TW: This article contains real-life accounts of sexual assault on minors, drug use, and suicide. Names (other than my own) have been changed to protect the victims.

Oh Donna Madonna, there’s always mañana.

Donna Hayward in Twin Peaks is a bit like Marmite; you either love her or you hate her. I disliked her initially, which is pretty ironic, as now that I’m older, she’s the character I relate to the most. Played by Lara Flynn Boyle in the series and Moira Kelly in Fire Walk With Me, Donna’s character is more complicated than she initially seems.

As I have grown up, my understanding of Donna has changed; I feel we have been harsh critics of the girl. A girl is all she was, after all — aged just 17 when her best friend was murdered and her life thrown into disarray. This is where my empathy and resonance for her begins.

Growing up, I had the best friend a girl could wish for. We were inseparable. We had been serendipitously thrown together by our nursery teacher, aged 4. I was new to the town and paired with this girl, and we remained joined at the hip throughout our childhoods and teenage years.  Little did anyone know then just how important our friendship would become.

While being her namesake, I was not much like the beloved Laura Palmer; no, I was quiet and nondescript, lanky and awkward, not particularly brilliant at anything. Then there was Sophie –pretty, petite and cute with long flowing brunette hair. Good at sports, good at all her classes, effortlessly. She was bossy, manipulative, confident, and loved by all who knew her (despite no one really knowing her). Remind you of anyone?  I rode on Sophie’s coattails throughout my childhood, just loving being the friend of Miss Popular, getting to experience hanging out with boys that I was far too shy to talk to without her. Remind you of someone else?

I was fortunate, though, much like Donna, I had the kindest, warmest parents. My Dad was calm, made silly jokes, and danced to entertain us. Watching Will Hayward’s befuddled magic trick reminded me so much of my own Dad. In fact, it was my own Dad who got me into Twin Peaks! He was a big fan of Julee Cruise more than the show itself, which was perhaps a little too weird for his tastes.  I was also fortunate to have a very chill mother, who wanted to hear about all my hopes and dreams, and enjoyed hearing me coo over boys. She even almost enjoyed me living a somewhat wayward youth, experiencing through me what she never could have, being a girl of the 1940s/50s.

In stark contrast, Sophie’s parents were dysfunctional, to say the least. Her father was violently and mentally abusive to her mother; her mother was a secret raging alcoholic, and we would often find empty gin bottles in the washing machine. Every visit to the house was like walking into a bull pit; they all argued all the time. The atmosphere was electric, and there was a constant feeling that the whole place could explode at any time. Sophie had a sister who was five years older, and they shared a bedroom. Being in a room with two teenage girls at opposite stages of puberty felt like being in a cauldron. They would fight verbally and physically, making life as difficult for each other as possible. I know this sounds like a trope, but that perfect storm even created poltergeist activity — but I’ll tell that story another time.

I thought Sophie’s father was so cool, the kind of Dad who would take you to the pub as a kid, let you drink a shandy, give you a few quid for some sweets, drive too fast, and make the car’s exhaust backfire to scare pedestrians. In retrospect, that’s absolutely terrible parenting, but as kids we thought he was the greatest. So you’d think he’d be laid back, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. When it came to boys, he was crazy strict; Sophie couldn’t tell her parents anything. Needless to say, the more difficult it was to talk to them about things, the more she rebelled.

At age 14, neither of us had a proper boyfriend. We had kissed boys, but it was all very tame and very nice. There were boys at school that we liked, but nowhere near serious enough to have any sexual experiences with them. We had definitely talked about it with each other — wondered who our first would be, would we let so-and-so, and all that girly dreaming.

Then it happened. On our way home from school one day, we called at a friend’s house as she hadn’t been in class, and we wondered if she was okay. Her father answered the door and took us inside. We assumed we would find our friend there, but the house was empty. I can’t really explain how it got to this, but I knew that we both felt helpless to do anything once we realised what was happening.

You see, you are taught from a young age to respect your elders, people in authority, and to do as you are told. We just followed him blindly upstairs, and once we realised she wasn’t there, we didn’t know what to do. He made us undress and lie down next to each other on a bed. We didn’t speak throughout the whole ordeal. Sophie and I held hands in quiet fear. When I saw the tears welling in her eyes, for the first time in my life, I found MY voice and somehow got the strength to sit up and tell him that this was a very bad idea, that he couldn’t possibly get away with it. He reluctantly let us go, but not before he made me make him a cup of tea. Despite everything he had done to us, that felt like the ultimate insult — that we had to be servants to him before we were allowed to leave his locked house. We left with our virginities intact, but we had been touched and made to do things we really didn’t want to.

