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Pick Me Up, 29 December 2009
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We were contacted by the victim of a peeping Tom wanting to expose how her mother had married the pervert. She received a four-figure payments from two different magazines.
I caught Mum's bloke Red-Handed
Turning the key in Mum's front door and heaving the bag of Christmas presents inside, I felt so excited. It was 5pm, Christmas Eve 2008, but my mum, Karen, 44, wasn't home from work yet. She worked long hours as an operating theatre nurse.
I wanted everything to look perfect, so I headed straight for the twinkling tree. I'd bought Mum a remote-control Dalek - we always bought each other a joke present - plus chocolates and some pretty soaps.
Mum often worked over Christmas, but this year she wasn't. To celebrate, I popped open the bottle of champagne I'd brought with me, poured a glass, and settled down to wait for her.
We'd had such a terrible few months, we deserved a nice time. It had all started at the beginning of the year, when I'd moved back in with Mum and her boyfriend of four years, Alan Mitton, 45, a health care assistant.
I'd never liked Alan. When they'd first moved in together, two years earlier, he'd kicked me out.
'He wants it to be just the two of us,' Mum said. 'I hope you understand.' 'Of course,' I'd nodded.
And it was crystal clear. Mum had chosen Alan over me.
My dad, Adrian, 43, and brother, Paul, 22, lived in New Zealand so, aged 17, I'd moved into a flat on my own.
Alan gave me the creeps anyway. He was skinny and short, with greasy hair. It baffled me that Mum loved him.
Two years after that, I'd decided to emigrate to New Zealand to be with Dad, and Alan had agreed to let me move in to save up. Big mistake.
I'd been there a week when the bathroom lock was removed, leaving a gaping hole in the door. 'I locked myself in and had to take it off with a screwdriver,' Alan said.
But the key was always left in the lock. And since when were any screwdrivers kept in the bathroom?
I didn't think any more of it. Until four months later, in June 2007, when I had a weird feeling I was being watched in the shower. Wrapping myself in a towel, I'd peered through the hole in the door. A brown eye stared back at me. Alan! 'Aahh!' I'd yelled. The eye disappeared. 'Are you finished in there?' he'd shouted. I'd just caught him spying on me, so how could he pretend nothing had happened?
I should have told Mum but I was scared. What if she doesn't believe me?
So I kept quiet and each time I showered after that, I hung my dressing gown on the door, covering Alan's peep hole.
Testimonial: 'Money For Your Story represented me wonderfully and ensured that what was an extremely sensitive story was handled sympathetically and well. The magazine deals I got from selling my story through Dennis helped out with the bills at Christmas and for our new baby.'
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