of my school friends. I was still hankering after membership of the Pony Club, but that had not yet been followed up: on my birthday, I was very disappointed, having convinced myself that it would be my present. I had received a great final report from my old school too, so I felt rather cheated. To ensure some more of the holiday was covered, I even pestered my parents to enrol me in a week�s Bible class, guaranteeing another week away from the house and Jin�s leering intimidation. I even won a book token for something, I�ve just remembered.

But despite all my plotting, one evening I found myself in my room and entirely alone in the house, with the shutters closed and a raging storm outside, whilst my parents attended a reception at Stonecutter's Island. That entailed an overnight stay.

He was so brazen. Cocksure.

Audrey had fed me and retired to her quarters. I killed some time phoning friends and watching TV but eventually turned in. The oppressive onslaught of monsoon tended to make you want to shut yourself in, make yourself snug. I was taken by surprise.

He waited until my bedroom light went out.

I leaped bolt upright the instant the door opened. He strode in, grinning, and sat on the end of my bed.

"Miss Penny. I am displeased with you. You have not been honouring your obligation."

I was petrified. I clawed the sheet up to my chest.

"I have been expecting you to visit me downstairs, but every day I find you have gone out. This was not what you promised. Once a week, you agreed. You gave your word."

Whatever I was about to reply just emerged as an incoherent babble. Jin raised his hand.

"You are eleven years old now. Not a baby. You are answerable for your own actions."

He shifted up the bed.

"And you owe me for my discretion. It is only fair, is it not, that I should be rewarded for my continuing silence?"

Again, I was unable to find words, intimidated by the squat, broad man who had invaded my bedroom and who was only a couple of feet from me.

I don't know why he chose the guest room - perhaps it was easier to remove any traces before my parents' return. But I had no choice. He held out his hand and I took it and he led me along the darkened landing and into the large, empty room. The bed was big, with a voluminous white mosquito net tied back to the wall. He lit the two bedside lamps. The tapping of rain swept back and forth across the shutters.

Like the well-trained little slut I had become, I needed no instructions. I climbed up on to the bed, facing the pillows,

pushed my pyjama bottoms to my knees and crouched down like normal, my face pressed to the cool, musty sheets, my naked backside jutting upwards, ready and available for his use. I closed my watery eyes and waited for the cold ointment to signal the start of the latest ordeal.

But when after a full minute the mattress still had not shaken with his climbing on behind me, I looked up.

He was chuckling silently, his hand pressed across his face to stifle the laughing. He shook his head as I turned.

"Oh not like that, Miss Penny: you're a big girl now. It's time you learned some new tricks." And with that, he stepped to the bed and gave me a shove so that I fell on to my side, and deftly, he sprung beside me and rolled me on to my back, straddling my legs. And then he unbuttoned the blouse of my pyjamas.

I can remember feeling no surprise, no shock, nor really any sadness. This was inevitable, wasn�t it? It was what happened to bad, dirty girls. I was silent, numb.

Complicit.

He pulled off the lower half of my pyjamas and straight away began to stroke me with his rough, clammy hands. I just looked up at the ceiling, focussing on the patterns in the mouldings of the cornice, aware of his touch but trying not to acknowledge it.

He took his time, preparing my vagina, crouched low between my legs, he applied some of the usual ointment to his fingers and worked it so very slowly all around my cunny, then deeper, to grease the little flap of skin at the top of the crease and only when he had teased and rubbed and tickled and tapped was he ready to move down, to probe my most private place.

I don't think I made any conscious reaction - I didn't want him to know how I was feeling, and although my heart was racing and my lungs were paralysed when he jerked my bottom up on to his thighs and he knelt towards me, I wasn't going to cry, or shout out or beg him to stop.

My earlier fears about how such a great big thing would fit up inside me were not realised. I gasped as the bell end of his cock forced an entry, but there was no tearing sensation or the like; I think after all that sport and cycling and pony riding, my hymen was no longer fully intact, for it seemed like no time at all before her was thumping his whole cock hard up into me, and the initial discomfort had faded, replaced by a persistent ache as his cock rasped against over-stretched flesh. The pain came later.

