Now me and my girlfriend had three kids together, I thought I needed to make a double effort to keep the relationship going. But things soon started to fall apart, which I had known deep down would happen. It was never going to be easy for a couple so young to bring up three children together. It’s not as if somebody up there flicks a switch and turns you into a perfect parent overnight. That takes a great deal of experience. But then there was the time I got stabbed five times by her mystery bloke, which was harder to get my head around.
I’d been working non-stop when one night I decided to go for a meal and a couple of beers with Neil. I had planned to stay at my mum’s, but when it got to kicking-out time, I decided I might as well go home and see the kids.
When I arrived at the front door, I could hear my eldest screaming her head off. What on earth was going on here? The front door was locked, and I couldn’t get anyone to answer, so eventually I barged it open. I was walking down the hallway when this guy came out of nowhere and attacked me. At first, I thought he’d just punched me, but then I realised I was spurting blood. He’d stabbed me once in the stomach, once in the arm and three times in the chest, before making his escape. Luckily, the last three thrusts of his knife didn’t go in. Unluckily, the first two went in quite deep. As I was standing there, I was thinking, I’m a good guy. I work for the ambulance service. I help people. I don’t deserve this.
I picked up Maddison, gave her a big kiss and a cuddle and said, ‘It’s okay, darling, he’s gone now.’ But when I looked down and saw that my white shirt was now red, reality hit. I felt light-headed, nauseous and befuddled. My girlfriend gathered some towels and phoned 999. One of my colleagues took the call, so they knew straightaway it was me.
An ambulance came, whisked me to the hospital and delivered me to the resuscitation room, where doctors administered investigative surgery. While the doctor was digging around in the wounds to find out if any damage had been done to my organs, my control room manager, Tommy, had his hand on my shoulder and made me feel safe. That was a nice touch and something I stored away for later. Thankfully, no major damage had been done. But I still bear the scars to this day, both physical and mental. When the kids ask what happened to me, I tell them I was attacked by a shark.
I didn’t phone my mum and dad until about six hours after I’d been stabbed. Mad as it sounds, I didn’t want to wake them up in the middle of the night. I’d already put them through the wringer – twice – how were they going to react to this? If you think getting stabbed is bad, try telling your folks. I can laugh about it now. But the reality is, if that knife had gone in much deeper, or centimetres to the left or the right, three little kids would have lost their dad and I wouldn’t be telling you this story.
Talk about growing up fast. After I was stabbed, things went a bit jittery, relationship-wise, and I decided it was probably for the best that I end things. I know what some of you older readers are thinking: These kids give up on relationships too easily nowadays. But being stabbed can make you see things in a different way. The girlfriend went off and did her own thing, the kids came home with me and I was now a single parent of three children.
My attacker was soon arrested and, two days after being discharged from hospital, I had to traipse down to the police station in absolute agony. I had stitches in my stomach and arm, cuts all over my chest, and every muscle in my body ached. Regardless, this detective gave me the worst grilling I’d ever had: ‘Did you approach him first? Did you give him any reason to attack you?’ I couldn’t believe it. I felt like crying. At the end she said, ‘I wasn’t doing that to be horrible, but that’s what the questioning would be like if the case went to court. Are you prepared for that to happen?’ I’d just been stabbed five times and become a single parent to three small children, so I replied, ‘You know what, you can stick your court case up your arse, it’s not worth the hassle.’
I should have pursued it all the way, and I’ll never forgive myself for not doing so. But I just wasn’t strong enough, physically or mentally, to fight for justice. As a result, he wasn’t charged. His story was that he wasn’t aware my girlfriend had a partner and that when he heard someone barging through the door, he grabbed a knife from the kitchen and cut loose. The sad part is, it’s entirely plausible. If I’d been in a strange house and heard someone kicking the door in, I might have thought it was an intruder and bashed him over the head with something. I sometimes wonder what he’s up to. I only hope he made the most of his second chance.
After the dust had settled, my ex took me to court for full custody. I can only assume that she suddenly had a moment of clarity and realised she’d tossed away a family. Maybe I’m too nice, but I believe that people can change, so I never said she couldn’t see her children. But there was no way she was having them full-time. She lost the case, but it wasn’t pleasant having it all dredged up again. Family court was a stressful place and not somewhere I ever wanted to return to.
It’s difficult to know what kind of psychological effect the attack had on me at the time, because I had no other choice but to bury the trauma. It might sound ridiculous, but other than my family and best mate Neil, I didn’t really tell anyone else about it. No one said to me, ‘Do you need to speak to someone?’ Besides, sharing problems just wasn’t my thing, because I didn’t think anyone would be interested. I enjoyed listening to other people’s stories of glory and woe, and helping out if I could, but I didn’t want to burden anyone with mine. Obviously, people knew what had gone on, but when I met my mates down the pub (not that that was a regular occurrence back then anyway, what with having three babies), the extent of the conversation would be, ‘You all right? Good. What you drinking?’ That’s just the way boys deal with things. Or don’t.
Me and the kids moved back in with Mum and Dad and they became like a second set of parents. And wonderful parents they were too. They had the loft converted, built an extension out the back and went all out to make everything as comfortable as possible. Most parents will do everything they can for their kids, but what they did was above and beyond the call of duty. I can’t even begin to imagine the emotional turmoil I put them through. My sister Lyndsey has a great husband and a perfect family, so I couldn’t help thinking that I was a let-down by comparison and an unwanted burden. But they didn’t make it about them, they made it about me and their grandchildren. I’d never say everything that happened to me was a good thing, but positives came out of it, including bringing us all closer together as a team.
Unfortunately, my mum was away working at the other end of the country, so the help she could offer with childcare was limited. I managed to get a flexible policy through work, but that didn’t go down well with everyone. One female colleague was up in arms that I’d managed to swing a bit of help: ‘A bloke with a flexible working policy? Have you ever heard anything so ridiculous? I’ve been here for thirty years, and I’ve never had a flexible working policy!’ I felt like sitting her down and saying, ‘I didn’t become a single father of three kids and get stabbed five times on purpose.’ But I decided to get my head down and keep plodding. I haven’t stopped since.