On the final day of the trial, Albert, Mandy and Jim arrived at the house to find nothing but silence. Everyone was terrified the jury would find in favour of Thompson and Venables, but also worried about how I would cope with seeing them. I was told repeatedly that I didn’t have to go, that I could be kept up to date in other ways, that it would be too much, but I was adamant that I had to look them in the eyes. Part of me wanted to curl up in a ball and keep my unborn baby as far away from their evil as possible, but I knew I had to do it for my James. I couldn’t help him when he needed me, they had robbed me of that, but I could be there as his killers learned of their punishment. It was also really important that Thompson and Venables could see I was there and that they hadn’t won – they’d taken my most precious thing, but they weren’t going to take the final bit of strength I had left.
I had been reassured that I wouldn’t have to hear them speak. In fact, Ray said that throughout the trial no one had addressed a single word to either of them. Apart from a few whispered remarks to their lawyers, it was like they were silent participants in their own trial as it went on around them. It seemed strange to me that witnesses would be standing just a few feet from them, describing their depraved behaviour as they sat there listening. The severity of the words had absolutely no impact whatsoever and they didn’t seem to react to anything they heard, as they both looked straight ahead, still fidgeting. They kept their interaction to a minimum. I am sure their lawyers would have warned them that they each had to save themselves – perhaps it was also a final attempt to show the evil partnership was well and truly over.
It was a relief to know that I wouldn’t have to say anything on the verdict day – the jurors had all the evidence and now it was up to them to make the right decision – but I still felt sick to my stomach. As we drove to the court all I could think was, What if they are found not guilty? What if they are let out? I had no idea how I would cope knowing they were free to walk the streets and live the life they had denied my son. I imagined them waking up in their own beds, having breakfast, maybe going to school, maybe setting out to cause someone else the pain they had caused us. That was the point – if let free they could do whatever they wanted.
Freedom would give them choices and, as far as I was concerned, that was the most dangerous thing of all. They had left their respective houses early on 12th February 1993 and had decided they would take a child; they had decided to beckon my boy away from my side; they had chosen to spirit him away and out of that shopping centre and drag him to a place where they could torment him. They had wilfully decided to kill him and place him on that track – these were two people who didn’t deserve the right or power to choose anything at all, and I prayed to God the jury would see that.
***
We arrived at the court and I felt overwhelmed: I was only weeks away from my due date and so everything felt slower, as it always does in that final stage of pregnancy. I took in my surroundings as my family stood by my side and felt all the emotions it was possible to feel – the main one was anger. I should have been at home with James excitedly chattering about the fireworks from the week before; he should have been thinking about the presents he wanted from Father Christmas and the letter he would send to the North Pole. He would have been four months short of his fourth birthday, talking ten to the dozen and becoming so grown up. He would have been counting and dressing himself, maybe even reading – these were all the things he had just started to do when he died, tiny examples of the many milestones he didn’t get the chance to achieve.
Given how outgoing he was, I was sure he’d have been popular with other kids – our home should have been noisy and chaotic, full of chatter and parties. There was so much I could imagine doing – like getting ready for him to start reception class; in fact I’d registered James for Sacred Heart RC Primary School a few weeks before he died. But most importantly, he would have been so excited about becoming a big brother and he would have been amazing. But he wasn’t doing any of these things. Instead, he was lying beneath a marble slab and a pile of weather-beaten teddy bears and flowers – the very opposite of the lively three-and-a-half-year-old boy he should have been.
It was decided that I shouldn’t be in court any longer than necessary, so the court set up a waiting room, allowing me to sit with family as the trial drew to a close. I decided not to go in and listen to the judge summing up, mainly because it would mean hearing details I didn’t need to. The closing speech was expected to be as stark as Richard Henriques’ opening argument and, at 33 weeks pregnant, it might have been too much to take. Ralph and I stayed close that day, putting on a united front for our son, but we also genuinely needed each other.
There was a big part of me that hoped, once we got the guilty verdict we needed, we could step out of this toxic state of mind we were in. Maybe a guilty verdict would help us rebuild what we’d had and allow us to raise our new baby in a united house full of love, like we had done with James. We had loved our son and we had loved each other, but we’d just been ripped apart by grief, anger, silence and alcohol. As we went into that courtroom, I realised that we had survived so much and had been happy once, maybe now we would have the strength and the will to rediscover how that felt. I wanted my marriage to work and I wanted Ralph to want to fix things too. We held on to each other, just as we had done the day we had buried James; this was the final step and I wanted to take it with him.
I could feel the nerves of the police and legal team; they were so desperate to deliver us the justice we needed and that they had worked so hard for. Sean, our solicitor, and Albert, Mandy and Jim, and all the other officers involved, looked as nervous as we did. It was a huge moment for all of us – they had grown to love James in death as much as we had in life, and I will always be grateful for the care they showed him and us.