Things spiralled downward from thereon in. We never told our parents, we never told a soul, it was our secret. We didn’t think anyone would believe us. We thought our parents would be so disappointed in us for allowing it to happen. The thought of having to explain to the police that we had gone there of our own volition, that we hadn’t really done anything to stop it. The thought of the drama it would cause for us, for our friend, for our families. It had opened our eyes to the horrors of the world; our childhood was over, innocence was lost, but our friendship was stronger than ever. We learned at that moment about the evil that men do, and there was going to be hell to pay. 

Do You Want to Play With Fire?

In the Summer of ’94, when we were 15, Sophie and I went on holiday to Cornwall with my parents. They were totally naïve about who we were now and they let us have free reign, treated us like adults because we were such trustworthy, good girls. We spent the week hanging out with guys, drinking white cider, taking LSD, and saying a big ‘fuck you’ to our abuser. Not that he would ever know it.

Sophie met a man 12 years her senior and fell head over heels. He was tall, with long dark hair and scruffy clothes, and his name was Jay, just like in Laura’s last diary entry (I know, you couldn’t make it up). Before we knew it, the holiday was over, but the party was not. Jay followed us home, camped out in the woods by her house, sneaking moments with her every day for a few months. Her parents knew nothing. I kept her secret. I disapproved because I knew he was no good for her; she was underage and very vulnerable, and this would end in tears; I told her so. We fell out over it in class. And then she was gone.

This was my moment, like Donna’s, when she looked over at the empty classroom chair and realised her best friend was dead. Sophie wasn’t dead; she was missing. She didn’t return home from school the day we fell out. The Headmaster called me into his office, and there was no compassion. He was angry and didn’t believe me when I said I didn’t know where she was; I really didn’t.

The police were at my house almost every day when I got home from school, and they were much kinder. I told them everything I knew because I was scared to death for Sophie. While I was pretty hopeful she would be ok, that she was a runaway and nothing more, I couldn’t quite shake the awful feeling I had about Jay. I told the police what I knew about him and even found a roll of film I hadn’t processed from a disposable camera, which had pictures of him. Just like Donna, I started my own investigations, piecing together all the little things I knew about him, but these were the days before the internet; catching him would not be easy. This is what you do when something like this happens, when your best friend is taken away from you. It might not be the right thing to do, but you deal with grief and fear in your way. Having to put your frantic mind into positive action is why I understand Donna’s ‘meddling’ in her friends’ murder investigation.

Donna was perhaps one of the few people who truly loved Laura for precisely who she was, even at her worst. She wanted so much to protect her, as we saw in Fire Walk With Me. She even joined in with things that were way out of her comfort zone, just so that she could be there with her, never wanting her to be alone. Even dating a guy she couldn’t stand (Mike), so that she had reason to be in the gang with Laura and Bobby.

Sophie was gone for ten days, and in those ten days, my life (as well as hers, for sure) was turned completely upside down. All of a sudden, everyone wanted to know me; I was harassed constantly by schoolmates asking me where she was, telling me I was a bitch for not telling her parents what had happened to her, that I was breaking their hearts, and that I would be held responsible if she was found dead. There were others who pretended to be nice to try to weasel information out of me, wanting to bask in the ‘glory’. And some pretended they knew Sophie so well and would stand in the yard crying over the loss of ‘their friend’. Every time I see that scene of the girl running and screaming across the schoolyard in the pilot episode, it makes me think back — we never learn who that girl was; did she even really know Laura? Was she a glory-basker, or is there another untold story there? I guess shock hits some folks in a very dramatic way.

Back in my life, not a single one of those school ‘friends’ had any idea about Sophie — and it turned out that neither did I, to some extent. Like Laura Palmer said, “No one knows me, not even Donna knows me“, but Donna did know her better than she thought. Laura thought that Donna was all naïve and sweet and wanted boys like Mike to write her poetry, but there was always more to Donna than that, hiding underneath that innocent exterior. You see, what Laura didn’t know about Donna was that she was a Horne. She shared traits with her half-sister, Audrey. Always investigating, manipulating their way to the truth.

A Tabloid Tale

The press kept calling my house, and my parents were devastated. The Sun newspaper even covered the story; somehow, they found out she’d run off with an older man. The headline read, “Paedophile lures missing schoolgirl with drugs.” It was true, I guess, but it didn’t feel quite that trashy in my reality.

Sophie was eventually found in Southern England (in exactly the town I had repeatedly told them Jay was from). She wasted on heroin in a bathtub, but alive. The police brought her back home. I had never felt more relieved in my life. Sophie hated me for telling the police what I knew, for breaking her and Jay up, and for taking her away from her new captor, the white horse. She refused to see that she had been groomed, despite telling me that the next step for her was prostitution, as they were running out of money — yes, all this in less than two short weeks. She never asked what life had been like back home while she was gone, never said sorry to anyone. I wasn’t about to give up on our 11-year friendship that quickly though. I knew she needed help.

