It was a sunny Sunday afternoon and Sarah sat at the kitchen table engrossed in her statement.  She became uneasily aware that someone was staring in at her through the open window.  She’d left it wide open for the smoke and smell of burnt sausages and toast to seep out, little realising that she might see an unwelcome, foreboding face peering in at her.

            “I’ve brought your mattresses back.”

            “Leave them there,” Sarah ordered nervously, while forcing herself not to give him the satisfaction of seeing any kind of emotion on her face.

            “I’ll go back now and get your other things,” the face offered.

            “No, don’t bother,” answered his weary victim; then feeling anger surging inside, she asserted, “You’ve got no intentions of bringing anything back that is of any value to me; you’d have done it by now.  You’re just playing games.  So, GO.... Go on.... And don’t come back.”

            But he didn’t budge.  He just stood there all glassy eyed, pale and forlorn-looking.  Then he burst into floods of tears and, just like a little boy lost, blabbed:

            “I don’t feel well.... I feel so bad.... My head hurts.... Can I have a glass of water?”

            He was welcome to a KETTLE of boiling water; in his fawny face, for all she cared.  But it was wishful thinking and she said nothing.

            “Then the tone changed to pleading words of:

            “Please don’t leave me Sarah.... I love you.... I need you.”  Followed by the usual threats of, “You won’t get away with this; bitch.  You’ve got no idea what or who you’re messing with.  But you soon will.  I warned you not to cross me or my family.  You’ll lose everything.  Just you watch.  You’ll end up locked up and your kids will be taken off you.”

            David noticed the predicament his mother was in and picked up the phone.  Within minutes a big, burly policeman was in Sarah’s back yard threatening Greg with arrest if he is caught anywhere near her, her house or her children again.  The officer wouldn’t listen to Greg’s protest of not being allowed to see his children and informed him that the situation would need to be settled by civil litigation.

            Greg’s parting words as he was escorted away were:

            “I promise I will not come anywhere near you again. You will not see me now until we meet in court.”

            She said nothing.  She just stood straight faced and stared at him.  She knew that that wouldn’t be the case.  And so did he.

Later that afternoon Sarah’s friend and neighbour Lorraine popped in to tell her that Greg had just this minute stopped her outside her house.  She said, genuinely concerned:

            “I’m so worried for you Sar; that ex of yours is a raving nutcase.  He’s dangerous.  He’s just been standing by my gate now all breezy and friendly and acting as if nothing has changed between you two.  God he’s such a charmer; such a deceiver.  He’s convinced that you’ve made it up and that you’re back together and that it was all just a silly lover’s tiff and.... You’re not back with him are you?”

            “Christ no,” replied Sarah venomously.

            “No I didn’t think so,” continued Lol.  “I knew you were serious about it this time; only that creepy bugger is trying to tell me that the reason you dumped him was cos you were having an affair; but now that it has all blown over between you and lover boy, you’ve gone back to him.”

            “What?  The despicable, lying scum bag,” spat Sarah.  “I wasn’t having an affair.  That vile grub made it all up.  He’s living in cloud cuckoo land.  And I certainly haven’t gone back to him.  God knows what I ever saw in him.  He makes my blood run cold.  I wish he’d go and crawl back into the gutter…  You’re a witness now; let me know if you see him hanging around here.  The police have told him to stay away.”

            Lorraine was a genuinely caring person.  She was a good neighbour and friend to have.  She always had an open door to all the waifs and strays in the neighbourhood, taking pity on them and offering them homely comforts, warmth and shelter since many of them came from uncaring, even cruel families.  A lot of the kids did take Lorraine for a bit of a mug though and would eat her out of her home, spend all her loose change and sit for hours watching her TV.  Some even stole from her but she didn’t mind and always insisted that they didn’t know any better and were just unloved, unhappy little mites, craving affection and attention.  Lol puts her charitable qualities to good use too where women like Sarah are concerned.  Having endured years of hardship and hell at the hands of the violent monster that she was married to, she now counsels other violated females at Women’s Aid.  As she turned to go home she made Sarah promise to call Women’s Aid immediately, the moment she feels scared or unsafe, no matter what time of day or night it is. 

            Sarah then paid another neighbour a visit - her pal Shaona from across the road – and asked her to remain vigilant and to tell her if she sees Greg loitering around near her house.  Shay was happy to help and informed Sarah that she’d already witnessed Greg driving at a snail’s pace past her house countless times and sauntering up and down the road and hanging around her gate.

In the evening Sarah’s mate Marie dropped by.  She hadn’t seen Marie for quite some time; their paths just didn’t cross all that often lately.  She came with the message that Greg had been in touch with her to say how worried he was about Sarah because she’d supposedly been acting ‘strange’ lately.

            “I was a bit surprised to get a call from him,” Marie began, “He said that you’d withdrawn into yourself because he’d ended the relationship.  He said that you won’t open the door to anyone and that you slop around all the time in your dressing gown and slippers, supping wine and popping sleeping pills.  I knew he was lying his head off.  I know that that’s the last thing you’d do.  You’re just not like that.  I’ve never seen you depressed.... Anyway I had to see for myself that you’re ok.  I’m glad you got rid of him.  Didn’t I warn you in the beginning?  Didn’t I say to you I’m not sure of him…. he looks shifty.  Anyone who wears dark glasses is hiding behind something and is not to be trusted.  Remember me saying that?”

            Sarah nodded whilst visualising clearly the night in the early months that she and Greg had smooched for hours at a party where Marie was singing.  She vividly recalled her mate’s observations that Greg seemed nice enough but that there was something about him that gave her the creeps.  It was the glasses.  She didn’t like the way Greg hid his eyes and she’d told Sarah that night that the eyes are the windows to one’s soul and that Greg was keeping his concealed for some reason.  Sarah remembered that on that night, Marie had visibly shuddered before whispering to her that Greg was a “prince of darkness”.  Later Marie had taken her to one side and had warned, “Watch out; he’s a king of deceit.”  Sarah had laughed it off at the time, thinking that Marie, forever the drama queen and entertainer, just loved looking for things that simply weren’t there.  Marie always did have spot-on intuition though and she had a thing about spirits, seances, tarot cards, astrology and fortune-tellers, which Sarah had taken with a huge dollop of salt.  But she was pretty accurate at sussing out people and how right she was where Greg was concerned!

The two women shared a bottle of cider and caught up on old times, local gossip and recent events.

            “You know.... I’ve had my share of rotten apples,” continued Marie, “But I reckon Greg is one of the worst types of men you can get.  You have to be ten steps ahead of him.  You’re gonna have real problems with him cos he just aint gonna let go and the trouble is that if people didn’t know you two they could easily believe every word he says cos he’s so plausible.  He told me that you’re a nervous wreck and have gone rapidly down hill of late and that you won’t see a doctor.  He says that you’ve been sleeping around lately and that you’d even tried to top yourself.  He says that it’s all because you’re convinced that he is seeing another girl.  He’s even said that the reason for his phone call is to ask if I’ll check up on Jason and Jess to make sure you haven’t harmed them.  He says Social Services don’t do their job properly.”

            Sarah listened wide-eyed and open-mouthed to Marie.

            “The unbelievable, revolting, bare-faced liar,” she gasped.  “He’s got some God-damned nerve.”

            “Yes, I know; I know,” Marie responded.

            Sarah stormed, “It is true that I am a walking wreck lately and worried sick and stressed to the hilt…. But who wouldn’t be?  It’s only cos that evil bastard is carrying vicious lies about me to the Authorities and is coming around here at all times of the day and night harassing me with slushy letters and gifts, and because he is making menacing threats to me and the kids.  He drives slowly past my house; God knows how many times of the day and night.  And he constantly walks up and down this road often stopping by my gate just to stare down my drive with a hollow, icy, expression on his face that spells REVENGE.  It’s enough to give anyone the jitters.  I’ve even had his bloody barmy family phoning me up to give me a right royal ear bashing.  I’ve hardly slept these past couple of weeks and when I do, I suffer really horrible nightmares of him breaking the door down and chopping us all up alive.... But a doctor can’t solve my problem.  What good is a bottle of pills?  That despicable little stick insect wants my kids in care and me in a nut house.  I really hate him.  Every time I see him I feel sick to the pit of my stomach.  He’s insane.... a Goddamn schizo.  I really had no idea he was this bad.  He’s really got it in for me now.  And there’s no protection.  I’m absolutely terror-stricken.  I try to be brave and I pretend to be coping.  I certainly can’t afford to let him see me cracking up; but the truth is it’s eating away inside me and I just don’t know what to do.  The police tell me to relax.  They say he isn’t a threat and that my imagination is running away with me.  I reckon it’s no wonder so many women end up missing, battered and dead.  The police refuse to take us seriously.  There again, they don’t take any kind of crime seriously; do they?  The law’s an ass and so are the top brass who are supposed to be enforcing it.”

