Diary #2: The first weekend

Friday

I had to go into work on Friday, even though it’s usually my day off. As I was leaving, my parents rang. They asked if they could come round. They sounded… off.

They arrived. Asked me to sit down.

I thought, one of them must have cancer. But no — my mum handed me a piece of paper. She had typed up notes from conversations she’d had with Coco that week.

Words leapt off the page.

I told my dad to get me some Marlboro. I was shaking uncontrollably, even though it was a warm summer day. My body was ice-cold. Numb.

I knew Liam had mental health issues. But not this.

Even he wouldn’t be capable. Would he?

I called a good friend who she works in safeguarding. She came straight over. Like us, she couldn’t take it in… but the things Coco said were too specific, too clear. Too much to ignore.

I clung to the idea that Lola was six, and she’d tell me if anything had happened to her. So surely this hadn’t happened to her too…?

I didn’t hesitate to call the NSPCC. There wasn’t a choice. I knew this would start a chain of events I couldn’t undo, but I had to protect Coco.

They were kind. They said they’d refer us to the police. But it was a Friday — they warned it might be Monday before anyone could act.

It was his weekend with the girls.

I texted him, said they were ill and at my parents with me. It wasn’t plausible.

He tried to call. I ignored it.

I couldn’t speak to him — not after this.

That night I spoke to my siblings, my cousin. I drank red wine — it did nothing. Smoked in the bushes. Called people. Tried to make sense of it. Asking them: Could he really be capable? Could there be an innocent explanation?

They all said the same:

“No. Not Liam. He’s odd, yes — but not that.”

Liam messaged to ask how Coco was. I said she wasn’t well enough to travel.

Saturday

I was awake by 4am.

The girls were happy to be away — unaware. Liam kept messaging, asking if he could come over to see Coco. He said he was worried about her.

That was strange. So out of character.
He would normally do anything to avoid my parents.

I called the police directly. Told them Liam wanted to come over, and that I couldn’t wait any longer. They said they’d send someone to his house.

I felt horrendous for what he was about to face — that unexpected knock at the door.
Surely there’s an innocent explanation?

I took the call outside. Roamed the fields near my parents’ house, smoking, trying to stay calm. They asked when he last saw her. Had I noticed bruising? Had she had a bath since?

They said they wouldn’t bring her in for a forensic exam. Thank God. I couldn’t imagine that for my 4-year-old.

They told me Liam had become hysterical when they visited. They’d had to ask him to call a friend for support. And still, all I could think was:

What have I done to him?

It had only been just over 24 hours since Mum handed me that paper.

I started writing everything down. Every word Coco said. I didn’t go anywhere without a notebook after that — because the girls disclosed things at completely random moments.

A friend = who’d worked in the Met's paedophile division - told me to keep everything. Notes could become evidence. And when the Court Bundle came… they were.

We began piecing it all together. The subtle changes. Coco had been dry since 2½, but had started bed-wetting again. I thought it was nerves about school. She became more withdrawn. Her eyes would go blank. Fussier with food. More extreme in her energy (although both my girls are naturally spirited).

Sunday

We decided to go home today. So that the girls could go to school and nursery as normal on Monday. I’d been told the police and a social worker would visit them at school.

That’s when the fear really set in.

What would they say about me?
Have I done anything wrong?
Will they think I’m unfit?
Could they take them away from me?

I don’t know anyone with social workers in their lives.
I’m not that kind of person.
Or… I wasn’t.

Mum stayed over. She was too scared to leave us alone.

Friends saw Liam in Halfords. They said he acted totally normal. Calm. Like nothing had happened.
They found it eerie.
Wouldn’t he be distraught?

Monday

I feel sick.

I’ve barely eaten all weekend.
Just Marlboro and wine.

Friends brought me food all week — I know that. But I honestly can’t remember who or when. Everything’s a blur. A slow-moving nightmare.

And this is just the beginning.