Jay was arrested, but the charges against him for sex with a minor were dropped at Sophie’s request. He came back to our hometown again, but eventually the two of them parted ways. Sadly, Sophie was hooked on heroin by now, but she wanted to get out of that. Our friendship grew stronger again once he was out of the picture, and we started going out more to clubs and dating people our own age. We did a lot of party drugs, but that was the limit for me. My way of dealing with things came from sex.

I was definitely more the ugly duckling as a kid, but at 15 everything changed. I’d always had goth tendencies — my brothers were 9 and 11 years older than me and had fantastic music taste, so I was into The Cure, Joy Division, The Smiths, The Pixies, NIN, and Nirvana very young. Alternative music in the ’90s was unbelievably great — I honestly can’t explain how lucky I feel to have spent my teenage years with the greatest bands of all time as the soundtrack to my life. I owe a lot to music and dyeing my hair. It sounds ridiculous, but I dyed my hair a lovely warm shade of copper red, and I started to turn heads.

Suddenly, I was the tall, slim, grunge rebel girl who kept getting suspended from school for wearing Dr. Martens boots, too much pale makeup, and a skirt that was too long (yes, long!!). Some boys at school actually thought I was the new girl, having never noticed my existence before. I wasn’t interested in them anyway. I wanted to be with older boys, the boys who went to the alt clubs. For the next three years, my life was pretty debaucherous. I finished school, then moved out of my parents’ house to a house share with Sophie. I had a different boyfriend every week, it seemed. I would get bored so easily. I know now that this was a form of self-harm. 

Night Time is My Time

Sex was how I took back control after what had happened to Sophie and me. The thrill of the chase, the catching of my prey, making them crazy for me, then I would just drop them once I’d gotten what I wanted, or I’d cheat on them with their friend or even their brother. I know this was cruel, and I genuinely feel remorse for my actions back then. I live in a small enough city that everyone in the alt scene knew each other, so I soon had quite the reputation that has been extremely hard to shake off, even now. But I hated myself, and that was the reason why I behaved the way I did.

That man had made me feel so dirty and ashamed, weak and so, so stupid. I was a victim, but didn’t really realise it at the time. Being able to lure guys with sex was the only time I felt powerful, like I was taking back control of my body. But the power wore off quickly and in the cold light of the morning, I’d feel the self-loathing again. Like a worthless whore who was only ever wanted for sex, never for love, never for the person I really was. I kept playing with fire just to feel something, anything other than the horror. Of course, putting myself in precarious situations led to more unwanted and unpleasant sexual experiences with men. It was a never-ending cycle of partying, power, and pain, and I was a constant source of garmonbozia for my demons.

Sophie’s life was similar, but her focus was more on drugs than sex; sex was just a way to get guys to give her free drugs. At 18, she got pregnant and gave birth to a baby girl. I had met a good guy by then, and the three of us lived in a shared house. Sophie had stayed (mostly) sober while she was pregnant, but fell off the wagon once Lana was born. My boyfriend got a job in England and so we moved away. My life went from crazy to incredibly normal, peaceful, and pretty content. I owned my own house by 21, had a steady job, cats, and friends at work. But there was still something in me that was fighting to get out. 

Sophie was back on heroin and in a dysfunctional relationship with Lana’s father. We were in contact, but our friendship was very strained by this time. Her addiction was too much for me to deal with — I remember feeling incredibly resentful that I’d travelled back home for Christmas to see my family and visited her on Christmas Day evening, only to be bullied into driving her around the seediest areas trying to score smack. It pained me so much to see Sophie in this state, and she had become a manipulative, dark soul — a danger to be around. She had totally stopped fighting her demons at this point; they were in full control.

Donna After Laura

After Laura’s death, Donna was caught in the most beautiful dream and most terrible nightmare all at once.  She fell for her lost friend’s secret boyfriend, James, a young man way more suited to her than he ever was to Laura. Just imagine that, falling for the boy, knowing that he had already been there with your best friend first. And he was caught in a terrible position of not being able to grieve for her as he was a ‘secret’. They found solace in each other and started a genuinely loving relationship until Maddy arrived.

Of course, Maddy was wonderful and looked almost exactly like her cousin, Laura. Within days, Donna’s budding romance was on shaky ground because James couldn’t get Laura out of his mind and was drawn to Maddy. Understandable, yes, but poor Donna! Always second best to Laura. No wonder she felt she had to step it up a gear.