            Despite her niggling reservations, Sarah tried hard to think positively and told Marie, “I’ve just got to trust that the people who matter will see Greg for what he really is - a lying, conniving, conspiring troublemaker and a danger to women and children; and that they’ll agree that for the protection and well being of Jason and Jessica, he should be denied all contact.  I’m fairly confident that justice will eventually be done in court and that whatever that sick, slime ball says will not be taken seriously.”

Marie flatly refused to share her friend’s optimism and remarked, “His type are

always a law unto themselves and they’re constantly getting away with things that other people don’t.  It makes me spit…. Listen, if you like, I could come and sit with you in the evenings; stay overnight maybe sometimes.”

            Sarah thanked her pal for the offer and although it was so tempting to say, “yes,” she decided to try and tough it out alone for a little longer.  This was her problem; it could ferment for ages; she had to find a way of dealing with it.

            The conversation gradually drifted onto lighter topics and the girls ended up giggling over the good old days.  Eventually Marie left. Sarah, feeling decidedly more cheerful and comfortably warm and relaxed as a result of the grog and light-hearted banter, decided to indulge in a fenjal luxury bath.  It was just what she needed before retiring for the night to catch up on some much-needed sleep.

            But as she lay there feeling safe, protected and positive-minded, something happened which knocked her for six.  A pebble pelted the bathroom window.  Sarah’s blood chilled.  She heard a petrified little voice insider her head screaming, ‘Oh no, oh no oh no....’ and she heard her heart booming so loud that she was sure it would explode.  A stone hit the glass, then another and another.... and then nothing.  Eerie silence.  She lay motionless, overwhelmed, shocked and confused.  She wished her mother was there, in her house, comforting her and telling her what to do but there was no one.  Then it started up again, but this time several stones came flying at the window.  Sarah was on tenterhooks, unable to think straight or do anything sensible to deal with the situation until finally she summoned all her courage together, slipped out of the bath and into her nightgown and crept tentatively into the bedroom next door.  She was in total darkness and it would have been impossible for anyone to see her fearful face peering from behind the net curtain.  But just as she appeared at the window, he looked straight up at it and fixed his big, black, baleful eyes on hers.  There was pure evil in his face.  She startled and then physically heaved.  Jerking involuntarily backwards into the black, empty abyss of her bedroom, she sat on the edge of her bed, gasping and trembling and struggling to re-gain her composure.  Then, sniffing uncontrollably and with tears stinging her eyes, she tiptoed her way back to the window.  He had gone.  There was no way he could’ve known she was there.  She hadn’t made a sound.  There was no light in the room.  The curtain was not nudged and she had not gone right up to the glass.  Yet he KNEW.  Greg could predict all Sarah’s movements.  Chillingly, he knew the way her mind worked, her weaknesses and her strengths and he fully intended to exploit that knowledge for all it was worth.  His aim was to punish her pitilessly.  Greg was on a mission and he fully and passionately intended to succeed.

Sarah crept under her quilt and remained curled up in a ball in the fetal position all night.  Sleep came sporadically and every time she dropped off, he was either hacking away at her front door with a sledgehammer or he was standing in her bedroom, his eyes flashing, penetrating; and he was brandishing a long, sharp bread knife.  Or he was tiptoeing out through her door with her babies tucked under his arms.  She didn’t know which was worse, the fearful vivid nightmares that were so real or the wakeful periods in-between when she trembled under the covers at every little sound that she heard; convinced that all the household creaks meant that he was creeping along her landing armed and looking steely-eyed and steadfast in his bid to exact his bloodthirsty revenge.

In the morning everything seemed ‘normal’, much to Sarah’s amazement.  She’d survived another thoroughly miserable night and, telling herself that Greg will soon tire of trying to scare her, began to feel a little perkier.  That was until she’d settled Jason in front of the TV, seen to Jessie’s needs and discovered that the teletubbies weren’t on the screen but that in their place was a mass of moving black and white dots and a horrible din.  She twigged immediately that the fault was in the lead to the aerial and she stormed out to investigate.  Sure enough the thing had been violently ripped apart.  But not only that; she found that her telephone wire had also been tugged out and that its intestines lay haphazardly strewn across her yard.  Sarah’s insides felt like they were about to explode.  She stood there and yelled unashamedly at the top of her voice:

            “You effing, effing, effing bastard.  Damn you Greg Potter, you lousy, ugly, no good son-of-a-bitch…. For Christsakes.”

            She blasted her way back in, hurriedly dressed her babies in their warm, quilted gear, plonked them in the pram and marched steadfastly to the call box.

            “Yes, I want to report harassment and criminal damage to my property, perpetrated by my ex-fiancé,” Sarah screamed down the line at the control room cop.

            “Calm down madam,” came the reply.  “We’ll send someone to see you now.”

            Next she spoke to a BT operator who informed her that an engineer would not be able to attend until the end of next week.

            “But.... this is urgent,” Sarah stammered.  “I can’t be without my phone.... I have a violent, vindictive nutcase of an ex who won’t leave me alone.... Please.... I’m so scared of him breaking in and attacking me.”

            “I’m sorry but we attend to lots of calls like yours all the time,” came the icy cold response.  “There has been an increase lately in the amount of calls we get from women like you complaining that their ex-partner has slashed their telephone wire and the only advice we can give is to alert your next door neighbour of your predicament and to bang on your adjoining wall for help if you are being hounded at home.”

            The police also gave a lukewarm response and enquired, “How do you know your ex is responsible? .... Were there any witnesses?”

            “Well.... no,” replied a confused and besieged Sarah.  “But it’s pretty obvious; he’s been coming around here bothering me, sending me notes and all sorts and hassling my friends.  He’s been spreading lies and slander around and to various officials and he’s threatened to get me back for years to come.  This sort of thing has never happened before.  It’s the police’s job to crack down on criminal behaviour, isn’t it?”

            “We can’t go racing round there and accuse him without firm evidence of his guilt,” came the unhelpful, official reply from the uniform.  Then the human being standing in it gave Sarah a bit of advice:

            “This sort of thing happens all the time.  The place is crawling with blokes like your creepy ex and we just can’t do anything about it.  Even if he is caught and witnessed, it probably won’t get to court and even if it does he’ll just get let off with a slapped wrist; again and again.  I’ve seen it happen.  Sure, some blokes do get done for harassment and end up doing three months in the nick; some poor sods even end up doing time for such mild cases such as driving past a few times, making a handful of phone calls and sending half-a-dozen begging letters.  But don’t ask me to explain why some get clobbered and why some don’t.  I reckon it’s all about who your friends are.  I’ve seen blokes go down for calling social services out on their ex-wives just two or three times.  The CPS have labelled it harassment.  Yet there was one poor woman that I know of who had to put up with her ex sending social workers to see her after he’d fed them a pack of lies about ten times.  And he virtually camped outside her door.  But was he ever charged?  Arrested even?  Was he hell.  That wasn’t harassment!  So don’t go relying on the law to protect you or uphold any sort of justice.  Your best bet is to get someone to duff him up bit.  Just make sure you cover your tracks and don’t get caught yourself.  Oh and by the way; we haven’t had this conversation.”

            “Oh well, thanks for being honest with me,” Sarah shrugged.  “My beef isn’t with you guys anyway.  It’s with your bosses; the ones who enjoy belonging to the rich man’s club and all the protection and privilege that it brings.  They don’t care about law and order and crime; they just want to protect their own cushy lifestyle and status.  There’s got to be corruption at the top when there’s so much crime.”

Sarah popped next door to see Gail, inform her of Greg’s recent antics and to ask if she’d kindly come to her aid in the event of Sarah frantically trying to claw and burrow her way through their adjoining wall to sanctuary since her lifeline with the outside world was temporarily severed.  Gail was happy to oblige, horrified at Greg’s malevolent revenge tactics and commented that she had noticed him and Kim hanging around near Sarah’s house.  Gail said she’d keep an eye out for him and if he was spotted in the vicinity she’d call police.

Sarah’s dad seriously wanted to send round the heavies to Greg’s until it was agreed that somehow that wasn’t a sensible option.

