At age 12, I sat hunched at the top of the stairs, listening to my parents argue late into the night.
The next day, as Dad was driving me to school (a selective private girls’ school 20 minutes from our house) he told me that he and Mom had grown apart. There were rumors that he had been seen with a blonde.
I feared they would divorce, but it hadn’t occurred to me that when their marriage ended, so would my privileged upbringing.
I was happy at that school. There were only 90 students a year and it was a beautiful, century-old building on picturesque grounds. It had all the facilities you could want: huge sports fields; art studies; our own theater. We did ballet and also sang in the chamber choir.
Uniform regulations were strict. Our skirts had to reach below the knee and in assembly we all had to kneel so the teachers could check that they were the correct length.
They also had strict rules about presentation: our work had to be clean and color coordinated, and we were taught to lay out pages a certain way.
The woman writes that her private school had excellent teachers and had large sports fields, art studios and its own theater (archive image)
They were brilliant in terms of emotional wellbeing and the teaching was excellent. There was a focus on academic performance and who was in which group.
However, the friendship groups were quite fierce, with a lot of competition and malice. The most popular girls were the most athletic and I was not athletic.
But that was okay, I had my family. Dad and I had always been close. I am an only child and I was dad’s daughter. He had said he would stay and make everything work. Then Mom found out he was having an affair with a colleague. He also found Viagra in his briefcase.
Dad left when I turned 13 and didn’t come back.
Nine months later, I got an email from him saying, ‘This is my wife and here’s a photo of your new little sister.’ Until then, I hadn’t realized that their new relationship was serious. I have had nothing to do with him since; Now I am 23 years old.
It was a complicated and expensive divorce. When our solicitors began investigating the finances, we discovered that dad had secretly racked up half a million pounds of debt. For the past 12 years, he had been forging Mom’s signature to get credit cards. I had also taken out loans on our £700,000 house.
It was a lovely place, dating back to Tudor times: very chocolate box, thatched, close to a river and you could hear the church bells from our split-level garden. It had a willow tree and two ponds, and in the back was Wendy’s house from when I was little.
We had to sell our house and downsize. Just a year earlier we had enjoyed a wonderful family vacation to Bali and Italy. Now, Mom and I had absolutely no money and had to accept handouts from friends. The bills were arriving and dad didn’t pay anything.
He demanded a 70/30 split of the £200,000 left after the sale of the house, as well as the dog. We said, ‘You’re not getting the dog!’ Fortunately, a friend was a prominent lawyer and fought to get us enough to pay a small payment for a social housing property; Otherwise, we would have been left homeless.
But Dad refused to pay child support or the £12,000 a year school fees, so Mum couldn’t afford to keep me there. She wasn’t working at the time, although she quickly landed a full-time job. He spoke to the director and asked if they could support me on a scholarship. But no, Dad already owed the school £3,000 and, as far as I know, still owes it.
A month and a half later I had to leave. I felt so embarrassed that I didn’t tell any of my friends until the day before the Easter holidays. “I’m so sorry,” I said, “I’m not coming back.”
So at the beginning of the summer term, I joined the local state school. It would have been stressful but luckily all my friends from grade school were there.
His first experience in public secondary education was a “culture shock”, when he saw another student arguing with a teacher before turning over the desk (file image)
Still, public school was a culture shock. At my first lesson, I walked in and stood behind my chair, because at my private school we weren’t allowed to sit down until the teacher did. My friend hissed in horror: ‘What are you doing?! Feel! Feel!’
Then a girl argued with the teacher and overturned the desk. There were some scary fights on the playground, but some of the teachers were scarier.
But I was lucky. Shortly after I joined there was a change in management and he completely changed the school. We received additional funding and got our own AstroTurf court and pool. There was additional GCSE tuition from teachers. I had always loved theater and campaigned for our own theater to be built; In public school we used the town hall.
I was there until sixth grade and ended up being principal. It was brilliant. I got good grades, went to college, and now I’m at a prestigious theater school on a scholarship. But I’m not surprised that most of the people in my class are privately educated. He had friends at a private school whose parents paid extra tuition in preparation for drama school auditions or funded £25,000 Master of Arts courses to boost their chances.
My private school also had great connections in the acting world. One student, now a very high-profile actress, signed on for her first TV series because our drama teacher knew the casting director, so she came and auditioned some of the girls.
That networking opportunity would never happen at my comprehensive school. This makes me even more determined to succeed in this industry. It’s hard coming from a public school, you don’t get the same advantages. I still get asked, surprisingly often, ‘Where did you go to school?’
Everyone in my main friendship group went to private schools and everyone knows which is which. That discussion occurred in the second week of drama school. The conversation comes up more than I expected.
But I don’t regret going from private to public school. As a result, I feel like a more complete person. I can get along with anyone, from any background, and as it was just me and Mum, I got a job at 15 in the local theatre. I also washed cars. I am proactive and can take care of myself. Mom says I never rebelled, I just kept going.
And my dad? For two years after the divorce, he emailed me photos of his new family and new life, and also sent me a £70 clothing voucher, which I returned to him. She has since had another child and moved to Dubai.
Funnily enough, I saw it a few years ago while driving on a highway. He followed my car, passed me on the inside and made a rude gesture as he passed, not realizing it was me.
I have no desire to contact him. I don’t miss him and I can’t forgive his betrayal of me and mom. But because of everything I went through (changing from a private to a public school, losing my house and my father), I matured quickly and am a tough person, well prepared for the outside world.
As strange as it may seem, I am grateful to my dad for what he did.