Nope

Nope. I really don’t like all this. Feels like we’ve moved all this way, given up so many things, under false pretences. There is one person in this town whom I can vaguely call a friend. The only time I have been isolated like this in the past was when my ex-husband was abusing me, and kept me deliberately isolated.

 

We now have much less money than we had been led to anticipate (and it’s not as if we were well-off to begin with), because of the sheer incompetence of Frank’s soon-to-be former manager who should never have hired someone and then expected them to teach subjects for which they have no qualifications. Someone send her my fondest regards?

 

So we’re stuck in this teeny tiny house with its door falling off the hinges, other doors that just won’t shut, a growing mould problem which is currently being ignored by the dodgy builder that the landlord hired. No one told me how much fun squeezing past one another in the ambitiously-named ‘bijou kitchen’ could be. I do so love to have children throwing themselves around the living room because of the lack of a garden. And oh, the joy of hearing people’s conversations as they stand in the street at 11 o’clock at night, or the thrill of being unable to even park outside one’s own front door and having to park on the next street! Words cannot express!

 

Then comes the local gymnastics club, with its promise of help for Prince and his special needs, which amounts to – er – exactly zero people who have the remotest clue what they’re doing. It’s not as if we paid for it up front or anything. Oh wait. Yeah. We did. Twice as much as we paid for the gymnastics club where we used to live. And you promised me you had trained staff. So we drove home today with a car full of annoyed people which then set off a great big meltdown for said autistic lad, who jumped on his bedroom floor as hard as he could and made the light fitting in the kitchen below fall off. Yep. Wonders never cease.

 

And nothing but nothing could add to the joy, nay, rapture!, of discovering that the police officer in charge of investigating my case has contacted numerous people who may have evidence, only to find that they are ignoring her. You know, I’m so thankful for having gone through all those years of trauma – over and over and over – and being ignored by the police at the time, when I finally had the guts to ‘tell’. I’m so thankful that all these years later, when the police have learned a little more and actually gave me the time of day, that the people who could potentially hold vital evidence instead ignore the police’s requests. My heartfelt thanks to you all for confirming to that wounded, abused child that still lives in my head that she was right: no one cares enough to do anything. Indeed, why shouldn’t she have been degraded and violated? Congrats to you all! You’re such wonderful human beings. Some of you even call yourselves Christians. I hope you’re proud.

 

I recall reading somewhere that sin is not just in the doing, it is also not doing when you could; the ‘sin of omission’. Surely this is a biggie when it comes to bringing to justice a predatory paedophile. Or is it just me that thinks this is more than vaguely important?

 

Aside: and so nice for these people currently walking past our front window to take the trouble to stare as they go by. Thanks. Howzabout I make sure I come by your house sometime and stare at you from six feet away?

 

Nope. Sandy is not a happy bunny right now. Still, anger is sometimes a useful motivating force, if only one can figure out what to do with it. And at least, regarding the investigative officer’s lack of success with the potential witnesses, I take comfort in Christ’s words:

‘Jesus called over a child, whom he stood in the middle of the room, and said, “I’m telling you, once and for all, that unless you return to square one and start over like children, you’re not even going to get a look at the kingdom, let alone get in. Whoever becomes simple and elemental again, like this child, will rank high in God’s kingdom. What’s more, when you receive the childlike on my account, it’s the same as receiving me.

“But if you give them a hard time, bullying or taking advantage of their simple trust, you’ll soon wish you hadn’t. You’d be better off dropped in the middle of the lake with a millstone around your neck. Doom to the world for giving these God-believing children a hard time! Hard times are inevitable, but you don’t have to make it worse—and it’s doomsday to you if you do.’

 Matthew 18:2-5 The Message paraphrase