The next few days passed with Sarah suffering small, annoying night-time incidents of bedevilment such as spasmodic splattering of stones at her windows, irritating and alarming knocks on the glass and sporadic use of her doorbell; all at any time of night and early hours of the morning.  She and the kids also heard footsteps on the driveway, scraping noises on the walls, the gas fire flue being walloped and his car continually going past at all hours.  Sarah, David and Anna would peer out from time to time but saw nothing.  In the mornings she’d discover that her bins had been moved.  One was even found at the top of her road.  She found candles [of the type Greg used to be fond of] lined up on her wall, leering at her.  She saw that chippings had been scraped off her walls and even that some of the stones had been brushed up and scattered on top of her shed roof and Gail’s.  There were dead snails arranged on her kitchen window ledge so that they made up the words ‘I LOVE YOU’.  And she even noticed blobs of blue and burgundy paint smeared on her walls and shed door.  Also, she discovered her flue squashed.  Her neighbours found evidence that someone had been trespassing in their back gardens because Sheila [behind her] pointed out her recently flattened weeds and Mary [of the home next door] was livid to find two sets of footprints amongst her flower beds and that her blooms had been trampled down.  Yet despite the neighbourly vigilance, no one actually saw the culprits.

            The period was tense and trying.  The family were on tenterhooks.  Yet Sarah tried desperately hard to play the whole thing down in a bid to calm the kids.  She tried to convince David and Anna that Greg and Kim were much more scared of them than the other way around because Greg and Kim refuse to allow themselves to be seen.  She explained that the trespassers scurry like frightened rabbits and hide in dark bushes rather than risk being spotted, which is a sign of fear and cowardice.  Sarah wished she could convince herself with the same argument but the facts were that Greg was, so far, doing an excellent job of unnerving her, upsetting her, disrupting her sleep and making her fearful for the future.  She reasoned that if she appeared to pay no heed to his pathetic manic mission and his confounding capers, Greg would soon give up the ghost and leave her in peace.  Who was she trying to kid? 

A couple of days drifted by without significance and Sarah thought the worst was over until another unwelcome caller appeared at the door:

            “Hello Ms Hawthorne, I’m Eileen Berryman; senior social worker.  May I come in?” enquired the face.

            ‘Oh gawd not again,’ thought Sarah. ‘What does she want?’

            “Sure,” greeted Sarah, pretending to be cheerful while desperately trying to contain her true feelings.

            “Mr Potter has just been in to see us raising concerns about his children’s well being.  His main worry is that you go out every night dating different men and that you bring ‘all types’ home.  He says you leave all the children alone, that you drink excessively and that they all watch everything that goes on between you and your men-friends.  He’s also worried because he’s heard that you allow Jason to climb in bed with you and that he watches you having sex.”

            Sarah was so shocked that her jaw nearly hit the floor.

            “I don’t believe you people,” she seethed.  “You’re going to tell me this just another one of your jokes, right?  Cos this is so ridiculous, it’s a mockery of Social Services.”

            “We have to investigate all allegations, Ms Hawthorne.  Please understand that,” came the aloof reply.

            “For cryin’ out loud,” she boomed in return, “Why don’t you check your facts before coming around here all high and mighty and judgmental?  Why don’t you people plant yourselves on my doorstep for a week or two and just watch what goes on? You’ll be perfect witnesses for me.  You’ll find that I do NOT go out drinking or dating or having sex on street corners or anywhere else for that matter.  But you will find that Mr Gregory Potter DOES come around here EVERY night, spying, harassing, trespassing and damaging my property.  What are you going to do about that?  If HE is telling you that I go out on the town, partying, then he is admitting that he is watching my movements.  That’s HARASSMENT.  And if HE is telling you that I’m having sexual relations with various blokes in front of my son then that’s SLANDER.  Now are you going to back me up when I go to the police and DEMAND that they prosecute him for such?”

            “I’m sorry,” the social worker said snootily, “but we really don’t have the resources to do the public’s detective work.  Our job lies in the protection and welfare of children.”

            “Well, why don’t you start protecting the children then?” Sarah counter-blasted, “and go and target your enquiries and heavy handedness where it is needed - at the likes of Greg Potter and the multitudes of other child abusers, bullet-shooters and evildoers.  For heavens sakes, you’ll be coming here next telling me I’m engaging in prostitution!”  

No sooner had Ms Berryman made a swift exit than Sarah caught sight of her embittered and bothersome ex, of all people through her living room nets.  He was standing there right outside her house with his head shoved under his bonnet, spanners and spark plugs in one hand and an oily rag in the other.  Sarah could not believe Greg’s gall.  It was beyond belief.  She called the police, so sure that they’d actually catch him red-handed and that he’d definitely be arrested this time.  But time floated by and every time Sarah re-dialled, cops told her they were on their way.  Meanwhile her offensive ex had spent a leisurely half hour messing about on his car, manipulating this, fiddling about with that and taking time in between to stare odiously down her drive and at her house.

            Sarah sent David around to alert the neighbours so that she’d have witnesses to the whole sad spectacle but it was sod’s law that only the kids just happened to be at home at the time.  None of the adults were present.  The whole sorry saga ended with the sickening sight of Greg depositing his spent oil residue, several soiled cloths and bent rusty screwdrivers on top of her bin lid.

            The police duly arrived five minutes after Greg’s departure, to be greeted by a sneering Sarah:

            “You lot are so slow, you couldn’t catch a cold, never mind a criminal.  He was practically gift-wrapped for you.”

            “We can’t be everywhere at once,” retaliated Mr Law enforcer.  “There’s only two of us on at the moment.”

            “Well anyway,” snapped Sarah, “You can see he’s been here; look at all his dregs on my bin lid.”

            “Anyone could’ve done that.  We can’t use that as evidence against him.  It just wouldn’t stand up in court,” asserted the PC.

            “But what about fingerprints?  DNA testing?” questioned an incredulous Sarah.  “Surely that’ll reveal the truth; then you can charge him and he’ll stop all this mindless, senseless provocation.”

            “Sorry, we don’t have the staff or resources to go to those lengths.  We’re not exactly talking about a murder enquiry here, are we?” pipped the patronising PC.

            “No, not yet,” quipped a weary Sarah.

Later that evening the slime bucket had the brass neck to front up on her doorstep and fix his fat finger on her doorbell until she had no choice but to respond.  Sarah reached up to remove the batteries from the box under the bell but in the doing was sighted by the slippery, sly Greg, who began tormenting her through her letter box:

            “Oi, bitch.  I hope you’re satisfied now.  I’ve lost my job cos of you and your nasty lies,” snarled the snake.

            “Rubbish,” retorted Sarah.  “If you’ve had the boot, it’s your own fault.  Don’t go blaming me, you wimp.”  Sarah felt an equal mixture of fear, loathing and deep-seated roaring anger towards the aggressor on the other side of the door.

            “If they have got rid of you, GOOD.  Maybe now they’ll start doing the right thing and charge YOU with molestation,” yelled an assertive Sarah.  “Now, GET LOST.”

            “Not so hasty, sweetheart.  You still don’t get it; do you, bird brain?” he boomed back.  “I’m still one of them and working for them.  It’s just that I’m not in uniform.  I’m far more important than an ordinary constable.  Oh, and I practice judo with them too now…. in the elite class of course.”

            “Yeah, sure.... So much for the ‘incapacity’ fib, you social services swindler and benefit fraudster,” spat Sarah.

            “Hark whose talking, hair-brain,” continued the creep.  “The DSS know all about you.  They know you’re on the fiddle now too.  They’re watching your every move and they know you’ve got a bloke in there living with you.”

            “You’re a bloody nutter,” barked Sarah, beginning to back away from the door.

            “Not so fast my little angel,” goaded Greg.  “Guess who I’ve been talking to today…. Your long forgotten brother.  He told me everything…. all about your affairs when you were married to Glen and your lies and deceit.  I can see now why he can’t stand you and why he’s hated you all those years; you dirty trollop.  He said you’re just like your mother - a selfish little whore.  Just wait ‘till the court hears a few home truths about you, my sweet, then we’ll see who gets awarded custody of Jason and Jessica.  Social services have already told me that they’ve got grave doubts about you and your behaviour and your methods of raising kids.”

            “You shouldn’t speak ill of the dead; it may come back to haunt you one day,” warned a sombre Sarah.

            “Oh no my petal, you’re the one who should be worried about death. You’ll be meeting your maker soon and you’ll have to answer to him for all your life’s sins.  He will judge you.  Oh I pity you,” teased her tormentor.

            “You’re the one that he’ll turn back at the pearly white gates Greg,” snapped Sarah.  “You’re such a loathsome, lying, bullet-shooting, con-artist that you’re the embodiment of the Devil himself.  Now sod off and slither back under your slimy stone.”

