He would say that age didn’t matter as he tried to cuddle up close to me, put his hand on my knee and try to tempt me back to his flat (Picture: Getty Images)
Steven* would wait until we were alone in the auditorium after our rehearsal at a community theatre in the Midlands.
He would then sit at the piano and sing As Time Goes By to me: A kiss is just a kiss / A sigh is just a sigh…
There was a knowing way he looked at me that I only really understood fully with hindsight. To me, it was a message that age didn’t matter, that he had free reign to act romantically, regardless of the fact that I was 13 years old and he was a middle-aged man.
Even now, that song makes my skin crawl because when I look back on the whole episode, I realise this was him grooming me.
I met Steven when I was 12 and had successfully auditioned to be in a large theatre production. He was an established member of the theatre group who had made appearances in numerous shows.
He was well-liked by his peers, always smiling and cracking jokes. Young girls – like a lot of people – gravitated towards him, as they were keen to be in favour in a competitive environment. I was no different.
Steven and I had scenes together so saw each other regularly at rehearsal.
I remember he would come up behind me, play with my pigtails and stroke my hair. I didn’t know what to do. I just assumed it was innocent behaviour; he was a father of a child older than me, after all.
After rehearsal, it was convention that everyone retired to the green room for a drink (or an orange squash). Steven would be sitting there, his arm draped around an underage girl – me, or one of my friends – in full view while adults came and went to the bar.
We’d be sharing a drink and a laugh, and no one so much as batted an eyelid, although I started to feel increasingly uncomfortable.
I knew at least one other girl had talked about being invited back to the leading man’s home
As time went on, and Steven and I had to spend more time together in the lead-up to opening night, his behaviour became more obvious. Innocent as I was, I knew something wasn’t right.
He would say that age didn’t matter as he tried to cuddle up close to me, put his hand on my knee and try to tempt me back to his flat.
The words were said quietly so as to make his requests seem special. While I never accepted his invitations, and felt very uncomfortable to have been asked, I was too young at the time to understand they were words of a predatory paedophile.
When the production was over, I began to feel haunted by the memory of those interactions.
Despite enjoying theatre, I couldn’t face going back to that theatre group. The whole culture there at that time had started to feel rotten.
There had been rumours about Steven, and I knew at least one other girl had talked about being invited back to the leading man’s home.
Years later, I bumped into a man, John*, who was still part of the group. I asked about Steven, and John said he was still there, and still acting inappropriately towards underage girls. As far as I am aware, no one has made any allegations to the police about him.
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I am very grateful that I escaped Steven’s advances without suffering any serious sexual assault but I was – and remain – embarrassed and ashamed.
Embarrassed that this could have happened to me, and ashamed I didn’t speak out when it could perhaps have made a difference. I had a chance to stop further possible abuse, but remained quiet.
I think I have been in denial for years.
Thirty years ago, it was also a far less enlightened time. How many would have believed a young girl over an apparently responsible adult known and loved by his peers?
That’s why it does not sit well with me when people are quick to criticise victims of abuse for not coming forward at the time.
The fact is, these victims are vulnerable. They are understandably afraid of the huge emotional and psychological effort it takes to speak out, or they might fear not being believed or being gaslit.
I have definitely felt all of these things and they stopped me coming forward.
As little girls in that theatre company, we were failed – not just by the abuser, but by all those so-called responsible adults who witnessed Steven’s inappropriate behaviour and said and did nothing.
This complicity only served to compound the abuse.
Now in my forties, and with the benefit of hindsight, I would have reported Steven and kicked up a fuss. I am far stronger as a person now, but I am also an adult with life experience; I was just a little girl then and – as I frequently have to remind myself – it was not my fault.
He would come up behind me, play with my pigtails and stroke my hair
I now look at the theatre world through jaded eyes. I know most people are decent, but I never dreamed that anything untoward would happen to me and I still feel there is an underlying seediness to some parts of theatre culture. I would not encourage it for my own daughters.
I would like to think in these more enlightened times – with the #MeToo movement, more awareness of paedophilia, DBS checks and child protection issues high in the public’s consciousness – that things have changed or that the culture has shifted. And I hope I’m right.
I’m sorry I wasn’t braver, and that is something I’ll always have to live with.
I hope Steven, if he is even still alive, has realised what he has done is wrong, though sadly I have no faith that men like him will ever change.
We have seen in many high-profile cases of paedophilia that abusers like him are inherently rotten, and care nothing for the childhoods they are taking away.
*Names has been changed
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He would say that age didn’t matter as he tried to cuddle up close to me, put his hand on my knee and try to tempt me back to his flat.