There was no way that I could face him. I could probably still draw quite accurately the intricate swirls and notches of that coving now, such was the intensity with which I studied it. Patterns burned into my memory.

He was grunting: sharp piggy sounds from the back of his throat, one each time his weight ground me down into the mattress and I felt my belly filled to bursting. Then he shuffled up even closer and with each stroke, there was a painful tightness that seemed to come from my inner labia and which seared up to the top of my head. But still I refused to cry or react.

Jin's breathing was now audible, almost a sigh, that seemed to take place on every third lunge. I began to count. One, two, sigh. How much longer?

Not long. I felt him go stiff, then he threw his head forward and made a really repulsive noise, a cross between a cry of pain and a yell of triumph, and inside me there was a new feeling, a slight warmth, and I knew he had ejaculated.

My misery was total when he climbed off, and wiped the tip of his cock across my cheek.

This then became the new ritual, for Wednesday afternoons. And if I dared to linger longer than necessary after Games, to postpone my walk home, he would get worked up and impatient and grab my arm when I arrived back, and push me up the stairs.

Then he would be unnecessarily rough when he had me. I dreaded having to explain the finger-shaped bruises on my arms.

I would imagine that Audrey would have been the one to notice the tell-tale evidence in my knickers after that first time, and must have mentioned it to my Mother, for the next afternoon, when I came back from school, there was a pack of sanitary towels on my bed, accompanied by a note in my Mother�s breezy handwriting: �Darling - so sorry you seem to have the monthly curse so early - use these. If you have any questions, ask Audrey�.

So typically Mother! She couldn�t have coped with the truth even if I had found the courage to tell her.

Was this to be my life? Confused and frightened, yet unable to confide even in my parents? When a good week was when I was only buggered or raped by the houseboy, not given a good hiding with a belt by my Father as well, just for being me?

For the greater part of that year it was.

I lived inside myself. Nobody else would have understood, so I said nothing to anyone. Outwardly, I just tried to blend in and be inconspicuous - at school and with my pals, and I was content just to follow the crowd; at home I avoided my parents as much as I could, so as not to get in the way or annoy them, or give my Father any cause to punish me, a strategy that worked most of the time. And each week, in the guest bedroom, Jin gave me what I had earned for myself, reminding me just how useless and dirty I was.

It took a terrible event to end this miserable existence of mine. Having said that, if only it would have brought my Mother back, I would gladly have endured any amount of pain and humiliation for as long as it took. I never did have the chance to get to know her.

I am ashamed to say, I don't know the exact date. It was 1980, some time between western New Year and Chinese New Year, because I remember my parents had gone out to a Ball for to celebrate the first one but the wonderful firework display at Victoria Harbour to mark the second (one of my annual treats) hadn't yet taken place.

There was a police Landrover in the drive when I came home from school, its khaki-clad driver leaning on the front wing, smoking and kicking his heels. It gave me a bad feeling.

I went into the house through the veranda as usual. My Father was sitting very straight and upright at the head of the dining table. He was unusually pale. A very tall European policeman stood beside him, peaked cap tucked under his arm, and the two of them looked up. My Father waved me to enter.

There was no attempt to wrap it up or soften the news. Father could be very economical with his words.

"Your Mother has died in a traffic accident," he said flatly, his eyes in my direction but not really looking at me. I noticed the policeman turn to my Father as if to say something.

I kept looking at my Father, as if expecting him to tell me he was only kidding and we would all fall about laughing at the practical joke. It was ridiculous - I'd only seen her this morning: she had called out a goodbye as I rushed downstairs, late as usual.

But he had nothing else to say. He looked down at a sheaf of papers. I frowned, staring up at the giant police inspector, but he merely tightened his lips and turned away in embarrassment. I took a step towards my Father: I suppose I'd wanted to hold him, but he shot me a look so icy and malevolent that I instantly staggered backwards, exactly as if he had physically punched me. I picked up my satchel and decided I wasn't required. I returned to the veranda and sat quietly on a bench, until the sun sank behind the hills and Audrey found me and put me to bed.