            “Oh don’t worry, I’m going.... for now.  But I haven’t finished with you yet my little honey bun.  Not by a long chalk.  You see Sarah, you crossed me and I warned you not to.  That’s a punishable offence. You have to die Sarah.  But first you have to suffer.  No one can save you.  Police are on my side.  I keep telling you that but you don’t believe me.  There are certain rules, you see, that you must obey.  But you didn’t, did you Sarah?  You were a disobedient girl and now you must pay.  You think you’ve already endured some hardship, don’t you darling?  Well you’ve seen nothing yet.  I’ll be back tonight with a vengeance that will make you weep.  I’ll be stepping up my campaign of chastisement and by the end of it all you’ll either end up in a loony bin or in jail or in your coffin.  Either way, you’ll be finished - dead in body and spirit.  Goodbye my Sarah.... for now.  I’ll see you later.”

            “Yeah!  You and who’s army?” she screamed back at him, desperate to convey the message that she was neither broken by him nor troubled by him.

But the truth was he had got to her.  He had scared the living daylights out of her and his threats plagued her.  She was terrified that he would actually succeed in destroying her totally and unequivocally.  Scrambling for the phone and overcome with confusion and despair she called Women’s Aid.

            Sarah spilled out her frustrations, fear and fury through floods of fast-flowing tears.  Her knees were knocking and her hands quivering as she described her errant, abusive and brutal ex-spouse and his psychopathic tendencies and malicious intent.  She was shaking so much and her heart racing so fast that she felt sure she was on the verge of a breakdown until Jane’s kind and soothing voice on the other end of the line had an instantaneous, welcoming, calming effect.  Jane advised Sarah to call the police every time she suspects Greg of hanging around outside her home or thinks he has done criminal damage to it.  She said it was necessary to make the police absolutely crystal clear about the severity of the situation and to get the point across that she is entitled to and expects police protection.  Jane pointed out that the more often women phone the police regarding Domestic Violence, the more likelihood there is of them actually doing something to protect women.  The way things stand at present; they are woefully inadequate.  She described women’s status in society as being second-class citizens as viewed by the police [a male-dominated institution] and government [also male-dominated.]  She then advised Sarah to invest in a portable high-pitched, burglar deterrent which she should activate in her ‘ex’s face if he approaches her in the street.  She suggested that it should be stored on Sarah’s bedside table at night time as it would make a rather comforting companion.  She urged Sarah not to give her tormentor the satisfaction of a reaction from her, simply by refusing to say anything to him.  This, explained Jane, sends the firm message that she is no longer available for manipulation.

Jane brought the conversation to a close by stressing to Sarah that if all else fails she is welcome to take up refuge with her children at one of their ‘battered women’ shelters for as long as she needs.  The thought, although attractive and comforting in one sense, was alarming in the other to Sarah because it would be a signal to Greg that he’d won and that was something that she simply couldn’t stomach.  What right did he have to bully her out of her own home?  She thanked Jane for the generous offer but vowed to stay put and fight for freedom for as long as possible.  Jane replied:

            “Good girl, stay positive and remember that we’ve all been there.  You are going through a tough time right now but you’re not alone and it won’t last forever.  Just hang in there and call us whenever you need to; whatever time it is.”

            Such encouragement and support gave her a tremendous boost and Sarah pledged that if Greg was planning to send her round the bend he’d have to jolly well work a lot harder at it because she had her kids to look after and her self-preservation to maintain.

Her newly acquired ebullient mood was abruptly deflated as she scoured the freezer looking for something tasty for tea.  This was because she suddenly became aware that virtually all of her meat compartment was unusually empty.  Greg had stolen her meat!  She clenched her fists, thumped the wall, stamped her feet and yelled:

            “Bloody, hateful, self-centred parasite.”

As the family tucked into fish fingers and mash, Sarah had a strong sense that there were ‘eyes’ upon her.  Her spine chilled and goose pimples formed all over her body.  She continued with the meal as if there was nothing untoward going on but after they’d all finished and had cleared up, she turned off the light and pretended to walk out.  But, instead, she crept back in to find him momentarily peeping in.  She then sneaked into the darkened living room and was gob-smacked to find Greg leering in the window there too.  Within seconds, and to Sarah’s horror, it became evident that he’d moved again from that position and was now hovering by her front door.  He’d thrust his hairy hand through her letterbox and was now clasping on to Jason’s tiny fingers.  Sarah sped instantaneously to her son’s aid, snatched him up into her arms, said nothing to the smirking monster behind her door and speedily scrambled upstairs to the sound of the snail snivelling:

            “I can’t bear to be without my little ones.  Thanks Sarah, for letting me have a few seconds with my son….  God he’s grown.  He’s not a baby anymore; he’s a little boy….  Oh I wish you’d let me hold him.  I miss him so much.”

            Then his tactics changed into loud sneers and taunts of:

            “You put on a lovely performance for me tonight.  I went crazy watching the sexy way you spooned your mashed potatoes, fish fingers and beans into your mouth and you had me drooling when you placed your provocative pink lips over that banana afterwards.  I tell you, I nearly died watching the way you sucked on that ice cream.  You’re deliberately teasing me, aren’t you Sarah, you naughty little girl?  You just love to get me lusting after you, don’t you?  Well, don’t worry; I’ll be around later to give you a good sorting.  I know you’re dying for it.”

            Sarah sat in silence at the top of the stairs, cringing at the sexual overtones.  As Jason played quietly in his bedroom with Anna, Sarah, silently and urgently prayed for her perverted prowler to slither away.  She also made a mental note to fix some drapes up at the kitchen window and to purchase a conference-style tape recorder and a hand-held burglar alarm. 

As he continued unabated, babbling on about what he was going to do with her later that evening, she called the police.  Typically though, they arrived seconds after the sleaze-bucket had sloped off.  It was as if they’d planned it that way.  It was impeccable timing from Greg’s point of view.

            The police officer began lecturing Sarah about crime prevention: keeping doors and windows locked, having a chain on the door and a secure five-lever mortise lock. He even informed her that he’d post her their latest pamphlets with government guidelines on domestic violence prevention and fighting crime; as if she was supposed to be so grateful for their much needed advice or something!

            “For cryin’ out loud,” Sarah snapped.  “I don’t need any more locks, chains or glossy brochures.  This place is like a fortress as it is.  Do you want me to board up my letterbox and my windows and barricade myself in until your type decide to make the world a safer place?  Sometimes I think that’s not such a bad idea!  What good is a pretty little leaflet against the likes of my spiteful, crazed ex?  A sledgehammer would be more useful!”

            The officer attempted to placate her with:

            “We’d love to be able to charge your ex-partner with harassment but we need firm evidence for the court.”

            “Well, why can’t you install a camera, just temporarily, and then you’ll have all the proof you need?”  Sarah questioned.

            “CCTV cameras cost too much.  We can’t put them on individual houses.”  The PC proclaimed.

            “No, there’s never any money for ordinary people who need PROTECTING but there’s always plenty of it in the pot for the hefty wage packets of those at the top and what is more insulting and downright disgusting is that they have the diabolical nerve to claim a golden handshake and a mighty pay off when they are sacked for being utter dismal failures and corrupt to the core.”  Sarah was firing on all cylinders now.  “It’s no wonder folk turn into hermits in their own homes,” she blasted.  “It’s the innocent, law-abiding good citizens who have to live like prisoners; not the damned crooks.  What am I supposed to do, put electric fencing all around my house?”

            “If anyone gets hurt on your property, you will be liable.  It is an offence to endanger people’s lives.  You cannot take the law into your own hands.”

            “Oh I’ve heard it all now,” she smirked.  “What about the offence of trespassing…. of harassing…. of criminal damage?  I used to live a prisoner’s existence when I was with Greg Potter; now it is one hundred times worse; just because I’ve attempted to break free of him!”

            The PC was definitely one of them.  He prattled on about the laws being there but that harassment cases are hard to bring because the courts demand indisputable substantiation.  He asked why Sarah wasn’t pressing charges for common assault if Greg was as violent and dangerous as she claimed.  She replied that it was because she’d had the freedom of binning him off and that at the time she’d stupidly chosen to stay with him.  Therefore it wouldn’t be right, in her opinion, to press charges under such circumstances.

