When I was 18 my mum brought me to a psychiatrist. I carried self-loathing, humiliation, fear and shame. “During my teens there was a deep and profound sadness that I couldn’t shake, so I drank a lot and took drugs.

It went on for about three years, until shortly after my dad died. He told me that if I ever told anyone we would both go to prison. “It began with gentle interference but, over time, became more serious and specific. “I was about eight when my brother started coming into my room,” James says.