Do you know that feeling when things are going extremely well and you just think to yourself that the Universe just might be hiding a catch for you somewhere? Because May of 1995 was the picture-perfect definition of just that. I was running frantically about in between photoshoots and the new video for the second single of The Hanging Gardens. Sales were great, especially after it was announced that Eleanora’s Sundown would be the opening band for Obsidian’s tour and that meant our Summer was going to be a full one.

We had also managed to book 10 shows, in our own name, in Germany, Poland, the Czech Republic and Slovakia, later that year.

Firefly, and Bishop of course, had already put some numbers on the table for another year with them, which would come with another album, a lot more money than we had gotten for the first one and the promise of a larger and better promotion and distribution. I told Bishop I needed to think about it, because I already had another offer from a different and bigger label.

The meeting was set up at Infinity Records on the 17th of May. That horrendous 17th of May 1995…

Peter would be coming with me and he had promised he would be there right on time, as he knew I was a stickler for punctuality.

At 10h15, I was standing by the door, waiting on my agent. I knew he’d be coming by car and London traffic in the morning… well, it’s London traffic in the morning, no further explanation needed.

10h20, still no Peter in sight. We could always be fashionably late, right?

10h25. No, we could not be fashionably late, how would that make us look? I looked around one last time, before walking in and introducing myself to the security guard, who sent me up the lift.

At half past 10, I was still waiting, before going in and talking to the assistant who apologised and asked me to please have a seat because Mr Williams was, himself, running a tad late. That could give Peter enough time to get there. I told her I was still waiting for my agent as well.

At 10h40, a smart-looking man passed by and took a quick look at me, before talking with the assistant. She pointed in my general direction and he made a beeline to the office.

About five minutes later, the man put his head out the door and looked at me again, smiling. He made a point of getting out and reaching out his hand, shaking mine as I got up. He said his name was David Williams and that I could come on in with him, so we could discuss my star-studded future.

- My agent is running late, Mr Williams – I excused myself. I knew I had managed to handle the negotiations with Bishop on my own, but that was a different league altogether and I was feeling the unease that separated Bishop’s familiar treatment from all that corporate looking set-up.

- It’s quite alright. Penny will let him in when he comes by. - he grinned, showing a set of perfectly aligned teeth – And we can get to know each other in the meantime. I’ve been hearing an awful lot about you.

He led the way and let me through in front of him. This really had nothing on Firefly, everything was polished and put together. There was no mish-mash of furniture and even the view out the window was more than a drab collection of grey buildings.

I sat down and he offered me something to drink, which I refused. We made some small talk about music and the hit bands and artists that were trending at the time, nothing too elaborate.

There was a door, to my right side, which opened when we were talking about how he couldn’t believe more than a year had passed already since Kurt Cobain had committed suicide and, in just one glance, I knew the face that came out of that side room. I knew him from the telly. Everyone knew Tony Webber from the telly.

Williams introduced us and put Webber on to what we had been talking about, casually commenting on how I absolutely loved David Bowie.

Webber raved about having met him and about how nice and down-to-earth Bowie was. Williams chimed in, mentioning he had a signed guitar just next door.

- Tony will show it to you – he said, getting up – I’ll just check in with Penny if she has word about your agent.

Did I notice anything out of the ordinary? No. I did not. I did not because I was not looking for anything out of the ordinary and because I was innocent enough to believe that people had no reason to want to harm me.

To me, there were no red flags, no threats, no sudden gestures, no innuendos. Because those men knew exactly what to do and how to do it.

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Webber and I got in the small side room chock-full of music memorabilia, that would make any music fan jealous. Among other guitars, there was Bowie’s, from when he had played Starman at the Top of the Pops.

Webber asked me if I wanted to hold it and I said I could not, that I was afraid I’d be too clumsy and accidentally drop it. He kept talking about Bowie and I felt a cold shiver when he ran a finger down the nape of my neck. I stepped aside immediately, giving him a very uncomfortable smile.

- I should try and find out if anything happened to Peter – I told him.

He took a step toward me and ran his fingers through my hair. I was absolutely frozen in place – Has anyone ever told you how beautiful you are?

That was the moment all my alarms went off and I felt my chest tightening and a voice in my head shouting at me to run. I jerked my head, to get his hand off my hair and made a lunge to the left, to try and get past him, but he was faster than me and went straight to the door, which he closed and blocked off with his body.