Later, in bed, Sarah mulled over the ‘no evidence’ problem and wondered if she should have her own camera surveillance installed but realised that she simply couldn’t afford to and that she’d need at least two cameras anyway - one at the front and one at the back.  As she lay there, pondering, she heard the letterbox banging and clanging; then she heard Greg’s slurred words surging through:

            “Sarah, Sarah, Sarah, open the door.... Come on love.... Let me in.... I just wanna talk to you.... That’s all....”

            He was as drunk as a lord.  Sarah then heard a horrible thud on the door.  It was Greg furiously venting his anger. He kicked and thumped the door with such increasing ferocity that Sarah felt sure he was about to knock it right off its hinges.  Crying and fumbling, she frantically dialled the police and screamed:

            “Please come quickly.... It’s my ex.... He’s tanked up and frenzied, like a man possessed.  He’s trying to break my door down.  He’s kicking and hitting it so hard I can hear the wood splintering.... Oh God, please hurry.... He’s going to kill me.... I’m t-terrified.... Please help me....”

            As she sat there praying and pleading for help, the ogre boomed:

            “Don’t bother calling the police, sweetie pie.  They won’t help you; I keep telling you that.  They just laugh their socks off whenever you call.  It’s just you and me alone together.... forever.  I’ll be up there in a minute to cement our love.  And then.... You must die.”

            The deranged monster continued to hound her through the letterbox:

            “I don’t really want to kill you but you are headstrong and disobedient.  Women like you need to be put in their places.  Now you must pay the ultimate price.”  And with that came the ear-splitting sound of shattering, splintering glass.  Sarah let out an almighty, piercing scream and robotically repeated down the line:

            “He’s in my house; he’s in my house; he’s in my house....”

            David and Anna had heard the commotion and were now crouched with their mother, all three hugging each other in the upstairs hall.  A couple of minutes passed and they remained huddled and petrified in that position until, finally, they heard warm, comforting voices wafting in from outside.

            “It’s the police here love.  Can you come and let us in?”

            Sarah flew downstairs, opened up her mangled and mutilated door and blurted out:

            “Quick; go after him.  He’s only just gone.... Jesus, look what he’s done to the door.”

            “And your front room window,” remarked one officer pointing at the gaping hole leading in to her living room.

            “Maybe he’s in my house now; hiding somewhere,” Sarah babbled, panicking and darting in to the living room to search.

            “Relax,” came an authoritative response.  “He’s not here; he’s at home.  We sent two cars out this time when we got your call and the other officers found him there.  He reckons he’s been at home all evening enjoying a few cans.”

            “Well.... he.... would say that, wouldn’t he?”  Sarah stammered.  “But that’s impossible.  He was here.... just minutes ago.... Then again I suppose it wouldn’t take him long to race back there.... He drives like a nutter; always fancied himself as a rally driver.  But you can see this time, can’t you? .... What he’s done.... How bad he is.... You’re going to arrest him now, surely?  No one else would do such a thing.  It’s obviously him.”

            “We understand your distress,” offered one of the officers.  “And yes, the finger of suspicion does point in his direction but we can’t go on supposition; we need hard facts and EVIDENCE.”

            “You’ve got to be joking.... I can’t take all this in.”  Sarah sighed as she slumped, stunned onto the sofa.

            “Look,” the other officer intervened in a kindly tone, “You may not think this but we ARE watching him and waiting for him to make a false move.  He won’t do anything to you.  He’s just trying to unnerve and manipulate you.  He’ll soon get fed up of it all.  In the meantime we’ll get someone now to board that window up and to make this door a bit more secure.  You’ll have to contact your insurance company in the morning.  We’ll also see what we can do about some sort of CCTV surveillance.”

            Sarah was grateful that they did at least appear to be doing something at last; but that didn’t take away the distress and dread of what Greg might do next.  She thanked the officers and went to bed with a heavy heart and a daunting, demoralizing feeling of impending doom.  Her children lay sleeping at either side of her.

After another insomniac night, Sarah was greeted by a grotesque smell of.... FAECES.  She crept tentatively to its source and, to her absolute horror and disgust, found that dog dung had been stuffed through her letterbox.  It lay in her torn foil-lined letter holder.  There was about a shovel-full of it.  And it was occupied by a mass of wriggling, writhing.... MAGGOTS.  They plopped one by one onto the carpet below.  Sarah paled and recoiled.  She then bowed her head, pushed her fists hard against her forehead and yelled “NO”.  She yelled continuously as loud as possible and for as long as possible until her face was scarlet, her neck veins pulsated and she had no breath left in her lungs.  This was followed by Sarah sobbing and crying uncontrollably and running through the house like a headless chicken towards the back door not knowing what to think or do next.  Once outside she discovered to her extreme distress that her down-pipes had been yanked off the wall and that red gloss paint daubed her kitchen window.  The words, “YOU ARE DEAD” had been scrawled ominously on the back door.  Sarah collapsed onto the floor in a pool of desperate, despondent, disconsolate tears.  David followed her out, with Anna in hot pursuit.

            “He’s a nasty, old, grey-haired git and I’m going to get him back for this,” declared David.  “I don’t know yet how exactly I’m going to do it but I’ll think of something.  He’s got to be forced to stop doing these things.  Why should he get away with it all?”

            Anna nodded and Sarah mumbled:

            “Well I know I wouldn’t get away with any of it.  I’d’ve been behind bars ages ago.  You know, that mindless maniac has come back here after the boarding up was done last night to do all this.  Christ knows how long he was here or how often he came back.  He’s off his head - a raving lunatic, hell bent on vengeance and destruction.  I think I’ll just go to his house and do the same to him.  See how he likes it.”

            David and Anna announced in unison that they would go to his place and cause a bit of mischief and that they’d get their friends to help too.

            “Yeah, and you kids will get caught, which is exactly what he wants.  Nothing would make him happier than to see you two on his property up to no good, so promise me you won’t go near there; or his car.  Don’t give the bastard the satisfaction.  You see some people get away with criminal behaviour and some don’t.  He does and we don’t.  It’s just the way it is.  But we WILL find a way to fight back.”

The police were their usual sympathetic but useless selves.  The WPC told her to record everything and to see her solicitor about an injunction.  The question of CCTV cropped up and the young PC sneered:

            “They’re not as good as they’re cracked up to be.  They don’t catch criminals - not the hardened persistent types anyway, like your ex.  Real crooks keep their eye on the camera and do not allow themselves to be filmed.  It’s a case of ‘big brother’ reversal roles.  Most of the CCTVs are dummy cameras anyway - to save the council cash.”

            Sarah also learned that the ‘prince of lies’ had been making allegations about her and her kids to the police.  Greg had reported Sarah to them virtually every day claiming that she had been hanging around his house harassing him!  She was reportedly seen stealing his gnomes, smearing paint on his windows, hiding in his bushes, letting his dog off its chain and releasing his ferrets into next door’s fields.  He had also complained to police about Sarah stalking his daughter Kim, calling her names and making nasty threats.  Apparently Kim had given a statement to police confirming this.  David and Anna had supposedly been sighted [and witnessed by a variety of different neighbours of Greg’s] dumping rubbish in his garden, poisoning his array of treasured plants and flowers and climbing up his drainpipes.  They’d also allegedly been onto his roof and done damage to his pipes and guttering.  David was also, according to Mr Malignity, responsible for sticking drawing pins in his car tyres and scratching the bodywork.  Sarah was staggered at such insolence.  His fabricated stories held no bounds and she was utterly convinced that no one could top Greg in the lying stakes.  The only consolation was that the police were, quite clearly, not taking any of his tales seriously because no one had been to question her about any of his accusations.  That was proof in her mind that the police considered him an outrageous liar, which obviously seriously undermined his credibility and therefore could only benefit Sarah’s position in court.

After contacting Women’s Aid again desiring a large dose of comfort and camaraderie and to gain some much needed mental strength, Sarah cleaned up as best she could and apprehensively ventured down town.  She had barely turned the corner at the top of her road when she came face to face with.... him.  Her blood froze, her flesh crawled and her heart pounded.  She felt as if she’d just walked into the jaws of death.  Immediately she looked away from him, quickened her pace and continued on her way.  But he leapt to her side and pretended to be interested in Jason and Jessica who sat in their double buggy remaining totally indifferent towards him.  The rodent then began to pat Jason on the head, but he ducked and frowned.  Sarah shifted up a gear so that she was almost running but Greg continued to shadow her like a malignant tumour.  Then he viciously removed Sarah’s hands from the pram, rammed her hard against the Video Library window, thrust his face into hers and belched:

            “Tonight, bitch; you die.  And remember; no pigs.”