Behold ‘Edgy Donna’, wearing her best friend’s sunglasses, almost becoming Laura just by wearing them. But Laura never exuded that kind of sexuality publicly; all that was saved for nighttime, her time. Donna wanted this; a woman scorned, she wanted some attention of her own, just for her, not about Laura, just for once. She certainly had an effect on the incarcerated James as she sucked his fingers through the bars. Cue the wolf whistles (she’s still only 17 fellas!). I cringe at ‘Edgy Donna’, and wonder if that was what I was like? Had all the attention Sophie had been given as a teenage runaway (with a man who honestly looked quite a lot like BOB), pushed me into changing my appearance? I had always just been known as Sophie’s friend, and that pissed me off. There was more to me and I wanted everyone to see it.

Donna’s Damage

There are a few reasons why Donna is so unpopular. One is that she dragged poor Harold Smith, a reclusive friend of Laura, into a mess that ended his life. Now I have gone on about this quite a lot, and I don’t think anyone has ever agreed with me, but I don’t think Harold took his own life. My view is that the Tremonds put all the pieces in place. They knew that Harold had Laura’s diary; the secrets kept inside could have revealed the true killer, BOB. They used Donna as a pawn, knowing that she was wired to find out who really killed her best friend and was desperately trying to get her new love off the hook. She played the part of human nature perfectly. In tricking poor Harold, he was led outside. His arm starts to shake as he’s been plucked from his safe haven; BOB can see him now — he was marked for death.

The words the Grandson spoke, “She seems like a nice girl“, are so sinister. They were going to put a stop to that.  Harold’s ‘suicide’ note read, “J’ai une am solitaire“, just as the Grandson had predicted. The Magician certainly could see the future’s past, and I believe it was the Tremond’s who left that note.

Donna would feel terribly guilty for the tragedy she thought she caused. How much grief could one young woman endure in such a short time? She lost her best friend, her love life was falling apart, her beau was also her only friend, and then someone so kind to her took his own life, as far as she knew, because of her actions. She would be ripe with garmonbozia. A feast! Despite all this suffering, she was brave. She didn’t know who had murdered her best friend, and she put herself in harm’s way several times to save the people she loved while fighting for justice for Laura.

Indeed, Donna very nearly became a victim of BOB herself, saved by Sheriff Truman’s timely visit to the Palmer house just as Leland was ready to ‘dance’ with her. (Be careful going to friends’ houses alone, folks!). She learned then that Maddy was already dead and faced yet another tragedy. She told James, who callously rode off out of town, leaving her to deal with all this never-ending trauma by herself. Leland’s behaviour with Donna in the golf scene reminds me of when Sophie went into labour, I called her father to come to the hospital. He arrived, clearly anxious about what was going to happen. As I was leaving the ward, I gave him a hug, and he held me close, closer and more intimately than was appropriate, with his hand resting slightly on my backside. He didn’t want to let go. I had known him since I was 4 years old, how could he behave like that, especially in a moment like this? 

I often wonder what Donna and Laura’s friendship would have become had Laura survived; would they have lasted? Sophie and I remained friends, but our lives took very different paths. I still loved her with every part of my soul, but I had my own family to look after. I didn’t know what went on in her world by the end, but just before her time, she told me her biggest secret of all. Her father had abused her all her life. It all made sense now, why she couldn’t move or say a word when our friend’s father abused us. It’s how she was used to behaving, pretending it wasn’t happening, just wishing it was over quickly. This was why she could never tell her parents about the boys she was into. Why her mother was a secret alcoholic — she ended up in a psychiatric hospital, and died a few years ago. Why her sister became a street drinker, whose fate is unknown. 

Sophie’s life ended in 2016 via overdose. I can only pray that her angel came for her and I wish I could turn back the clock and save her, knowing what I know now, but maybe that’s just the thing; she didn’t need saving, she saved herself. I know that she never allowed her daughter to be alone with her father, so I hope that means the cycle of abuse ended there. Lana is in her mid-20s now and is a successful Doctor. Sophie’s father died of cancer in 2025. Lana is free. While Sophie’s story is a tragedy, despite all the horrors she experienced, she was the best mother she could be, and I am sure she is looking down at Lana, so proud of everything she has achieved.

And what became of Donna? The last we knew, she had found out her beloved Dad, Doc Hayward, was not her biological father. No, it was Benjamin Horne. Was this the final straw for Donna? In a few short weeks, her life went from pretty perfect to complete chaos. It would take some super strength to get over it all. In The Final Dossier, we learn that she attends college in New York and later becomes a famous fashion model. She marries, but turns to drugs and alcohol when her career starts to flag. Her husband divorces her, and she eventually returns to live with her true father, Will Hayward, the one who brought her up as his own and loved her unconditionally.

And me? Well, I have a son and my own home, a beautiful cat, and I am writing about Twin Peaks. It doesn’t get much better than that. I am happily single and passionate about women’s rights and getting justice for the victims of sexual abuse.