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gone. I was thankful just for that.
    It wasn’t until we were settling in Argyll that I realised his plan. Ian made sure he cut me off from my family and all of my friends, just to make sure I had no one to turn to when I needed them.
    I was isolated, battered and bruised, and trying so desperately to think of a way out of what felt like a prison. I was desperate and anxious; I was ready to rip my hair out of my head.
    Ian decided that he wanted some money, and he wanted me to get it for him. So the next day, he took me down to the local Social Services; someone had told him that they would give us money for a cooker.
    He came into the reception area, but made me go to the social worker’s office by myself, which, to me, was a total shock. I guess he didn't want to ask for the money himself.
    Once I was seated in front of the social worker, I couldn't hold back. I had to tell someone what Ian was doing to me. The man was startled initially, but I could see quickly that he understood what I was telling him. I blurted it out, all of it. I told him what was going on, what Ian was up to by bringing me there that day. I pleaded with the man on the other side of the desk to please help me. I had to get away.
    As soon as I had unloaded my breathless purge of the agony I was suffering, the social worker jumped up and quickly locked his office door. Ian was right outside the room. I knew it wouldn’t be long before he wondered what was taking so long and discovered the locked door. I knew my face was filled with terror and desperation, as the social worker immediately got on the phone and called the police to report the situation and gave them Ian’s name and description.
    Ian was well known to the social work department, and to the police. They made sure that I could get away safely. When the police arrived I stood frozen to the spot. I stood behind the locked door praying he didn’t kick the door open to get to me, and I heard him shout my name over and over again.
    “Dana! Dana! You have to tell these fuckers I’ve not done anything to you. Get out here now and tell them.”
    I felt the tears rolling down my face. I could hear the movement on the other side of the door like he was struggling, fighting the police to get to me or get away from them. I started to shake with overwhelming fear; fear of getting away, fear of them not taking him far enough away from me, fear of the unknown.
    The social worker put me on the bus to Glasgow where I could then catch a bus from there to Manchester, to my dear mum. I was so humiliated to have others know what had happened to me, and utterly fractured by what he had done to me.
    I thought I loved him. Even after everything, I was going to miss him because he was all I knew. All I could think about was not being able to cope on my own without the baby’s dad. All my hopes of having a normal family and raising this baby with two loving parents were washed away. I didn’t know what I was going to do or how I would cope on my own, a single mum with nothing. It was such a hard thing to have to think about.
    Worst of all, I kept hearing Ian’s voice in my head.
    “Useless fucking bitch. You can’t do nothing right, can you?”
    I believed I couldn't manage without him, that I needed him. Those words were constantly going round and round in my head, nothing to stop them, no reason not to believe them. I didn’t know any different.
    Social Services in Argyll took charge of my situation and helped with arrangements for my return to Manchester. They explained the whole story to my mum, told her that she should keep me away from Ian and Ian’s family. “They are all trouble with a capital T,” Mum would frequently remind me.
    There was only the word of the police in Scotland that I would be safe and more secure if I stayed where I was.
    Within just a few short days of me being back under my mum’s roof, Ian called. He would tell my mum how much he loved me, how much he wanted us to be a