MUM TRIED TO KILL ME TWICE

Monica Allan, 55, thought nobody would believe the horror she had endured when she was a child

-  ANN CUSACK, JOHANNA BELL. 

Skipping along the pavement with my mother on one side and my father on the other, I beamed with happiness. My father worked away a lot as a singer, so his trips home were special. It was July 1973 and, as a five-year-old, I was excited to be tagging along with my parents to a party at their friend's house.

We didn't do much as a family. When my father, Charlie, was away, my mum, Betty, then 30, spent day after day lying on the couch with the curtains drawn. She'd huddle under an old tartan blanket while the dishes piled high in the sink and the washing basket overflowed. Empty vodka bottles littered the floor and she rarely even spoke to me. I don't remember much of those early years, but I remember quickly learning my mother didn't like to be disturbed.

Every few days, just as the food was running out, my gran, Mary, would call in and bustle around our flat in Hamilton, Scotland, tidying, washing and cooking. She was so warm and maternal - nothing like my mother and I dreamt of her taking me home with her.

But now that my father was home for a visit, I was hoping for some respite from the long, lonely days. The party was smoky and loud, and I soon grew tired and climbed onto my father's knee. I was just starting to doze off when my mother led me up to the bathroom, my small hand in hers as we climbed the stairs.

In the bathroom, she closed the door and flicked on the bath taps. For a moment, I was confused. It was a bit late for a bath. But before I could say anything, she dragged me towards the taps and held my head under the water so that it filled my eyes and mouth. I was choking and gagging. I felt hands squeezing my throat, tighter and tighter.

I wanted to scream, but there was no sound. And then everything went black.