Late one evening, as my husband and I were watching television, the police turned up on our doorstep. They asked if they could speak to Stacey, our 13-year-old daughter. Her dad went upstairs to wake her, and she came shuffling down, bleary-eyed in her pink pyjamas.
One of the police officers asked her if she'd seen her friend Alicia that evening - and if so, who else was there. He told her it was important, as Alicia had been reported missing by her mother. To our astonishment, Stacey admitted that she and Alicia had been hanging round with a group of older males. They had been driven around town and given vodka and cigarettes. When she gave them the men's names, the officer told her she'd had a lucky escape. The men were known for grooming girls for sexual exploitation.
After the police left, Stacey cried and cried. We made her promise never to see the men - or Alicia - again. I put her back to bed, and threw up in the bathroom.
That night marked the end of our normal family life. Until then, we I'd thought we were happy: my husband and I both had good jobs, and we owned a four-storey Victorian house in a quiet village. Blessed with two daughters and a son, we were your everyday family of five.
Looking back, I suppose some of the signs were already there. A quiet, introverted child, Stacey didn't find it easy to make friends. When the school rang to tell us they were concerned she was mixing with a new group of girls who could be a bad influence on her, we made sure we invited her new friends round for tea so we could get to know them ourselves. We set a curfew for 8.30pm, and believed her when she said she was visiting their houses, under their mothers’ supervision.
Within months of the police calling round, Stacey started to change. First, it was her appearance. Suddenly, she was wearing tracksuits and expensive trainers, scrunching her hair up tightly and wearing large earrings. Her taste in music changed from boy bands to baseline.
When she started repeatedly to miss her curfew, we grounded her. To our astonishment, she quoted the Children’s Act at us. It was now clear that she was associating with the gang the police had warned us about.
It was terrifying how little control we had over her. Of course we tried to ground her, even physically locking her in - but she would simply climb out of her second floor bedroom window. We would confiscate her mobile phone, only to find new models and discarded SIM cards in her room. Once, when we raided her bedroom, I was horrified to see lists of male names in her contacts and numerous sexually explicit text messages. I handed the mobiles to the police.
A phone call from another girl who was ensnared with the gang confirmed my worst fears: "You should probably know that Stacey lost her virginity to a 46-year-old man last week".
My husband and I were increasingly desperate - to the point where I actually had Stacey arrested for breaching the peace. Each time she went missing she would come back covered in bite marks and bruises. As a practising nurse, it was clear to me that she had been given drugs. We were ringing the police and the Missing Person’s Coordinator daily, only to be told nothing could be done until she disclosed the abuse herself. One officer said to me:"don’t worry love, they’ll leave her alone once she gets to 16" - as if that were supposed to offer consolation for the fact she was being raped on a daily basis. Rather than being seen as a victim, it was as if she herself were consenting to her abuse.
Social services came round, but were more interested in our taste in home furnishings than safeguarding my daughter. I kept meticulous logs of nicknames, phone numbers, and vehicle registration numbers for the police. It's a wonder I held down a job, as I'd spend most nights driving the streets searching for her. Eventually I contacted the charity Pace, (Parents Against Child Sexual Exploitation). Finally I'd found somewhere to unburden without the fear of being judged a bad parent. Any parent reading this who suspects or knows their child is being abused in this way should contact them immediately.
One Saturday morning, my husband broke down when begging her not to go out. "You don't understand," Stacey sobbed. "They've told me they'll gang rape Mum if I don’t." Now we understood how the gang had her in their thrall: they'd threatened that they would hurt us if she didn't do as she was told. She was enduring the abuse to protect us. That night, my husband packed a bag, tied up his business affairs and took Stacey on an early morning flight to live in Spain for three months.
I wish I could say that it worked, but Stacey was back in their clutches within a short time of arriving home. Eventually, she fell pregnant. She was 17. When the father repeatedly kicked her in the stomach to cause a miscarriage, she vowed she would cease all contact. For nine months she barely left the house. Finally, we had our daughter back.
Five years later, and we have a beautiful grandson. Stacey is a wonderful mother and I'm proud to say she has gone back to college. But the perpetrators of her abuse are still at large.
Stacey may well disclose in the future. In the aftermath of Rotherham, there might be a new police investigation in our area. Luckily, I've kept all my records of every interaction I had with the police, social services and the Missing Person’s Coordinator, as well as all the meetings I had with my MP. But to every parent reading this, I say: don’t presume it can’t happen to you. My child’s only vulnerability was her shyness. Her first contact with the gang came from a school friend in her year. So be sure to keep talking to your children about their lives, their friends, where and with whom they’re socialising. Keep informed: knowledge is power. Pace publishes a guide to how parents can help police prosecutions which explains the 2003 Sexual Offences Act.
In many ways, I am lucky: Stacey didn't come home in a body bag. But I would do anything to change her past.