‘He ran from the house, leaving me shaking’ ‘Was my brain struggling to deal with a past trauma?’ Uncle Gary scooped me up, and I giggled like mad. ‘Be good,’ my mum Karen, then 28, smiled, heading out for the night.
It was the 1990s, I was 6 or 7, and Uncle Gary, 17, was babysitting me and my little sister, then about 4.
Our dad had walked out a couple of years earlier, so Uncle Gary doted on us.
And I loved it when he babysat.
Sometimes he’d bring his mate, Anthony Sutcliffe, then 17.
He was friendly and we all trusted him.
We’d play games, they’d always make us laugh before putting us to bed.
Only, one night Mum was meeting friends, but Gary was busy, so Anthony…