We were warned it could take forever as the jury had retired with an exhaustive list of questions that would form the basis of their eventual verdict, but in the end it took just six hours. We were also made aware that while all of that was being taken into consideration, there was a separate argument taking place elsewhere. The judge was also hearing from counsel representing various newspaper groups who wanted the judge to lift his ban on identifying Thompson and Venables in the event of a guilty verdict. Until this point their names hadn’t been released to the public; they were simply known as Child A and Child B.
It was made clear that the court was already preoccupied with their potential rehabilitation and the fact that it would be difficult to give them a clean slate if they were identified to the wider public. It felt like the world, and Liverpool in particular, was thirsty for details and justice, and I can see that the court wanted to act responsibly. But there was a strong counter argument put forward that James’ murder was a crime so despicable that it was in the public interest to try and understand the circumstances that led to two now eleven-year-old boys, the youngest people on record to stand trial for murder in the UK, committing such an evil act. In the event, it was decided that the issue of identifying Thompson and Venables would be dealt with after the verdict. It was to become one of the most controversial parts of the whole case.
All thoughts of their names being released were put to the back of my mind as, some time after 5pm, we were invited into the court to hear from the jury – they had reached their verdict. I wrapped my big white cardigan around my bump, as I didn’t want anyone looking at my growing baby. I clutched Ralph’s hand tightly and we walked slowly into the courtroom and took our seats in the front row. Albert, Sean and the family all filed in behind us and sat down. I felt Ray squeeze my shoulder as the judge called for the boys to be brought up. My mum hadn’t felt strong enough to come, but everyone else was there to hear the outcome.
To be honest all I could focus on was the moment I would see my son’s killers for the first time. Suddenly there they were, my worst nightmare come true – two podgy, unremarkable children who had stolen and murdered my baby. I had built the
moment up so much in my head that nothing was ever going to feel enough. Looking at them, it all seemed so pointless, such a waste for such an inexplicable and evil kick. My stomach lurched and I felt sick, but I was determined to show the same restraint everyone else had. I was here to do James proud and I wouldn’t let him down at the final hurdle.
Just as I was getting used to the sight of them, I turned to look at their families, imagining how I would feel knowing my son had committed such a disgusting crime. So imagine my surprise when I saw smiles and laughter coming from their supporters as they interacted with Thompson and Venables in the dock. I just couldn’t believe my eyes really and, as I looked to one side, I could see the police liaison officers in as much shock as I was, shaking their heads in dismay. They were feeling every inch of our grief, but on the other side of that little partition where evil sat, there was nothing at all to indicate why we were here – we could have been discussing the weather for all the remorse being shown. Then I saw their shoulders start shaking and I thought, Finally, some tears, but as I looked closer I saw they were laughing at something that had been said to them. I have no idea if they knew who I was, but that image of them is burned on my memory and will be with me until my dying day. My son was dead and they were chuckling without a care in the world.
I am sure I must have been holding my breath in anticipation and you couldn’t hear a sound in the courtroom. We thought the deliberation would go on overnight but, as the 12 strangers filed back in, I prayed that their speed was a good sign. I was sure the whole room could hear my heart thumping inside my chest, aching with the stress of it all, but I tried to stay calm for the baby, who was kicking away. The court clerk asked the foreman if they had reached a verdict on count one, the attempted abduction of Diane Power’s son. ‘No,’ came the clear voice. I remember thinking, Oh God, they can’t agree on that. Does that mean they will let them off with everything?
Before I could think anything else the judge asked, ‘On count two, have you reached a verdict on which you are all agreed?’
‘Yes,’ was the clear reply. The foreman was asked if they found Thompson guilty or not guilty of James’ abduction. The clear reply rang out around the courtroom, ‘Guilty.’ It was the same clear verdict for Venables.
I felt my shoulders lower ever so slightly as we waited for the next bit: they were guilty of taking him from my side but were they going away for my son’s brutal murder?
‘On count three, do you find the defendant Robert Thompson guilty or not guilty of the murder of James Bulger?’
I held by breath. I just kept thinking, Please God, please, please, please.
The clear voice rang out for all to hear: ‘Guilty.’
‘Do you find the defendant Jon Venables guilty or not guilty of the murder of James Bulger?’
‘Guilty.’
***
I don’t remember much else, apart from a jubilant ‘Yes!’ from someone in my family. I looked at those boys and, initially, there wasn’t a trace of anything, although afterwards Venables started to sob. I remain convinced not one of those tears was for my son, more to do with the fact he had been caught and was about to be punished – his evil acts out there for the world to see. I felt Albert Kirby put his hand on my arm and lean in to kiss my cheek, leaving his tears behind. He reached over and shook Ralph’s hand before embracing the rest of the family and his colleagues – they all looked exhausted. I watched Thompson and Venables preparing to be taken down as the jury left to try and reach a verdict on the attempted abduction. Not long afterwards the judge dismissed the jurors, stating that he would leave the abduction charges on file and not press them for a decision. I often wonder if being found guilty of that third charge would have meant a longer sentence.