            Sarah was momentarily paralysed with shock and fear.  Then, feeling the fiend release the pressure on her shoulders, she released her pent-up, befuddled energy in a long, loud, piercing scream.  The cowardly brute bowed his head and made a hasty exit.  Disbelieving bystanders just stood restrained, nonchalantly watching the drama.  Sarah stared back at them, began to sob, spun on her heels and headed home - too disorientated and distraught to carry on with her shopping plans.  Once inside the place, which she used to consider her safe haven but which wasn’t any more since it was gradually being hacked away, David made his mother a coffee and urged her to quickly report the latest assault to the police. But defeated Sarah protested:

            “Oh, what’s the use?  The police won’t do anything.  You saw the reaction from the spectators; no one wants to know.  Folk don’t want to be dragged into others’ problems.”

            But alert David quickly pointed out that all the evidence needed would be there on CCTV because he’d noticed that ‘big brother’ had been focussed on them. 

            However, the police [not too surprisingly] had other ideas and later informed Sarah that although the tape in question had been scrutinized, there was no indication of her, the children or the beast being present.

            David commented wryly that the thing probably wasn’t even turned on, and Sarah cursed, wishing now that she’d at least asked those witnesses to give a brief statement since there was [typically] diddly squat evidence caught on camera.

Later that afternoon Sarah was beside herself with rage when she was confronted by yet another Social Services gangster.  The toffee-nosed cow called Miss Pew breezed in announcing that they’d had an anonymous referral from a man who knows Sarah’s family and who lives in the neighbourhood. The mystery man is apparently worried about Jason because he’d been seen toddling outside, alone with no shoes on and wearing only a t-shirt and trousers and he’d been shivering with cold.  Also the unnamed man had seen Jason playing in his little car on the pavement, alone, on a couple of occasions.  There was also concern about David who was often seen with a black eye and a bruised cheek.  According to the unnamed man [who allegedly saw Sarah hitting her son in the yard], when David was questioned as to who had marked his face, he became defensive and said that he’d been attacked by some bigger boys.

            Sarah was stunned.  Seething and spitting fire, she blazed:

            “I’ll tell you exactly who that vile, vindictive, vengeful viper is.  His name is Gregory Potter and his soul aim in life is to make my life hell.  He wants you lot to take my kids off me and he wants me dead and rotting in the bowels of the Earth.”

            “Oh, I’m sure that’s not true,” the ignorant woman replied, sweetly.

            “You have no idea, do you, how evil and deceitful some men are, and how they operate,” said Sarah, incredulously. “My ex-fiancé has threatened, intimidated and hounded me relentlessly. He smashed my window and my door, he graffitied my walls, destroyed my pipes, scraped large patches of pebble-dash off my walls and pushed excrement through my letterbox, laced with hundreds of maggots.  NOW, do you call that the actions of a half-decent human being; let alone a ‘concerned’ one?  How would you feel if your ex-partner was doing these atrocious things to you and, worse, was assisted in his iniquitous intentions by ignorant, naive, social workers?  Don’t talk to me about ‘concern’; just don’t you dare.  That cancerous growth needs locking up.  But the powers-that-be won’t touch him.  Why?  I have no idea.  I suspect it is because he has powerful mates.”

            “This call didn’t come from your ex.  It was from a worried neighbour,” Miss Pew politely insisted.

            “No.  Don’t give me that trash.  You people don’t live in the real world.  Any coward that has to hide behind anonymity should not be taken seriously by you lot.  The likes of my ex can get you lot dancing to their tune by the flick of their little fingers.  Are you people scared of them?  Is that the truth?  Cos you always persist on picking on the innocent, law-abiding, vulnerable VICTIMS.  Anything that this loathsome, unidentified object has told you is a humongous pack of lies and should be filed in the bin.  Why don’t you do something about the filth who roam our streets - the paedophiles and those murky, guilty men who hide behind the protection of their position in society - priests, children’s ‘care’ homes directors and managers, councillors, magistrates, police chiefs…. And then why don’t you question why we have cover up after cover-up after cover-up from the Authorities?  Stop burying your head in the sand, Miss Pew.  Stop listening to lying, debased, despicable creeps like my ex and start probing them and those who protect them; men like your bosses.  Good day to you Miss Pew.”

            Sarah virtually shunted the social worker through the door, sick and tired of all the pretence and games.  She then stood by the door inhaling and exhaling slowly and deeply in a bid to calm and control herself whilst all the time praying hard to someone/something/God/anyone to give her the strength and sense of humour to toughen it out and help keep her sanity in what seemed to be an ugly, fabricated, insane world.

Later that evening David and Anna went to their weekly swimming club with Sandra and Carl - the kids from next door.  After the session they all arrived home red-faced, breathless and incoherent.  Eventually Sarah learned that her deeply hated ex and his brainwashed, doting daughter had sat in the balcony above, just staring at David and Anna.  Her children described the look as “sly,” “spiteful” and “scary” and it bothered them so much that they couldn’t concentrate on their lesson.  During the short walk home afterwards the stalkers pursued their four little victims, terrorising them with taunts such as, “We’ll be around later again to sort you two horrible brats out.  You lot are going to die and the babies will be coming to live with us…. Tell your mum we’ve got it in for her.  Her throat will be sliced and you will watch her bleeding slowly to death; then you can watch each other being slowly and horribly mangled until you can take no more and you’re crying out for mercy.”  It didn’t matter how fast they ran, they couldn’t shake off their tormentors.  David and Anna were even pushed so hard by Greg and Kim that they tripped up and fell onto their faces, suffering grazed hands and bruised knees.  David was also kicked so callously in his knees by evil Greg that he could barely walk and had to be virtually dragged home by the others.

            Sarah’s face went as black as thunder.  She dialled police and fumed:

            “You’d better arrest and charge that detestable and despicable creep - NOW - because I’m being driven to taking a gun to his head.  When are you lot gonna start protecting US instead of HIM?  My two defenceless children are at present the latest focus for his nefarious attention.  They were chased home tonight - bullied and threatened with their lives.  They were kicked and pushed so violently that both now have bleeding hands and bruised knees.  Tonight’s attack was not just on my kids either, but their friends, my neighbours, were also followed and terrorised by that depraved animal.”

            The police response was, as usual, insipid.  They fell back on the usual excuse that there are no witnesses, insisting that Sandra and Carl don’t count because they are only children.  They even went so far as to suggest that the kids were probably lying and that they’d more likely been kicking and pushing each other around.  Sarah responded with, “Oh God, give me strength.” 

            Just to pacify her they insisted they’d visit his house to warn him to keep away from her and her kids.

            Word came back that Greg admits to being in the leisure centre but that he was only there to pick up his daughter.  He acknowledges saying “hello” to David and Anna but that that was all; he then left and went straight home.  He is upset that David and Anna would make up such a wicked story and is calling them liars.

            “Well, of course he would.  He is such a hardened and compulsive liar that he wouldn’t know the truth if it came up and slapped him on the face,” sighed a stressed-out Sarah who decided that for the foreseeable future she’d have to send the kids to their club in a taxi. Not that she could afford it; but she had no choice.  His devious little plan was certainly working.  She bid the bobbies goodbye with a biting:

            “What does that fiend have to do to make you morons move; murder one of us?”

Much later, as Sarah checked that the house was locked, bolted and safe before retiring, she came face to face with the dreaded ‘king of darkness’ who was pressed up against her porch peering in at her.  She recoiled in horror and began trembling like a scolded child.  But incredibly he then made an abrupt about-turn and scrambled nimbly over next-door’s shed in a sudden, hasty getaway.

            Sarah could not fathom Greg’s behaviour. She agonized over what he was up to and what might happen next and she spent hours sipping countless cups of tea, munching on umpteen cheese crackers and nibbling at her nails.  She was too scared to go to bed and too busy mulling over his actions and the possible consequences.  She was angry that he’d made her and her family virtual prisoners in their own home, angry that he was getting away with it and angry that she had to fork out on taxis just so that her kids could get to and from their clubs in safety.  When she thought about all the money he’d already either stolen from her or sweet-talked out of her because he was always in a crisis when they were together, it grieved her to think that he was still making her pay.  She had to pay for repairs, and for security and undoubtedly on future expenses relating to court.  More than anything though, she was hopping mad that he still had the power to terrify and control her and make all their lives a living nightmare.  The injustice of it all gnawed away deeply, silently and bothersomely at her insides.  Eventually, when it was 5 am and Sarah could barely keep her eyes open, let alone think, she dragged her weary body off to bed, not bothering to wash or change.

