The identity battle continued and I tried to steel myself for the next blow. Try as I might, even I didn’t have any idea how badly I would cope with that.
***
Friday, 24th June 2001, turned out to be one of the worst days of my life. Little over eight years after murdering James, Thompson and Venables were released on life license and my carefully compartmentalised box of emotions went up in flames.
For all these years I have worked hard to be two people: the public Denise who will fight any battle for James, however long it takes and however hard it seems, and Denise Fergus, wife to Stuart and mum to Michael, Thomas and Leon. The two worlds rarely crossed over and certainly, if I had been campaigning hard for James, once I stepped through our front door, I left it all behind. I would get in, shower, put my pyjamas on and start making tea for everyone or clean and tackle the huge ironing pile. I’ve always answered any questions the kids have as honestly as I can – they know what I know – and we have always talked about James, but the lads never saw me cry. Until that day, when it all just seeped into one big meltdown triggered by my deep ache for James and the very real feeling that I’d let him down. It was like stepping back in time and it was scary for us all.
We went to the Royal Court of Justice to see them released, but they’d been let go the night before, to protect them from the press. I had wanted to look them in the eye one last time, but that wasn’t deemed a good idea. We got home and I could feel myself dissolving like an aspirin, I hadn’t felt anger like that for a long time and I knew I had to take myself away. I went up to our bedroom, blocking the door, and got into bed. But before I did that I am not ashamed to say that I smashed up pretty much whatever was in that room. I could think of no other way to channel the deep anger and bitter disappointment I felt.
It was like going back in time and the whole family rallied round me again – seeing them all there, hovering and worried about me, transported me back eight years and I felt like it erased everything I had worked for. I felt useless. I looked at them all surrounding my bed and I was grateful, of course I was, but that familiar and desperate need to be on my own came over me in waves. That’s the first and last time I have ever kicked off like that since I have been with Stuart. It felt like I was drowning again and it all came down to the fact I hadn’t been able to deliver on my final promise to my son. I promised him I would keep his killers locked up, I vowed that to him, but I couldn’t deliver and the guilt swamped me.
I shut everyone out, including Stuart, but I had an overwhelming need to see Michael. I asked Stuart to collect him from school and he brought him straight up to me. I remember Michael walking in and coming over to sit on my lap – he was nearly eight years old, so more than capable of asking tricky questions if he’d wanted to, but he didn’t. He just sat there on the bed, put his arms around me and let me cuddle him. I think those early days, when it was just the two of us, means that we do have a special bond where we often don’t need words – it used to be like that when he was a baby. He would rest his head on my shoulder and look at me. But on this day, he knew that things weren’t right and his little hand started stroking my arm, we stayed like that for a long time and didn’t say anything.
Eventually I calmed down and came back to earth. Michael went off to have his tea and I stayed in my bedroom, lying in the dark thinking things through. It dawned on me that Thompson and Venables would mess up this chance at freedom; that this wasn’t the end of the fight because they would do something wrong and the process would start all over again. I vowed that, as far as possible given their anonymity, I would watch their every move and be ready to pick up the fight at any moment. I have said in every statement and government letter that I have ever written, if anything happens to another family, there will be blood on the hands of the system designed to protect us against criminals. Our legal system isn’t supposed to enable the behaviour of criminals by letting them go unrehabilitated, which in my mind Thompson and Venables were when they were released. I stand by that completely. When I am feeling more rational, I know I have done my best.
But then, I picked up the photo of James by my bedside and looked at his little face; he would expect me to fix this but I couldn’t. The emotions were exactly the same as when I left The Strand shopping centre that first night without him – the same sense of letting him down – and it was truly the worst, worst feeling in the world.
I knew that lots of people had a vested interest in presenting this rehabilitation and release as a success story, but my only concern was that I had no idea where Thompson and Venables would be living. I had been given all sorts of assurances but I didn’t believe any of them.
We were given 24 hours’ notice before the rest of the world heard the release news in a statement by David Blunkett, who had now replaced Jack Straw as Home Secretary. Blunkett outlined that Thompson and Venables would be on license (with ‘strict conditions’) for the rest of their lives and would be ‘liable to immediate recall if there is any concern at any time about their risk’. He went on to state that the parole board had been satisfied that the public weren’t in danger and that there was no ‘unacceptable risk’ to anyone. It was supposed to make me feel better that, as the statement read, ‘the life licences include conditions which prohibit Thompson and Venables, whether directly or indirectly, from contacting or attempting to contact the family of James Bulger or each other. They will also be prohibited from entering the Metropolitan County of Merseyside without the prior written consent of their supervising officers . . . I am assured that Thompson and Venables will be kept under very close scrutiny by the Probation Service, whose principle aim is to ensure the protection of the public.’