There was chatter about revealing their identities again – the press was keen to get their evening issues to print and they would obviously sell far more newspapers if they could print names and details. The judge said he would deal with that later. For now he wanted to turn his attention to my son’s killers. I don’t remember everything he said, though it has been quoted often, but I recall he shifted round in his seat and looked at them squarely as he said:
Robert Thompson and Jon Venables, the killing of James Bulger was an act of unparalleled evil and barbarity.
The child of two was taken from his mother on a journey of over two miles and then, on the railway line, was battered to death without mercy and then his body was placed across the railway line so that it would be run over by a train in an attempt to conceal his murder. In my judgement your conduct was both cunning and very wicked.
The sentence that I pass upon you both . . . is that you should be detained during Her Majesty’s pleasure, in such a place and under such conditions as the Secretary of State may now direct and that means you will be securely detained for very, very many years, until the Home Secretary is satisfied that you have matured and are fully rehabilitated and until you are no longer a danger.
Let them be taken down.
I was clutching on to Ralph’s hand, my body shaking steadily. I finally thought that these murderers had got what they deserved, especially when the Guardian reported the following day that they were ‘expected to be kept locked up for at least 20 years’. So imagine my heartbreak when we found out later how little time they would actually have to serve – it was like James being murdered all over again.
Chapter 15
A Reason to Live
Once Thompson and Venables had gone down, the judge continued talking to the court, ‘How it came that two normal boys aged ten of average intelligence committed this terrible crime is very hard to comprehend.’ He commended Mrs Thompson and Mr and Mrs Venables for trying at all times in the interview process to get their sons to tell the truth. He went on to say, ‘The people of Bootle and Walton and all involved in this tragic case will never forget the tragic circumstances of James Bulger’s murder.’
He then wished me well with the new baby and said he hoped we could find some peace over Christmas – highly unlikely given this would be our first without our beloved boy. I was only half listening to the words, still in shock that it was all over but wondering why I didn’t feel more jubilant or that a weight had been lifted. That veil of sadness was still there and it seemed nothing would shift it – not even James’ killers being locked up.
Outside the court was a media circus – people were booing and jeering as Thompson and Venables were driven away and we were under siege. Everyone wanted to know how we felt, wanting a statement and a picture of us leaving court. I suddenly felt so very tired. I just wanted to be away from there, away from the whole world. We managed to get out of court quickly and set off for home – I remember it started snowing and thinking how ironic it was that James had died in the winter, been buried on a freezing cold day and now it was snowing on the day his killers were found guilty.
I am not sure what I expected to feel after the verdict came in, but in all honesty I just felt dead inside. Perhaps I imagined that somehow, after the trial, I would finally understand why they had murdered my baby. It is human nature to look for reasons, but I quickly came to terms with the fact that there weren’t any – the police and the court had established the truth about what had happened and they had uncovered their guilt, but no one could answer my only question: why did my baby have to die? As soon as we arrived at my mum’s, Ralph and I reverted to our usual patterns of shutting everything out – he reached for a drink and I went to lie down in a dark room.
We then found out that the judge decided to remove his original anonymity order that banned reporting of their names. He replaced it with gagging orders relating explicitly to information about their whereabouts and care since 18th February 1993 and any photographs taken since that day. Put simply, the wider world would finally get to know that two boys called Robert Thompson and Jon Venables had murdered my son, but no new information about them after that date could be released.
In the absence of any j
uicy new details about Thompson and Venables, the press set their sights on us. The number of reporters and photographers outside our house tripled overnight and the interview requests came thick and fast – every newspaper and magazine under the sun wanted to talk to us. I coped by staying in bed, desperate for some peace before my baby arrived.
In truth I was very scared by the interest: how could I bring a baby into the world and protect it if I couldn’t even get out of my own front door without hundreds of whirring cameras and flashing bulbs blocking my way? It is really hard to explain what it’s like suddenly to become the focus of intense press attention like this – your every move scrutinised and reported. If you don’t smile enough you are described as ‘hard-faced’ – a label I was given very early on and one I have never really been able to shed. If you cry hysterically then you are ‘fragile’ and ‘on the edge’ – two things that I couldn’t afford to be with a baby on the way. I have never really known how you are supposed to act with cameras in your face asking you how you feel about the fact your baby was tortured and murdered after you took your eyes off him for a split second. There is no right or wrong way to deal with such horror and yet I felt judged. Somehow all the press interest just added to the feeling that we had been plunged into a nightmare world we had no idea how to navigate. I often thought back to my simple mornings with James as we watched cartoons and he ate his beloved Frosties and I would weep for every bit of normality I had lost. I had been a simple mum with a baby I adored, enjoying every minute with him. Now suddenly everyone wanted a reaction from me and all I wanted was my baby.
I Let Him Go: The heartbreaking book from the mother of James Bulger Page 13