More than anything, I wanted to be a daddy’sgirl. To read a booktogether, to go for walksand to just play. But, foras long as I was aware, my father, PhilipFraser, was different from other dads.
While my mum Katheryn was loving and supportive, one of my earliest memories was crying in my cot and Dad, instead of lovingly cradling me to sleep, was enraged. ‘Shut up!’ he yelled, picking up the mattress and throwing it on me.
My younger sisters, Angela and Susan, and I grew up petrified of his dangerous temper. Mum did her best to protect us, but, looking back, she must have been too scared to leave.
Whenever Dad lunged at her in anger, Mum would calmly tell us, ‘Go to your room.’ It was all she…