The Asbo Chronicles

By Abbygail Donaldson

This is the tragic story of a familys eleven year struggle to survive the inhumane treatment, violence, crime and anti-social behaviour at the hands of ruthless youths on the estate where they live.

It tells of their courageous stand and the high price they pay in their battle to take back their street and their home from the thugs controlling their estate.

Follow Valerie Collins roller coaster journey that takes her from the tragedies and trauma, to beyond the legendary door of No. 10 Downing Street, in search of a solution to end her familys misery.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Jul 3, 2007
• ISBN: 9781467011501

Abbygail Donaldson

Abbygail Donaldson was born in the North East of England in 1966. The daughter of an aspiring historian and skilled ship's cabinet maker, she developed a strong appreciation for classic literature, history and art. Having trained in Ballet for ten years as a child, she went on to study Drama and Theatre Arts at New College Durham, but was forced to abandon her theatrical dream in favour of a career in the Civil Service. Returning to education years later, she studied Social Policy, Politics, and Law at Northumbria University, which was immediately put to use during her decade long battle against crime and anti-social behaviour in her Newcastle neighbourhood. In 2006, in recognition of her valiant efforts and 'outstanding dedication to promoting respect in her community' Abbygail was honoured with a 'Respect Award' by the Prime Minister. In 2007, she appeared on TV and radio, talking about her experiences which provided the basis for her first book 'The ASBO Chronicles'. Inspired by the positive public reaction to her first book, Abbygail began research for her first full length novel, Libran's Loch. Set mainly in the beautiful countryside of Western Scotland and the ancient city of York, Libran's Loch represents the culmination of Abbygail's research into time travel and her own innovative new theory on the subject, delivered within an action packed adventure.

Book preview

Contents

Introduction

Chapter One - Reflection

Chapter Two - The Return Home

Chapter Three - The Phoenix Arises

Chapter Four - Love Thy Neighbour

Chapter Five - Ask the Audience

Chapter Six - Our Anonymous Mole and The Reports

Chapter Seven - Fireworks, and Organised Crime

Chapter Eight – Bouncing Bottles and the Ex-Factor

Chapter Nine - Undercover Cop

Chapter Ten – The Phoenix Rises

Chapter Eleven – Attack of the Chav Queen

Chapter Twelve – The Theft of the Council Reports and the Return of the Mystery Man

Chapter Thirteen – Flaming Hell and Amnesia

Chapter Fourteen – A Steal of a Party

Chapter Fifteen – Trial by Golf Ball

Chapter Sixteen – An Invitation to Downing Street

Chapter Seventeen – The Final Chapter?

Conclusion

Authors Note

Introduction

This is the story of a family’s life, living on a council estate somewhere in the North of England. All the places, names and characters are fictitious. However, the issues covered in this book are topical and may seem very real to those members of society caught up in the day-to-day struggle of living with anti-social behaviour.

The aim of this book is, to increase Public awareness of the issues surrounding the violent, criminal and anti-social culture that can be seen on a minority of estates across the country.

The story follows the struggle of a young mother, coming to terms with the breakdown of her first marriage. Her five year challenge to fight for custody of her daughter, and her subsequent second marriage dogged by intimidation from criminals and yobs.

It follows the incidents and events that lead to the inevitable tragedy and national outcry, whilst looking at how a variety of agencies and support services might have responded to this case.

This is my maiden voyage into the realms of writing and I hope you enjoy reading my book, which is based on many years of research and personal experience.

It is also my intention that, if this book becomes a best seller, 50% of the royalties will be used to help the victims of crime, domestic violence and anti-social behaviour.

I would like to dedicate this book to my family, friends and colleagues, who have supported me through the good times and the bad times and without whom I would not have had the strength and drive to achieve as much as I have. Mostly, I would like to dedicate this book to my husband and children. You are my shining light in the darkness of despair. You lifted me up when I was down and found me hope where I saw none. To my dear husband, you are my champion, my knight in shining armour.