Mother had been knocked down by a lorry in the early afternoon, at one of central Kowloon's busiest and most notorious crossroads. No discussion of blame took place - I supposed it was just another accident and Fate had decided that one of that week's several dozen road deaths in Hong Kong should happen to be her's.

I really can't remember much about the funeral, either. There was an imposing church with stained glass windows, which I presume was St Andrews, and I was wearing a dark dress that made me feel hot. There was a small coffin on a plinth and a lot of flowers and lots of grown-up faces and expensive hats. I recognised quite a few of the women - my Mother's friends in the various guilds and societies and clubs to which she belonged. Many people touched me on the shoulder or arm and said well-meaning words. I stood as close to my Father as possible. One of the company's cars took me home and many people milled around talking in a low murmur over their glasses of chilled wine. I think her body went for cremation, because there was no graveside service or anything like that. I�m ashamed I know so little.

How I wanted to give my Father a hug. He was so subdued. Always he seemed such a tall man, but that day he appeared to me smaller, deflated. I watched him across the drawing room, nodding and talking quietly with a succession of well-wishers.

I had to do it. This bit I can remember fairly clearly, even if the rest of that day is hazy. I hid behind a large woman, who was waiting with her husband for a chance to offer condolences. As she stepped closer to where my Father was sitting, I slipped past and laid my hand over his, on the arm of the chair. I squeezed his hand and smiled at him.

And he smiled back. For a few moments, his eyes sparkled at me. Then he remembered his manners and turned to the couple who were talking to him. He patted my bottom affectionately as I sidled away to my room.

Staring out of my bedroom window, the sounds of the traffic and the guests wafting in alternating waves from below, I felt calm. I grieved for my Mother of course. I naturally felt guilty, for I had so much I wanted to say to her, to be her friend as well as her daughter and make her happy through being a success. Now I wouldn�t have that chance to make her love me. But even such thoughts are just selfish, aren�t they? Me, me, me - as always, thinking of me.

Now she was gone, it would be my responsibility to take care of my Father. I knew he would need me.

I stayed home from school the next day, and wanted just to sit in the corner of the kitchen with Audrey for company. She was preparing vegetables for supper and I asked to help chop, for something to do.

"That's plenty, Miss Penny," she fussed, as I grabbed another handful of peppers to put under the knife. "Is only you this evening."

"My Father's not eating?"

She paused and gave me her puzzled look.

"Of course not, Mr Lee is gone to London. Long way."

I nodded slowly, as if to say, 'Silly me - I forgot', and decided he must have been too busy or in a rush to tell me himself.

Jin wasted no time in taking advantage of my being alone in the house. In retrospect, I think he probably knew full well what my Father was planning to do - perhaps Father had discussed his intentions - I don�t know. Unlike me, for I was still numb and had no idea what was about to happen. My tormentor was determined to make the most of his remaining opportunities to abuse his silent little plaything.

I sensed him before I was properly awake and actually saw him. So that when my sleepy eyes sharpened focus and I saw his creased face watching me from the other end of my bed, I was not completely surprised. But I was very annoyed. In fact, I was extremely angry, and I shouted at him and told him to go away and leave me alone. When he just laughed in my face, I swung wildly and scratched his cheek with my flailing nails.

He snatched my wrists in his sandpapery palm and held my arms above my head, whilst I thrashed about, calling him names and asking him how he dared to even think of touching me when I was still mourning my Mother. He swapped hands, swabbing the thin trail of blood from his face on the back of his hand. He looked at and swore in base Cantonese. There - I can remember that, but not what he actually said. It�s like witnessing my own nightmares with subtitles added. I knew I had gone too far to provoke him. He would be back, and I was for it.

It was only a matter of time. Not that long at all, as it happened.

I was up, dressed and breakfasted and sitting on my own in the drawing room. As a family, we were not big on photographs, but what we had were stuck in a big volume in the top drawer of the huge lacquered dresser. I was turning the pages carefully, slowly coming to the conclusion that I hardly knew my Mother at all. We should have been close friends; confided in each other. I wondered if you had to be much older for that to happen: the mum and daughter thing. Now I would never find out.

Jin's shadow darkened the French window. His face was darker still, and he was carrying a coil of rope.

