Raped on QE2!
Before the nightmare began..
Wednesday 27th August 2008
You can tell when people are talking about you, can't you? That's why I felt uncomfortable as soon as I stepped into the restaurant of the QE2, where I worked as a waitress. It was 25 May 2005, and I was doing the dinner shift. Two of my male colleagues kept looking over and whispering. What are they up to? I wondered.
One was a tall, dark guy I'd worked with for the first time earlier that day, on the afternoon shift. I didn't even know his name, but now, as I laid the tables, he came up behind me.
'You're beautiful,' he said in a strong eastern European accent. 'You can be my beauty and I'll be your beast.'
It was so cheesy, I laughed it off.
'Stay away from him,' another waiter warned me later.
I knew what he was driving at. Back at training college, we'd been warned new girls were known as 'fresh meat' by the male staff. It hadn't worried me. I knew how to look after myself. Anyway, since starting on the luxury liner in April 2005, I hadn't stopped smiling. The QE2 was massive, and six weeks on, I still couldn't believe I was getting paid to travel the world in it. That day, we'd docked in Alesund, Norway, but for a week we'd been in Rome. In Italy, having a martini, I'd texted my mum.
Of course, there were downsides, too. The hours were long and the money wasn't great. And while the guest cabins were plush, crew members slept in basic dorm rooms near the engines. Until recently, I'd shared my cabin, but now, I had the place to myself. Late that night, tired after the busy dinner rush, I clambered into bed. Fast asleep, I barely stirred when my cabin door creaked open two hours later.
'Chrissy,' a man said. 'I really like you. I don't want to hurt you.'
Confused, I opened my eyes. What was going on?
Suddenly, I felt the weight of him on top of me. I tried to scream as his rough hands groped my breasts, but terror froze the sound in my throat. Heart banging, I struggled frantically as the man shoved a hand between my legs. Clamping a hand over my mouth, he parted my legs with the other. No, no, no! my mind screamed, as the smell of alcohol on the man's breath filled my nostrils.
But he forced himself inside me. His hand was pressed tight against my mouth, his disgusting body violating mine. Then, somehow, I managed to push him off.
'Please leave,' I croaked.
It was only when he slammed out of the cabin that I realised it was the tall waiter from earlier. In shock, I yanked on a skirt and cardigan, and fled. But in the corridor, someone grabbed my arm. My rapist.
'Leave me alone!' I cried.
As a security guard glanced in our direction, he sneered and quickly walked away. In shock, I went to the restaurant and sat with a cup of tea. I have to tell someone, I decided. But, faced with two male guards at security, including the one who'd seen the incident in the corridor, I couldn't say 'rape'.
'He's hurt me,' I said instead, as they pulled up a photo of my rapist.
'It's too late to do anything now,' one guard said. 'Go back to your room.'
So, pulling on some jeans, I sat with my back against the door and sobbed until morning. The next day is a blur. After telling the ship's doctor what had happened, a nurse came to see me, then I had to identify my rapist to security. Finally, hours later, the Norwegian police boarded the ship and arrested the waiter. I was driven to Alesund Police Station, where I was questioned, then I was taken to hospital for another examination. By now, black bruises had appeared on my thighs and arms, and I had marks on my bottom and upper body where the rapist had pinned me down.
It was almost as awful calling my mum later that day, to tell her what had happened.
'Oh love,' she wept.
I was sent to a hotel, while police examined the ship for evidence. Then, the next morning, Cunard — the company who own the QE2 — flew me back to Heathrow, then drove me home to Blackpool. The minute I saw Mum, I burst into tears.
'You're safe now, love,' she said.
Over those next few weeks, I had a visit from Lancashire Police, but I didn't hear a thing from any of my friends on the ship.
'We've been told not to talk to you,' one finally admitted in a sneaky phone call. By the time I returned to Norway in August 2005, to give evidence against my attacker, 28-year-old Croatian Nenad Mitrovic, I was surviving on antidepressants. Mitrovic was denying any contact with me, despite DNA evidence.
The case was awful. I needed an interpreter to understand it all, and Mitrovic's lawyer brought up that I'd worn short skirts and wasn't a virgin. But I held my head high, and Mitrovic was found guilty. His sentence of two years and six months in prison sickened me.
But I couldn't let it ruin my life. I took up boxing, and found a job working behind a bar in a Blackpool social club.
Working in a bar and dealing with strange men was nerve-racking at first. But gradually, I realised not all men are bad. That's why, nine months after the trial, I fell pregnant and, in March 2007, gave birth to a beautiful daughter, Jessica. Sadly, her dad and I split, but 18 months on, I have a lovely new boyfriend, Lee, 25. Mitrovic may have shattered my life, but I've refused to let him ruin it. Forget luxury cruises and exotic travel, these days, it's my wonderful family that make me happy.
Cunard says: 'In addition to the care and support Miss Parker received from the ship's staff in the period immediately after the incident, she and her family received regular contact from ship and shore staff in the months that followed. As such, we are satisfied that we did all we could to support Miss Parker.'