To all the service men and women out there, whether it is in the armed forces protecting our country or the home forces such as the police, the fire brigade, the health service, social services etc. who fight the daily battle against crime, violence, confrontation, danger and who strive to protect us and heal us, I thank you all.

Chapter One - Reflection

It was a bitterly cold February night. The night sky hung black and heavy over the roaring high tide of the North Sea, lit only by a small number of scattered stars like diamonds on a black velvet cushion. The row of countless bed and breakfast hotels faced the sea like an unbreakable wall against the harsh elements, following the coastline northwards for as far as the eye could see. Strong winds blew, causing the street lamps to flicker and bend slightly, rattling like skeletal bones as one or two people stooped and clutched their thick long coats to their chests, whilst they struggled against the head-on wind to make their way home.

Sorrowful, swollen, tear-stained eyes peered hopelessly into the blackness, as the police car pulled up to the kerb in front of the ‘Sunrise’ Guest House. Clutching a small brown hold all on her lap, the young woman sat silently in the backseat as one of the officers in the front passenger seat radioed in their location to their area command station.

The officer driving the car turned slightly in his seat, to talk to the young woman. As an experienced officer of more than fifteen years service, he had sadly grown accustomed to rescuing damsels in distress. On many an occasion, he had seen their sometimes delicate and fragile features swollen, bruised and bloody from a recent domestic conflict, and had offered kind words of support that fell like silent snowflakes on traumatised ears. He was a family man, himself, and dearly loved his wife and children, never dreaming of hurting them the way these women had been hurt. Every time, he tortured himself with the question: What could they have done, that deserved beatings such as these? Here was another woman, the victim of continued physical and mental abuse, robbed of her young child, beaten and thrown out into the street with nowhere to go. How do you cope with that? He thought, as he looked into her eyes.

We’re here, Mrs.Tennant. Your accommodation has been taken care of. All you have to do is to hand the invoice the landlady gives you, into the Social Services office tomorrow, and they will ensure that the guesthouse is paid. Are you okay?

The woman nodded silently and shakily unclipped her seat belt. Her heart was pounding so hard, she thought it might burst, and she felt sick, so very sick. Her whole world had been turned upside down, and all that she now possessed was: a change of clothes; a single much cherished photograph of her daughter and about six pounds in change in her little battered leather purse.

The officer from the front passenger seat got out of the car and opened the rear door for Mrs. Tennant to climb out. As she slid along the seat and stepped out on to the pavement, she looked up at the three-storey Georgian style guesthouse, casting her eyes over the slightly peeling paintwork and the little green neon sign in the window that said, vacancies. The officer led her up to the doorstep and rang the bell. A good-looking middle-aged woman, with long straight, slightly tired looking hair, answered the door.

Hello there. I’m officer Stewart Gray. We spoke on the phone earlier.

Oh, yes. Do come in.

This is Mrs Tennant. She’ll be staying here tonight whilst arrangements can be made to find a place for her in the local refuge.

That’s fine. You’ll need to sign in, in the register, said the landlady to Mrs Tennant, opening the register that lay on the hall table just inside the door.

Shaking with the cold and hunger, Mrs Tennant slowly lifted the pen from the page and signed in just below the last entry on the page.

Follow me, and I’ll take you straight up to your room, no. 9 on the third floor. There’s a small sink in your room for washing in. The bathroom and toilet are just at the end of the landing. You’ll have to share it with the other guests. Breakfast is in the ground floor dining room and will be served between 7am and 9am.

Depressed and ashamed of her plight, Valerie Tennant followed the landlady up the stairs to her room.

Here you are. Goodnight, and I’ll see you in the morning for breakfast. We’ll sort out the paperwork then.

With that the landlady opened the room door then promptly returned back along the landing and descended the stairs.