***
So they were free and I was terrified. I became fixated on the fact that, despite the hollow assurances from the government, they could be living down the road and who would know? But they had every opportunity to find out all about me. Did they know where I lived? Did they know what my kids looked like and where they went to school? Were they visiting James’ grave? I felt invaded and powerless. How was it fair that they knew everything about my life but I was forbidden from knowing anything about theirs? The people around me could see the anxious cycle I was in danger of slipping back into. If it was possible, I became ever more anxious about the kids.
Supermarket shopping was a living hell. I wouldn’t go on my own, in fact I haven’t been shopping alone since James was taken. When I did go, if I took the kids, then Stuart had to come with me. This meant all five of us would be trawling round the supermarket, the kids piled in the trolley, barely leaving any space for the food we needed to buy. Thomas and Leon would be in a double-seated trolley and I would make sure that Michael was right in front of me, standing on the trolley. Either Stuart or I would have our arms either side of him as we pushed, people must have thought, What on earth is going on here?
If I stopped to actually pick up some food I would shout out every few paces, ‘Where’s Michael, I can’t see him?’ and Stuart would calmly say, ‘He’s right here at the end of the trolley,’ or we would be packing up at the checkout and I might have lost sight of Leon and I would scream, ‘Stuart, where’s Leon?’ and he would calmly point to where he was playing. If I ever did leave the kids with a family member – usually Barbara – we would go round the supermarket as fast as we could, so we didn’t leave the kids for too long. It sounds like insane behaviour, but once you have experienced the very worst thing, your mind just can’t stop imagining it happening again.
Chapter 23
Keeping Focussed
Stay where I can see you.’
How many times since I became a mum have I uttered those words, I wonder? The answer is too many – except that, when they really mattered, there was evil at play to overpower me. I spent years replaying my last moments with James and those thoughts were particularly intense once his killers had been out for a while. I went through a phase where I thought about it all the time and I saw danger ev
erywhere. I remember one winter day, the year of the release, watching from the kitchen window as my boys raced around the garden, desperate to build their snowman before everything melted. They were in their element and I couldn’t take my eyes off them, but there was nothing new in that. I didn’t ever let them out of my sight, even in our own garden, always counting heads to make sure they were all still there. I know that it must have been hard for the kids at times when they were growing up, despite what they say.
The boys knew they had to stay in my sightline at all times. I had a special chair that used to tuck under the worktop that was just the right height for me to see every corner of our garden. Our house was like a fortress, surrounded by high fences and locked gates operated by switches inside the house. I knew this made it impossible for anyone to get in or out, but the elaborate security didn’t bring me any comfort, nothing did really, not even the boys being right in front of me. I knew better than anyone else that having them within touching distance was no guarantee they would stay safe. After all, James had been right by my side and then he was gone forever.
I’d watch for ages as Michael, Thomas and Leon played, only stepping away from the window if I needed to go to the bathroom, and even then I would make sure that Stuart took my place until I got back. I was never that mum who caught up on the cleaning as they played out, delighted they weren’t under my feet. Instead I would stand and stare, hardly daring to blink, always so aware that one of them could disappear in an instant. Never forgetting that there should be four little boys holding out their hands to catch snowflakes . . .
As time has gone on I have stopped my mind from imagining what James would be like as he played with his brothers. I try and concentrate on the present. That day, as the snow came down, I remember saying to myself, Sod it! Get out there Denise, enjoy the snow with the lads. It’s not often we get properly freezing weather like this.
So I put on my boots and coat and ran out through the front door, ready to join in the fun. The snow was tumbling down and settling immediately and the kids were mega-excited that I had come out to play. I watched them circle round the ‘safe’ bit of the garden. They knew the rules, even if Stuart and I were outside with them the cut-off point was the tree to the left of our house. From a young age we had explained to them all that by the trunk of that tree, there was an invisible line that could not and must not be crossed. They knew it was because it meant mummy wouldn’t be able to see them and they knew that wasn’t okay. That snowy day, I began to work on the snowman’s head with Thomas, adding layers to a big ball of snow. As we were rolling it across the garden, we reached the cut-off point and I absentmindedly kept on going.
Suddenly, Thomas stopped in his tracks. Looking panicked he shouted up at me, ‘Mummy, mummy, you must never go over the line, that’s breaking the rules. Stop there!’
It took me a minute to realise what was happening. He clearly needed reassuring so I patted him on the head and said, ‘That’s right lad, well done.’ In my head I felt instant guilt, what kind of mother was I? Making my kids terrified to cross a line in their own garden in case I couldn’t see them for a few seconds? But that is the life we have been forced to live after what happened and, once Thompson and Venables were out, that sense of terror was right back, sitting on my shoulder like the devil.
We had a big back garden with huge fences – no one could get over and out and no one could get in. I made sure they had lots of toys to keep them entertained and my house was open to all. We set up a mini-crèche at our place and had everyone back to us. Parents knew their kids were safe once the gates were shut and secure, and it meant I could watch the lads at all times. As they got older Michael wanted to go and play in the woods with his mates and there was a spot from the house where I could just about see them. Eventually Stuart would gently say, ‘Let him go, he will be fine,’ and I had to learn to ease up a bit, but every little thing was a nightmare.
