Hailey's Story--She Was an Eleven-Year-Old Child. He Was Soham Murderer Ian Huntley. This is the Story of How She Survived Read Online Free Page B

two of us would sit there and watch repeats of
EastEnders
, do each other’s hair or go out shopping. That’s the sort of thing mums and daughters are supposed to do together, isn’t it?
    As I became older and more self-reliant, I fitted in with Mum’s routine. At that stage I didn’t feel neglected.
    In trying to recall a spontaneous memory from that time, I remember the times I would be out in the street near to home. It’s in part simply a fond memory and in part a growing-up memory that shows how I was starting to think for myself. The ice-cream man used to always come about ten minutes before teatime. OftenMum would comfort me by saying, ‘You can have an ice-cream tomorrow night, OK?’ and then, ‘Go on, you can go and play outside for ten or fifteen minutes and I’ll shout for you when your dinner is done.’
    Of course, I would catch sight of the ice-cream van and without hesitation I would saunter up to the van. Feasting my eyes on what was on offer, I’d have the brazen brainwave of saying to Don, the man serving, ‘Oh, yeah, my mum hasn’t got any change today, but she said, if she gives you the money tomorrow, could I, you know, have a cornet?’
    Don would give in and say, ‘Go on then, I’ll give you an ice-cream.’
    As I recall this, I remember how much I wanted that ice-cream. I wanted an ice-cream that minute, there and then, not tomorrow. That was as far as I pushed the boundaries of innocence as a child. I knew no different, but it shows how childhood innocence was looked upon by the ice-cream man.
    I pulled that ruse quite often, but then Mum and Dad cottoned on and they would come out to the van and say to Don, ‘Did Hailey have an ice-cream last week that she forgot to pay for?’
    Don would innocently reply, ‘Well, actually, she had about four’ as he looked at me with that ‘You’re not supposed to do that’ expression on his face.
    When I got a little bit older, I used to do the same thing but the very next day, when the ice-cream mancame, my mum would give me the money and I’d say to Don, ‘Oh, there’s the money for your ice-cream.’
    I would say to Mum and Dad, ‘Oh well, I don’t want one tonight because I used the money for today’s,’ and they would say, ‘Well, go on and have one anyway.’
    Something that happened not long ago made me recall this particular memory. We went for a day out to Hemswell Market, where I used to go shopping with my granddad on a Sunday. I walked past an ice-cream van and I saw this guy inside and, to my utter astonishment, it was Don. It was the same ice-cream man, in the same van, and it brought the memories flooding back like a burst dam. And didn’t it seem as if time had stood still? I was just standing there thinking, God, how strange is that after all these years?
    I went straight over and said hello to him. To my amazement, he remembered who I was. He was like, ‘God, I haven’t seen you in ages. You look so grown up now. You’ve cut all your hair off.’ My hair used to be down past my waist. It was like I had accelerated all these years forward to where I was now. God, if only that had been possible! I just stood there and I had a lot of fiery flashbacks. All these disjointed memories came flooding back.
    That brings me on to a memory tinged with both happiness and sadness that was brought on by the memory of going to the market with Granddad. WhenI was still in primary school, on Fridays my mum used to go to this fish and chip restaurant with her dad, Granddad Don, and Grandma. The place had the peculiar name of the Pea Bung – that’s what Granddad used to call it, anyway. ‘We’re off to the Pea Bung on Friday,’ he would pipe up.
    When my mum got back I would eagerly ask, ‘Did you have a good day, Mum?’
    With a twinkle in her eye, she would reply, ‘Yes, guess where