The room had a very high ceiling, only to be expected in that style of building. The room itself, however, was a very odd shape. It was long and narrow, like the landing outside, but was wider at the window and narrower at the opposite end of the room just behind the door. The room was too narrow to fit a bed in across the width of the room, and was only just wide enough to slide in a single bed, placed hard up against the nearside wall.

Valerie closed the door behind her. Carefully, she placed the hold all containing her belongings on the bed. Calmly she lifted out the change of clothes and placed the neat little pile on the wooden chair that stood against the wall at the foot of the bed. Underneath the underwear and blouse that lay on the top of the pile, Valerie carefully removed the ten-inch by seven inch, cardboard framed, recently taken nursery school photograph of Sophie. With the photograph held carefully in her slender fingers, Valerie walked towards the tall moonlit window.

Gazing out, down on to the road outside and then far out to sea, into the deep suffocating blackness of the winter night, the tears that she had held back for so long flowed freely now, warming her frost bitten cheeks. The tears of heartbreak, pain and guilt poured from her tormented soul. Never until now, had she spent a single night away from her darling sweet Sophie. Without Sophie, life was deep dark bottomless pit of hopelessness and despair. She was so proud of Sophie, from the moment she was born, with her smiling face beaming up from the delivery bed into her mother’s eyes. Valerie had cried tears of joy that day, joy, which was instantly shattered later by her husband’s revelation at her hospital bedside, Thank you for giving me my baby daughter. I can only love one person, and because I love her so much, I cannot love you!

I’ll give your marriage six months! Her mother had said. She should have taken her mother’s advice years ago and never married him. But defiant to the last, Valerie had married Alan anyway. She hadn’t seen or spoken to her parents since Sophie was born. Alan had made sure of that, telling them to ‘drop dead’. Unwilling to admit that her mother had been right about Alan, all along, Valerie had never told her parents about the beatings she received and had hidden her almost anorexic frame and the bruises under baggy fitting jumpers and jeans.

Pulling the curtains closed, Valerie undressed and climbed into the cold single bed, placing the photograph on the pillow beside her. She closed her eyes as another tear trickled slowly down the side of her right cheek, dampening and softening the stiff, starched cotton pillowcase.

This is all just a nightmare, she thought to herself. If I open my eyes properly, none of this will be real and it will all disappear. In her mind’s eye, she recalled the last image of her three and half year old daughter Sophie.

Sophie was such a pretty little girl. She was slim and dainty with fine blonde hair and hypnotic blue eyes. She had an unblemished, strawberries and cream complexion, and was extremely bright for her age. Valerie reflected on another memory for a moment, a memory of Sophie toddling into the kitchen after being mesmerised by a dinosaur film on television, and asking, Mummy do velosoraptors have teeth and claws? She remembered how stunned she’d been to hear her small daughter recall such a difficult word and pronounce it so casually and correctly, as if it was used in everyday conversation..

Her head drooped as once again the last image of her daughter filled her head, and she recalled how Alan had beaten her in Sophie’s bedroom, whilst Sophie sat huddled up on the floor in the corner of the room. After punching Valerie for the final time on Sophie’s bed and throwing his wedding ring at her, Alan had bent down and gathered up Sophie into his arms.

It’s okay Mummy. I’ll go with Daddy, she whimpered as she looked over Alan’s shoulders at her mother. Sophie’s blotchy, tearful face was the last Valerie saw of her daughter, as her husband carried her away down the stairs.

Moments later, the heavy thud of steps running up the stairs, warned Valerie of Alan’s return for a second round. There was no place to run or hide, and no time. She curled into as tight a ball as she could, with her head tucked right inside. She held her breath as she heard the footsteps stride into the room. Heavy firm hands grabbed at her hair and her arms, trying to pull her apart. Punches rained down on her head, her back and her arms, waves of pain flashing through her body. She clenched herself tighter and tighter into a ball, determined to fend off Alan’s attack.