- Let me out – I said and felt how fear gripped me. I was now alone, in a room, with a man I did not know and that had already touched me twice, against my will. - Let me out right now.

I took two steps towards the door, which he casually locked and just heard him clicking his tongue. Webber had a predatory smile on his lips.

- You know… - he bit his lip in a way that made me take a step back. There was a table in the middle of the room and my instinct was telling me to, at least get that between him and me – I’ve made a name for myself for always… always getting what I wanted.

I went behind the table and, at that point, I knew I had no way of getting out of there. I was trapped.

- Come – he laughed – I won’t bite. I just want a little kiss from a beautiful girl.

He reached his arm out like a serpent and grabbed my arm pulling me with such violence that I hit my hip on the table and let out a cry of pain.

- Don’t worry – he whispered in my ear, squeezing my arm really tightly – As soon as I get what I want, you’ll never see me again. - he grabbed my chin and lifted my face up, as I struggled to get out of his grip – Seriously, what a perfect nymphet.

He turned me around and slammed me against the table, knocking all the air out of my lungs and that gasp for air was the last thing I heard.

I carried the trauma from that morning for 25 years, before I was able to start emerging from that dark place and moving all resources I had at my feet to take both men, Williams and Webber, to justice for what they had done to me. Along the way, I found dozens of other girls who were willing to take the stand with me, with similar or even worse experiences than my own. Many more were not willing to expose themselves.

And 27 years later, I was asked, under oath, if I knew what I was wearing that day. Not only did I know, but I had it with me. A black, long-sleeved shirt, with a mandarin collar, a long, ankle-length skirt, and some Dr Martens boots. The only exposed areas of my body were my face, my neck and my hands and, even with that evidence, it was implied that I, at the time a fourteen-year-old girl, could have shown some lascivious behaviour.

No, I was not provocative, as a 56-year-old man held my face against a table, when I screamed and begged for him to stop.

And, yes, I did scream from the top of my lungs, but there was no one who could help me. Or, rather, wanted to help me because they were all accomplices.

I fell down to the ground when Webber let go of me and tried to immediately get up and run, only managing to trip and fall back down again.

He just laughed – Don’t worry that pretty head of yours, nymphet. I told you already. I got what I came here for, now you’ve lost interest to me. - he buttoned his trousers, walked to me, and touched my face as I trembled from head to toe – You know, you should really learn how to say no. It might come in handy, in the future. Either way, we both got what we wanted.- and he slapped my cheek gently.

That was the last thing he said, before heading out the door and letting it bang behind him. I had nothing else running through my head other than the absolute need to get out of there. I scrambled for my bag and had to hold my weight on the table, to manage to get up. I felt the tangy taste of blood in my mouth and the gash on the inside of my cheek. I wiped down the tears and my fingers came back black, from the make-up that was all over my face now.

The air that was now coming into my lungs was so superficial that I knew I was about to pass out. Instead, I forced my body to move to the door and opened it just enough to look outside. My self-preservation instinct was telling me to run and hide and that was just what I did when I saw no one else around.

I felt so ashamed and so disgusted at myself and I just wanted to collapse, but I knew I could only do so in a safe space.

Taking the stairs, and not the lift down, I almost bumped into Peter, who was making his way into the lobby, out of breath after what seemed like a long run. I hid just long enough for him to disappear from my line of sight and ran to the train station.

It was the first time (even if it wasn’t going to be the last one), that I made all the way back to the Hall on foot, from the station. No one was expecting me and that seemed like a blessing.

I got myself in the shower and stood there for hours, trying to wash away what felt like a hideous grime clinging on to my skin but, as much as I scrubbed and scrubbed until my skin was raw and as much soap as I used, I still felt dirty.

I fell on the bed, feeling a fever and, indeed, I was ill for weeks thereafter. Fever dream after fever dream. All I saw was that monster, all I felt was his skin on me. I always woke up drenched in sweat only to fall asleep again and go back to that Hell.

The only thing I said to Peter, when the fever began to wane, was that I needed security and made up a story about a too insistent fan on the Tube. I would never tell him about what had happened. Not when I felt such shame and self-loathing as I did.

That was the how and why Julian and Bear came into my life. I gave them very specific instructions and they did cost a small fortune, but I don’t think I could ever have gotten out of the house, unless I knew someone would be with me every step of the way and would prevent anything of the sort from ever happening again. And I needed to trudge forward, as much as I did not want to. I had commitments and I had promises to keep.