"You disrespected your elder, Miss Penny," he stated. "You cut my face."

I pushed back into the sofa: he was already standing over me.

"You must learn due respect."

His fingers raked a handful of my hair and the pain was sudden and excruciating when he hauled me to my feet.

I stumbled awkwardly beside him, trying not to trip over his feet yet keep my hair slack. Out of the house. Back to the toolshed. I tried just the once to make a break for it but he had a strong grip and I received a solid punch in the lower stomach for my disobedience.

He pocketed the key. I was bent double, massaging my stinging scalp, my eyes already watery. He pushed me across the floor and round into the inner arm of the 'L' shaped room, where he had his small work area and a comfortable chair and that horrid bench. His murky little hideaway. The rope swung in his hand and I didn't like the look of it.

His triumphant sneer bore down on me. My back was pressed against the vice attached to his workbench. He tossed the rope on the scarred and pitted counter. And his hands went for the top button of my blouse.

I was stripped in silence. There was no point in resisting - I didn�t want him to hit me again, and besides, it was true: I had been disrespectful to him, so I probably justified some punishment. He was rough - showing me just how much he didn't care what I was feeling. I cried without sound, helplessly allowing him to wrench the sleeves from my wrists and the jeans from my ankles. He stood up and gloated at my nakedness. Then he picked up the coil again.

He wanted to explain, to begin my torment. He held a length of the rope across my face.

"I have told my wife that you have gone to stay with a friend, to get over the loss of your Mother. We have plenty of time for you to understand the meaning of respect."

Spinning me round, he wrapped the end of the rope around my wrists and tied it off. I was absolutely terrified. Jin saw my face and loved every minute - he had total power over me. When he gagged me, I wet myself. I can recall the shame of feeling it running down my legs.

I think it was the single most terrifying experience of my life. He kept me tied in the toolshed for a day and a night, doing every kind of unpleasant thing he could think of. He wanted to hurt me and succeeded repeatedly. He used his tools. My tears and terror simply fuelled his desire to abuse me further. This was meant to be a full and frank account of my life, but there is no way that I can make myself to write any more about that. I hope you�ll understand.

When finally he had satisfied himself, and I was released and allowed to run back indoors, I barricaded myself in the bathroom and hid there (goodness knows how long) until I heard a taxi pull up outside.

When I heard my Father come through the door, I ran and hugged him so tightly, he had to prise me off. Never had I been so glad to see him. Now he was home, Jin wouldn�t find it so easy to intimidate and abuse me. I might even think about a way to tell my Father what had been going on, for at last, the repercussions of even the worst of his rages would be nothing in comparison to another session like that in Jin�s workshop (every inch of my body seemed to ache, I had obvious marks all over me and I think I was still bleeding sporadically). But first things first; I was just so pleased to see him.

Yet I never did take that chance to tell my Father. Nor did I later. In fact until I wrote this, I�ve barely mentioned Jin to anyone, ever. Father�s news was much more important. Over supper, he had something to tell me, which left my head reeling from a maelstrom of conflicting emotions.

We were to pack to leave Hong Kong. For good - moving to London, where my Father was now going to work. And not in a few months or weeks either: I needed to start sorting out what I would be taking almost immediately, for the crates would be arriving in the morning!

I hated the upheaval. Just as I was still coming to terms with not having my Mother around, and discovering how I missed her in so many little ways, I had to rush around, sorting out my possessions and frantically attempting to say a proper goodbye to all my friends. I never did have the chance to say goodbye to the ponies.

Father was quiet and serious, and I avoided him, just in case he turned on me. The sole consolation was that Jin was being kept busy, preparing the house for our departure and he never again had the opportunity to rape or abuse me.

Leaving dear Audrey was the single most awful aspect. She had been more or less my surrogate Mother and in recent weeks, she had been my comforter and anchor. Only many years later have I been able to appreciate quite how much I owed her, for she alone made my life bearable at that time and never once did she seem to expect anything from me in return. I wish I could have thanked her in later life, but I had no way of contacting her. If only she knew that I think of her almost every day.

It was a very tearful and emotional departure.

Next Chapter: 4. False Start