After about an hour, she awoke abruptly, deeply shocked and sweating profusely.  She agonizingly recalled her vivid, hellish, death-wish dream.  It was about seeing herself restrained, gagged and forced to watch as Greg slowly, meticulously and heinously violated her cherished children.  He’d tied David and Anna to their beds, saturated them with petrol and had thrown a lighted match at them.  She’d seen her little angels burning and suffering the most horrific and unimaginable death possible. Their faces were ashen and sheer terror-stricken and their screams of “mum.... mum.... mum....” were pitiful, harrowing and heart-rending.  Sarah clearly saw herself thrashing and jerking so violently in a desperate vain attempt to escape her shackles and save her children.  Such was the ferocity that blood oozed from the deep cuts on her wrists and ankles where she’d struggled against the cord holding her captive.  She painfully recalled the indescribable blood-curdling horrible sight of the two small charred bodies of David and Anna.  The grisly real-life dream had drawn to a close with Sarah being released from her state of imprisonment by a grinning victorious Greg.  At this point she saw herself looking with such hatred and detestation deep into the hollow black eyes of the murderer in her midst.  She’d begun to gouge and claw at his face like a crazed wild cat and then she simply walked nonchalantly into the roaring raging fire of hell that had just heartbreakingly callously and cruelly claimed her children. It all ended in the courtroom sham, where the souls of three innocent hounded victims could not be avenged and laid to rest.  Instead the aggrieved restless spirits suffered the injustice of watching a guilty beastly barbarian walk free after his despicable, corrupt, lying lawyer successfully argued that Sarah was a depressed and deeply disturbed woman who simply could not face life alone and had opted for the easy way out – suicide, taking her children with her.  The judge ruled that there was ‘not enough evidence’ for a conviction.

            Those three simple words ‘not enough evidence’ gnawed and clawed their way around her head.  They haunted her so much that she could do nothing but re-live the spine-chilling, powerful, beastly nightmare a thousand times until she was a hopeless, grief-stricken, weeping wreck.  There was nothing left for her to do except pray passionately and fervently that things would start to improve and that her disturbing dream was just that, only a harmless dream and not some sinister prophesy.

            As she lay there dejected, demoralised and almost destroyed, she became distinctly aware of her baby’s breathing in the cot at the foot of her bed.  It was enough to remind her of exactly why she must not give in and why she must fight to the very bitter end for the right to bring up her children in a peaceful and safe loving healthy environment by a mother who is mentally fit and stable.  It was as if a little voice had jumped into her head and given her a dose of courage and the will to stay strong for her family’s sake.  She vowed there and then that Greg Potter had one hell of a fight on his hands if he was planning on sending her potty and she humbly learned to have a little more faith that good would eventually win over evil. 

She checked up on Jason.  He slept contentedly.  Already things were improving where her little son was concerned.  He no longer banged his head at night.  That was a relief and was a sure sign that he used to do it due to tension in the home when his father was there in foul or bullying mood.  The health visitor used to tell her that a lot of kids do it when new siblings arrive and that such behaviour is a sign of jealousy.  Sarah didn’t really believe that that was the whole picture.  She wondered how many other homes were tense and violent; how many other little kids suffered in frustrated silence.

A day or two passed without much ado and then Sarah received yet another most unwelcome caller.  This time it was duty social worker Ms Barker who had come to bother her.  She said that Child-line had received an urgent call from a Mrs Lilian Frost and a Ms Donna Black.  The women had stated that they’d seen Sarah staggering all over the place while under the influence of alcohol whilst trying to push a pram in and out of shops.  They were apparently also worried because they’d seen Jason regularly playing outside alone for hours on end whilst only being half-dressed.  He’d also been seen picking up woodlice and eating them because he is, according to them, always hungry.  They knew this was true because Mrs Frost had allegedly gone up to the gate and asked him if he was hungry and Jason had supposedly looked up at her with big sad eyes and had nodded.  This had prompted her to bring him a cheese roll and a choccy bar from the corner shop and he’d wolfed them down so ravenously that he almost bit his fingers, then he’d stuck his hand out asking for more.  Ms Barker informed a bewildered Sarah that these two ladies were especially concerned because they felt social services were failing in their duty to protect her two neglected youngsters because they hadn’t yet taken appropriate action, despite numerous warnings.

            “That contemptible, shameful family holds no bounds,” snarled Sarah.  “Those two are most certainly not ladies.  They are sly, snide scandalmongering members of Gregory Potter’s family.  Lil is Greg’s aunty and Donna is her daughter.  These are such vicious, damaging lies.  Why don’t you check things out before coming here with your accusations?”

            “Well that’s what we are doing.  We’re questioning you. We don’t have the time to hang around here watching your every move,” breezed Ms Barker.

            “Thank heavens for that,” mumbled Sarah.  “I can’t believe you still believe all this rubbish.  You can see for yourself that Jason is hardly starving and you must know that he’s too young to understand and respond to a question such as, ‘are you hungry’?  He never plays in the yard - it’s far too cold.  And he does not eat insects.”

            “We really do have to respond to all referrals.  You’d be annoyed if we didn’t and your children were suffering in some way and you needed our help,” she prattled on.

            “No, I’d rather you left me in peace.  This is harassment.  You just don’t give a fig, do you, that because of all this I’m getting really paranoid about restricting Jason’s play in case he accidentally falls over and bruises himself or hurts his head or something and you lot turn up pointing your fingers saying, ‘Hah, she is a child abuser after all.  Greg was right all along.’  That cannot be healthy for Jason or any of us.  It’s normal to get bumps and bruises at his age.  And what if you turn up on one day when I’m having an off day - which wouldn’t be surprising given the intolerable pressure I’m under - and you hear me swearing and yelling…. are you going to accuse me of being a bad influence on my kids and therefore unfit to care for them?   Why is it I’m being blamed for being a victim?”

            “Oh, you really mustn’t look at it that way,” she continued, irritatingly.   

“Well there’s no other way to look at it,” Sarah snapped.  “And anyway, for your information I’ll tell you something about Miss Black.  She is an alcoholic.  If you pop up and see her now you’re more than likely to catch her guzzling a bottle of vodka.  She lives off the stuff and spends her life in an alcoholic haze.  And as for child abuse, look no further, in fact her poor daughter Bethan, aged only ten, can’t stand her mother.  She says she’s always being smacked, screamed at, spat at and ordered around and she has begged me to let her live here.  I happen to know that her boyfriend - a dealer in drugs and stolen goods - also violated Bethan, as does Bethan’s granddad.  I am also aware that worried neighbours have called Social Services and it is apparent that the department have not found anything of concern despite glaring evidence to the contrary.  Now, I don’t think for one minute that you’ll do your duty and go there and investigate.  You people never do probe into genuine child abuse cases and dubious families.  Social services seem to do the opposite of what they’re supposed to stand for.  Of course you’ll just label this revelation ‘sour grapes’ on my part.  Well, I can assure you that it isn’t.  It is quite simply THE TRUTH.  I’ll tell you something else; some people quite like to hide the truth for their own gains.  Well truth has a habit of coming out.  It may take a while but it does emerge - eventually.  Now if you don’t mind I really do have important things to be getting on with.”

            As Sarah guided the nuisance to her door, the silly cow was babbling on about counselling being available to help her with stress. There wasn’t one word to indicate that anyone would check up on poor Bethan….

            Sarah was convinced that the tiresome, time wasting state puppets had nothing better to do than provoke the easy targets - the virtuous, decent families; and ignore the ones hardest to nail - the immoral, problematic ones.  She was beginning to suspect that social workers were on a personal crusade where her family was concerned and that she’d become easy pickings - a bit of a battering ram for them.  She was under no illusions that where troublesome, culpable, crooked families like Greg’s were concerned, they bury their busybody beaks in the sand and their bosses accept backhanders to keep their gobs shut and to look the other way.

Another few days passed relatively uneventfully apart from the odd solicitor’s letters, which trickled in.  One letter from the opposition solicitors ‘Burkes’ suggested a period of mediation.  It was a strange concept to Sarah.  Jimmy Oliver explained that it was a service to try and sort out problems without the necessity of court proceedings, a place where she and Greg could talk with an independent third party present about issues that couldn’t be agreed on.  She pointed out to her solicitor that Greg didn’t want peace; he was after war.  Nice neutral discussions were not an option against violent, lying, threatening control-freaks.  Jimmy Oliver perfectly understood and agreed that mediation would be a total waste of time in his client’s case and that the court would most definitely need to intervene. 