In frustration at being unable to penetrate Valerie’s defensive position, Alan dragged her body from the bed on to the floor. It was working! Would this make Alan give up? Almost immediately, Valerie felt the impact of his kick against her spine, the back of her head and her legs. The kicks kept coming, harder and harder, and with each kick she was pushed towards the bedroom door.

The kicking stopped. The hands grabbed at her arms again, dragging her body along the upstairs landing. It wasn’t the first time Alan had thrown her down the stairs, and Valerie was certain it was going to happen again.

At the last minute, she uncurled enough to grab hold of Alan’s leg as he attempted to kick her off the landing. She hung on as hard as she could, causing Alan to lose his balance and fall backwards. Making the most of the moment, she let go of his leg, uncurled completely and ran down the remaining stairs.

Where was Sophie? She quickly scanned the living room at the bottom of the stairs. No sign. Time was of the essence, if she was to make her escape, but she had to rescue Sophie. She wouldn’t leave without Sophie. She ran to the kitchen. No sign. She pushed open the dining room door, and caught a glimpse of something move under the table.

Sophie, it’s Mummy. Come with me quickly. She whispered.

Whilst Sophie crawled out from underneath the table, Valerie grabbed their coats from the hall cupboard, placed one around Sophie’s shoulders and one around her own, and headed back to the foot of the stairs where her handbag was.

Quickly Sophie! said Valerie as she reached out her hand towards her daughter.

Temporarily stunned by a blow to his head, as he struck the bathroom doorframe during his fall, Alan furiously jumped to his feet and leapt down the stairs.

Valerie turned with Sophie towards the front door, but it was too late. Alan was blocking their escape.

You worthless bitch! he exclaimed. Where do you think you’re going? You’re going to pay for this you bitch! If you want to leave, good riddance, but she’s staying with me! She’s my daughter! Alan grabbed at the handbag, ripping it from Valerie’s hands. You’re not leaving with any money from this house. Every penny belongs to me! You will leave here with nothing!

With that he pushed Valerie ‘s face into the hall wall, pulling her coat away from her back with his other hand. Then, after yanking the coat from her, dragged her backwards and down on to the floor by her hair and pulled her towards the front door. Alan opened it, hitting Valerie on the side of her head with a glancing blow from the edge of the door, as he did so.

Valerie screamed, Please, somebody help me!! as Alan pulled her by the hair, headfirst down the stone front door steps and into the garden. She struggled to reach above her to grab the arm, which held her hair in a vice like grip. But Alan held her fast, dragging her through the narrow derelict flowerbed on to the well sodden lawn that was now beginning to freeze.

Having dumped her in the garden, Alan stormed indoors, slamming the door and locking it behind him.

Mummy! Mummy! Valerie heard the desperate cries of her daughter before silence fell once more.

Cold icy rain began to fall as Valerie limped from the driveway. She wanted so much to look back and see the face of her daughter at the window. But she knew that if she did look back, the pain of leaving her precious daughter behind with that monster would tear her apart. She looked around at the other houses in the oval. One or two curtains twitched, but there was no sign of any of the neighbours coming to her assistance. So with only well-worn slippers on her feet, no coat and no money, she shivered against the stinging rain and made her way to the nearest phone box on the edge of the estate.

Valerie eventually turned the corner at the end of the estate, to see the old red metal phone box just across the road, glistening wet under the nearby streetlamp. The metal door was heavy and stiff, and Valerie struggled with cold wet hands until she managed to open the door just enough to wedge her foot and shoulder into the gap. Pushing hard, with her back now braced against the doorframe, she opened the door further and slid quickly inside. Some of the glass panes had been broken, giving only partial shelter against the cold and the rain.

I hope this phone works, she thought to herself as she lifted the battered receiver from its cradle. There was a dialling tone. Valerie breathed a sigh of relief and dialled 999.

Which service do you require? asked the female operator.

Police, please.

"Hello, this is the emergency operator connecting your police control room with phone number 2367757, the call box on the corner of North Road and Winchester