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Hailey's Story - She Was an Eleven-Year-Old Child. He Was Soham Murderer Ian Huntley. This is the Story of How She Survived. Hailey Giblin
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isbn 9781782192589
Автор произведения Hailey Giblin
Жанр Биографии и Мемуары
Издательство Ingram
And then I wanted to be a singer. In fact, bizarre as it may sound, I wanted to be a singing model. ‘How can you be a singing model?’ people used to say. I would reveal my deepest desire, answering, ‘Well, you stand there in front of the camera and have a few pictures done in the morning, nine till twelve, have some more pictures done and then, one till four, or something like that, you go and sing.’
From the age of seven I wanted to be a model. These svelte women parading the latest Paris fashions on the catwalk looked breathtaking. I guess that is every little girl’s dream: to aspire to become something great, to achieve something special in life.
I didn’t want to become subservient, I wanted to be an individual, because I saw all these women walking along the catwalk and I thought, I could do that, but I could do that better. I would really work hard to do that. So I wouldn’t say anybody inspired me. Although if I had to pick someone with attitude, it would be someone like Jordan. In spite of the setbacks she has had in her life, she still comes back fighting and she doesn’t hide from the public gaze. She is loud and outspoken, so, in a way, she could be a role model, but not because of her modelling; I didn’t look at her because of that. I like her attitude to life: she won’t be pushed about. Jordan sang in the Eurovision Song Contest and, although she had a song knocked back, she was my ideal role model as a singer too.
I remember watching America’s Next Top Model on TV, and the girl who won one of the shows was recruiting other girls: it was like a competition to become her protégée. But it wasn’t just about looks, but the way she was as a whole. That girl’s looks, Jordan’s attitude and Catherine Zeta Jones’s lifestyle add up to my ideal role model, the one I could truly aspire to be.
At the age of 11, I was caught between playing with my Barbie doll and experimenting with make-up, as most girls of that age do. I was the epitome of a beautiful little girl, with tresses of long, flowing hair, and I regularly wore party frocks on a Saturday.
From wanting to be a catwalk model, as I came into puberty I was changing my outlook on life. At times I would be happy being at home playing with my Barbie dolls and my teddy bears, and pushing my pram down the street.
That is how I was playing and doing my hair at 11. By 13, I was completely changed, with short hair, because of the things that had happened to me at the hands of Ian Huntley. But I don’t want to go into that yet.
For two or three years, we lived in the cramped flat above the butcher’s shop and then we moved to a three-bedroomed house, also in Humberston. I was living with my five brothers, my mother and my stepfather. One of the downstairs rooms had been converted into a fourth bedroom, and that was mine.
Life for me was one of protected innocence. On a Saturday Mum would say, ‘Put your dress on, put your little shoes on.’ With my flowing hair I was like a little Pear’s Soap girl. People think they can’t have a perfect child, but I was at that stage.
Around this time my dad went bankrupt and lost his butcher’s business because, he said, Tesco had opened up just down the road and the new supermarket took his customers.
Mum was still a care worker, moving about within the industry. Dad was working for Kimberley Clark, the toilet-roll manufacturers, and also became a special constable. At home Mum was still the pack leader.
I don’t recall having quality time as a family, trips out to the cinema or going out for a meal together. None of that close bonding family thing happened. I remember, though, when I was about 14, going to Ikea in Leeds with Mum, Dad and my two youngest brothers. And there was one family holiday, when I was about 12, when we went to Disneyland in Florida for two weeks. The two eldest boys stayed at home, so it was Mum, Dad, Hayden, Joshua, Hadleigh and me. It was fun, but I think they would all agree with me that Hayden monumentally ruined the holiday because he was just miserable throughout. He was just at that difficult age, two years older than me, and I don’t think Disneyland was really for him.
The problem was that Hayden smoked and he was suffering withdrawal symptoms. He was dragging his heels and had to be practically hauled on to the plane. I must admit, he was excited to an extent, but then he wanted some cigarettes even though he couldn’t smoke in front of my parents. I smoked as well. I don’t think Mum knew this, but I believe she knew Hayden did.
Over 18 months, I had saved up money by taking two paper rounds, cleaning my next-door neighbour’s car, tidying up and doing little jobs like that. I ended up with £500 for the holiday. Hayden had saved up roughly the same, but he had spent it all before we set off.
While we were in America, he kept demanding, ‘Go on, ask that lady for a fag.’
I would snap, ‘No, if you had saved your money, then you would have been able to go and buy some. No, I’m not going.’
Then he would sweet-talk me, ‘Just go and ask her, please.’
‘No, it’s bloody cheeky.’
‘No, no, no, it’s not. Just go and ask her.’
‘No. I’m not going to. If you wanted fags you should have saved up your money and bought some or brought some with you and stuck them in your bag.’
So Hayden was pretty miserable on that holiday, but I enjoyed it and took in the whole Disney tour. It was a fond memory. It wasn’t worthless or a wasted two weeks. It was better than a day trip to Ikea!
After that, the nearest I got to a close-knit family life was when I would sit in the front room with Mum and Dad and my two youngest brothers to eat my tea or dinner. But then the elder one would go to his bedroom to eat his and the younger one to his bedroom to do the same. It was a bit like the story of the three little piggies, each little pig with its own house to retreat to.
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