Another letter from his solicitor Kelvin Boor at Burkes knocked Sarah for six.  It stated that Mr Potter was extremely upset at the amount of times Ms Hawthorne was calling the police on him without good reason and that since they had not taken any action against Mr Potter, they concluded that Ms Hawthorne was obviously lying and being spiteful and vengeful.  Boor’s client thus felt that this constituted harassment and the letter stated that if Ms Hawthorne did not refrain from making such unfounded serious allegations to the police, they would have no alternative but to instigate harassment charges against her.  Boor wrote that Mr Potter also wished to put the record straight, stating that the truth was Ms Hawthorne and her children had been harassing him and his family.  Sarah was dumbfounded.  She showed the insulting letter to her kids and remarked:

            “Christ, he’s got some bare-faced nerve.”

            She had an immediate, dreadful foreboding that the so-called justice system was a farce; an opportunity for lawyers and judiciary to make lots of dosh and nothing whatsoever to do with what’s right and true and best for the children.  She hated having to go through the sorry sick system that proclaims fairness, honesty and propriety when her instincts and knowledge of other people’s experiences told her that the opposite was in fact true.  Jimmy Oliver told her not to be concerned with Burkes’ threat and indicated that he’d send them a curt reply.

Another few days cruised by where there were evenings and nights of minor irritation and terror tactics - the doorbell ringing at ridiculous times, eerie knocking on the windows, the gate rattling, voices in the back yard, shuffling and running on the drive, pebbles at the windows and rocks hitting the door and brickwork.

Sarah started spying from the babies’ bedroom window and twice saw her abominable ex and his loyal daughter hopping over her wall and gate and creeping around her back yard.  One morning she even found the words “Fuck you shitties” scrawled on her door by a marker felt pen in Kim’s handwriting.  She didn’t bother phoning the police.

After one night of listening to her doors and windows being pelted by stones on and off all night, Sarah decided to lay a trap for Greg in an attempt to prove to police once and for all that Greg was on her property virtually every night harassing and offending.  It had suddenly occurred to her that there really was no need for her to be so scared of him.  He hadn’t killed her yet or even maimed her.  Therefore, she rationalised, he probably wasn’t going to; he’d have done it by now.  His was a war of attrition.  Well she could cope with that.  All she had to do [and all she could do] was play him at his own games. 

So she, David and Anna waited until dusk then diligently repainted the gate in thick black oil paint.  Then the shed roof was given a coat of paint - also oil-based but in chocolate-brown.  Patches of brown and black paint were smeared randomly on the tops of the walls and on the sides.  She knew that the daylight would reveal a regrettable eyesore, but right now that was the least of her worries.  If the experiment worked, it was worth it.  Then she and her little apprentices carefully quickly and quietly set to work unravelling rolls of fishing line which was then used to tie up various rocks of all sizes which were then placed in strategic positions in her back yard.  Rocks were planted: on the walls, on the windowsills, on the porch and shed so that trails of transparent line cris-crossed across her yard in all directions.  Afterwards they smugly retreated indoors and kept an eager ear out for the thud of falling rocks.  The kids kept a periodic vigil from the babies’ window.

            Sure enough, the plan was successful.  To their euphoric pleasure a rock fell, then another and another.  The mangled mishmash network of line had been perfect for ensnaring their prey and detaining them long enough for Sarah and her allies to race to the upstairs windows and witness the debacle of Greg and Kim in a state of confused chaos, trying to free themselves of the wretched entanglement.  Once free both intruders fled right through the sticky gooey paintwork.  Kim hopped over the gate and Greg scrambled up onto and over the shed and made his getaway through Gail’s back yard.  Giggling and rejoicing like a wicked schoolgirl who had just pulled off the prank of the year, torch-hugging Sarah led the party to inspect the evidence.  This was payback time.

            But the police were less enthusiastic.  The control room cop declared that they couldn’t go dashing up to Greg’s demanding to see his shoes.

            “But,” protested Sarah, “You can come here and see the wet paint - in black and brown.  You can see where Kim has put her hand and shoe on my gate and you can see where Greg has stepped right in the brown paint as he fled over my shed roof; his footprints are as clear as a bell.  They’ve both probably got it splattered on their clothes too.  Go now and check.  You have all the evidence you need now to charge him with harassment.”

            “I can’t go charging up there looking for wet paint on shoes and clothes.  He’d tell me to shove off, ” belched the unaccommodating cop.

            “What?” questioned a disbelieving, doubting Sarah, “What more flamin’ evidence do you need?  Would you like me to invite him in and serve him coffee while we await your arrival?  If this is how you conduct your business, no wonder criminals are in seventh heaven.  Is he supposed to murder me before you do anything?  What is this, the Mickey Mouse police force?”

            “You can be as insulting as you wish madam but we simply do not have the authority to barge in on members of the public, expecting to inspect items of clothing.  I suggest you talk to your solicitor.”

So that was the end of that!  There was never going to be any help from those jokers.  She wondered what their purpose in society was and concluded that they must be there to provide useful material for comedians and entertainers; also that they generated some income on behalf of the tourism sector.  Seriously though, Sarah realised Greg had a license to do to her exactly what he jolly well pleased; he was definitely being protected by some powerful force; of that she had no doubt.  The question was how and why?  It was a bitter pill to swallow.  She realised now that she needed some ‘teeth’ if she was ever going to meet Greg’s match and she knew with a heavy heart that there was no justice in this world for some.

David barged in on Sarah’s intense thoughts.  “I’ve had enough of all this; that lying git can come here and do what he wants and no-one is going to stop him.  Well guess what?  I am going to stop him…. and that stupid girl.  I am going to fire arrows at them from the upstairs window.  Anna will help.”

            “Oh, but you can’t,” panicked him mother.  “He’ll chuck stones back.  He’ll grab you when you’re walking down town and he’ll hurt you.  You can’t mess with him.”

            “Who can’t?   Mum, he’s tried all that already.  We have to stop him.  We have to fight back.  There is no other way…. Do you have any other ideas? …. He should be in prison.  I wish he was dead.  I’ve never hated anyone like I hate him.  What right has he got to come here bullying us?  And why is he being allowed to get away with it?  The police are idiots; they’re useless.  You can wait until the cows come home if you expect them to do anything…. That mean old man doesn’t frighten me anymore; a few arrows should sort him out.  People like him need teaching a lesson,” came David’s robust assertion.  “I’ve had a brilliant idea.  All we need is a few bamboo sticks.  I’ll cut them up and fix sharp nails to the ends.  That’ll sort the nasty bastard out.”

            “Well I guess you’re right,” his mother agreed, backing down.  “Like you say, if he has any intention of doing anything he’ll do it anyway, no matter what we do.  I just didn’t want to provoke him.  But then again by not doing anything, we’re giving him the green light to carry on bugging us.”

            “Exactly,” David affirmed, and mother and son beamed at each other.

The next few days slipped by quietly.  David and Anna constructed some superb lethal weapons.  They practised their skills during the days and spent the evenings until the early hours of the morning [when they could no longer fight sleep] on guard-duty at their bedroom windows.  But there was no life in the black hole below.

            Sarah received some more sick and sad solicitor’s letters.  One said:

“My client is annoyed at the continued constant telephoning of the police by your client.  He is of the belief that she persists in this behaviour without due cause.  He is also of the opinion that he has been suspended from his job as a serving Police Officer as a direct result of a complaint made against him by your client.  Please confirm that this is correct and supply details of the incident. Kindly respond as a matter of urgency.”

            Another said:

“We are informed by our client that your client is spreading malicious and slanderous rumours about him, causing distress to him and the other people concerned.  Our client is also concerned that your client has been seen in the vicinity of his property by him and his neighbours on numerous occasions.  If she doesn’t desist, we will have no option but to commence injunction proceedings.”

            And another:

“We are told that your client continues to make false accusations against our client.  He is very upset about this and feels strongly that if she does not refrain from such damaging behaviour, he will be forced to pursue proceedings under the ‘harassment act’ forthwith.”

Sarah’s answer to such trash was to immediately tear them up and file the bits assertively in the bin.  It was one thing having a problematic, thoroughly indecent ex but to find that his solicitor was actively encouraging and aiding in the lying hounding game was quite another.  Wasn’t there supposed to be an element of professional morality surrounding lawyers’ dealings?  Weren’t they supposed to refuse representation to such clients who were obviously lying?  She was getting an inkling now of why lawyers are so filthy rich when they charge such outrageous amounts every time they sent out just one letter, the contents of which some contain are opprobrious balderdash.  Sarah wondered how many other Greg Potters and parasitic lawyers were out there fleecing Joe Public through the legal aid scam.