It was around this time that, when Michael was six years old, he started being bullied at school. He was coming home and not eating his tea, putting himself to bed ridiculously early and not saying a word. This went on for a few days and eventually I went up and sat on his bed to get it out of him. After a bit of coaxing, he told me that he was being bullied by two lads in his class – just the usual name calling and general mean behaviour, but it was upsetting seeing Michael so affected by it. I went completely mad and marched up to his school, St Marie’s, the next day. I wanted to see the head during school time so I could get a look at the boys doing it. I was also going to insist that I saw their parents. Stuart and I were walking to the head’s office and suddenly I saw Michael standing with two boys – I could tell by his body language that they were the ones bullying him. I had been poised to go into combat for my boy, but instead I just froze on the spot. They looked just like Thompson and Venables in their school uniforms. There had been video footage of them, bouncing around in their school hall, shown on one of the many documentaries made about James’ murder. As I looked from afar, it was as if time had stopped and it took my breath away.
After talking to the teachers and asking them to have a stern word with the lads in question, we sorted out the bullying but I was also keen for the school security to be as up to date as possible if the boys were going to be safe there. We sat down with the council and explained the situation now that James’ killers had been released and they arranged for St Marie’s to receive a grant. They had new gates fitted, security swipe cards and new CCTV installed. In all honesty I would have home schooled them in a heartbeat, but Michael wanted to be around his mates. Deep down I knew I would be doing him more harm than good just for my own peace of mind. We briefed the school that they must never let anyone but us pick them up and I knew I would just have to handle it, but it was so hard.
Because of all the fighting I’d done to get Thompson and Venables longer sentences, I thought they were bound to have a grudge. How did I know they weren’t outside my house as I slept, that they weren’t going to befriend members of my family to get at me? Kirkby is a small place and everyone knows where we live, it wouldn’t be hard to find out. Part of rehabilitation can involve going back to the scene of the crime. How did I know that’s not what they were doing, that they hadn’t gone to James’ graveside?
It was hard for the kids, especially Michael as he was that bit older than the other two. But he says now, ‘The key for me has always been that Mum never kept anything from us – if ever anything was going to be in the paper or on the TV and she knew about it, she always told us there and then, so there were never any surprises. It’s just the way it’s always been. James isn’t a shadowy figure looming over us, if I have ever asked a question she has told me straight and everything has always been out in the open between us. I can ask anything and I know she will answer me if she can.
‘It does make me angry though. I look at the kind of older brother I am to Thomas and Leon and I know that James could have been that for me. He could have been here giving me advice and steering me and that would have been amazing to have – concerts, football games, I could have followed in his footsteps and that was taken away from Mum and taken away from me. I am angry for her too and all that she has been through, but we stick together – if she’s fine then I’m fine.
‘When I was young and if I went out I knew I couldn’t go far, I was always in the back with a ball. Mum was either looking out the window, or standing in the doorway trying to hide! It didn’t bother me and it didn’t bother my mates either – it actually didn’t affect me because I have always understood why. I’ve always been protective of Mum and whatever made her less anxious was fine by me. When I was younger the main issue was the school trips – I would often come home waving a piece of paper wanting her signature for a trip away and she would just say no. After a while, I would go to Dad and explain what the trip was and then he would work on her for me! Sometimes the only way to go on the trip was if Dad came, which happened a lot. My friends loved coming
to mine – some of them spent most of the time here talking to Mum!’
Even to this day, with the lads over 18, if they want to go anywhere, they go to Stuart first and his advice is always to drip-feed me the information slowly – to plant the seed and then leave it. It usually works if they start by saying that their mates have been talking about it and everyone is going. The problem is that they are all quite like me, so the softly-softly approach doesn’t really happen! Of course now they come and go much more freely, so watching them from the window like a night club bouncer isn’t really possible anymore! But I don’t sleep a wink until everyone is home and I expect texts to let me know when they are on their way and how far from home they are. Even now Michael is in his 20s, if he goes to the cinema and texts to say he’s on his way home, I time him. If he’s even a few minutes late, I go into a blind panic. I truly don’t think the chilly fear I felt when I realised James wasn’t by my side will ever fully leave me.
***
One thing that kept me going in the early months after Thompson and Venables were freed was the public support. It very quickly became clear that the general public were as angry about the release of them as we were. The letters came in their sack loads and the outrage was clear. It was so bad at one point that David Blunkett had to step in, before they were actually released, and issue a call for calm. He said, ‘I think we all need to take a deep breath and to view what is said and done as we would view it if it were taking place in any other country. We’re not in the Midwest in the mid-19th century; we’re in Britain in the 21st century and we will deal with things effectively and we’ll deal with things in a civilised manner . . . If people continue to provide the emotional adrenaline for others who are sick of mind to go and [attack the boys] then there will be a great danger. The greatest safeguard we can offer to people in the community is to rehabilitate Thompson and Venables effectively.’
I Let Him Go (Revised And Updated Edition) Page 20