I eventually went back to stay at my sister’s and we all tried to regain some normality as we waited to hear exactly how long Thompson and Venables would actually serve. But the interest was relentless for all of us and it felt as if James was everywhere I turned.
Sean was there every step of the way and he remembers those stressful days better than I do, ‘I remember in the months after James was killed, leading up to the new baby being born, just being so aware that you and Ralph were still in the thick of Kirkby, right where it had all happened, and you hadn’t been able to catch a breath.
‘We persuaded you both to go to Jersey for five days, just to get out of the bubble, but there was no escaping the fact that your son had been murdered practically on your doorstep. Around the time of the court case there were times I had to drive you both into Liverpool city centre. The first day that I drove you into town from Kirkby, I realised as we approached Queens Drive that we were about to cross the route on which James had been marched to his death. I froze for a second and thought of taking a massive detour, but it would have been too obvious and would just have drawn more attention to where we were. So I turned up the radio, gritted my teeth and drove on. God alone knows how you felt!
‘One day we were in the car and the radio was on. You were in the back as usual and the presenter on air was talking about the new Robin Williams film, Mrs Doubtfire. There had been some controversy surrounding the certification of the film. They were having an innocent enough conversation about it when suddenly the presenter said: “Well of course, in the wake of the James Bulger murder these things now take on far more significance . . . ” It was like a knife through the heart for me so goodness knows what it was like for you and Ralph – you couldn’t do anything or go anywhere without being brought up short. The other thing that people forget is how young you were to be going through such trauma: you were only 26 years old. It was so much pain to bear.’
Years after James’ murder it was also clear that the police officers who still worked in the area found it hard taking that same route that had been James’ last. Albert Kirby has said previously, ‘Driving past the railway bridge you are just aware that you know in minute detail what happened on the right, on the embankment and what happened on the left. Even now, all these years later, if there is another route to be taken I will do so. Even after all this time the markings that the scene of crime officers made are still there, visible reminders of pure evil.’
***
That brief closeness Ralph and I experienced at the verdict resurfaced as we got ready to hear the tariff that would be set by the trial judge – this was the minimum sentence that Thompson and Venables would have to serve. We were hoping for life sentences. I felt strangely nervous – it was as if the importance of my son’s life would be measured by how many years Thompson and Venables got. I was also determined that those two monsters shouldn’t be allowed to destroy another family.
Late one afternoon we opened the door to Jim, Mandy and Sean, expecting triumphant faces from the people who had worked so hard to bring this case to a close. Instead what we saw were measured looks – it didn’t take a genius to work out that things hadn’t gone our way, but I had no idea how bad they were. There was a lot of small talk and then I couldn’t wait any longer, so I asked them straight for the details.
After that whole trial, all that irrefutable and tragic evidence, after Judge Morland’s chilling promise that they would be detained ‘for very, very many years’, Thompson and Venables were each given a minimum of eight years. I sank down into the sofa and put my head in my hands. It had been decided that eight years was all my baby’s life was worth – that wasn’t even a year for every hour his severed body had lain on the track. It was nothing and it was a disgrace.
Ray was with us when we heard the news: ‘When the minimum sentence came back I was reeling: it was the most ludicrous thing I’d ever heard. If somebody goes out and robs someone at knifepoint they get a longer sentence. For you, it was like they took the final bit of life you had left. It was the final insult, especially after the words of the judge – it turns out that he meant “a long, long time” in the world of two eleven year olds, not for a murdered baby in a grave or two parents ruined for life. I remember you looking at me and saying, “It’s like losing him all over again”. The life that you had left, they took the final bit and they left you with nothing.’
They had snuffed out my baby’s life and they would be free to start theirs at the ages of 18, when they would be eligible for release. That was the age when most people flew the nest anyway and set out on their adult paths; it was as if they were being rapped on the knuckles and sent to boarding school – I just couldn’t accept it. The recommended minimum sentence of eight years had come from the judge and that could be increased or lowered by the Lord Chief Justice, Lord Taylor of Gosforth and the Home Secretary, Michael Howard. The former immediately made a move to increase the minimum tariff to ten years, which made no difference to me, as Thompson and Venables would still be free at 20. I was reeling and Ralph was fuming too – it was a huge kick in the teeth and I couldn’t let it go.
I knew we had to do something, but I also knew that I had the new baby to focus on. There were practical issues that needed addressing – I couldn’t live with my sister forever and, when the baby came, Ralph and I needed a home so that we could be a family again. I was still clinging on to the hope that, now the trial was over and once the baby was here, we would be able to piece ourselves back together as a couple and as parents.
***
Ralph finally accepted that it would be too hard to go back to the flat so we started the search for a new home – we went to view lots of places not far from my mum’s and the area we had been in before. It was important that we had family support with the new baby and I wanted him or her to have the special relationship that James had enjoyed with his grandparents, aunties, uncles and cousins.
After a lot of searching we found a three-bedroomed house in Kirkby and I left it to Ralph to decorate and get things ready – the last thing I could face was the idea of excitedly nesting for the new arrival when I was coming to terms with everything the past nine months had brought. I knew I had to focus on the baby now; these last few weeks of pregnancy were crucial and I had to be calm and present in that moment, as I owed it to the new baby.
I suppose that this was the start, for me, of living parallel lives: doing what was right for the people in my new post-James life, but also balancing that with the fight for James and getting him the justice he deserved. From the moment we got the ruling on the minimum sentence, I vowed that as long as there was breath in my body and a fight to be had for James, I would be the one to lead the way. Someone had to stand up for him and it didn’t seem as if the courts were going to rise to the occasion.
I spent a quiet few days packing up my things at my sister’s and trying to rest, but I was scared about the birth and terrified that something would go wrong. I still hadn’t managed a full night’s sleep since James had gone missing. I was exhausted and didn’t really know which way was up. I’d been monitored so closely and the doctors were really happy with everything, but my mind was spinning. There’d been stress at every turn and not a single moment where I’d felt truly relaxed or at peace – the very opposite of how the end of a pregnancy should be.
For that reason the doctors advised me to go into hospital early for a caesarean section. I wanted to try and control things as much as I could, so I was happy to take their advice. I was anxious about having a caesarean for the first time but in a way it was reassuring that this birth would feel completely different from the others – any connection would have been too heartbreaking. The date loomed in the distance and Ralph and I tried to prepare ourselves – we were going to be parents again and we were excited, sad and terrified in equal measure. I had all my baby bits ready in my hospital bag, but I was still haunted by the idea of tempting fate – after all that had happened, any chance of further
tragedy was too horrifying for words.
We went to the same maternity unit as before and were met by Dr Abdulla, who had delivered Kirsty and James. I felt at home and relaxed in his care and it was a huge relief to know that the professionals were in charge. I tried my best to keep calm but there was no escaping the fact that I was about to become a mother again and the one person I most wanted to share it with wasn’t there.
I couldn’t help but dwell on all that James was missing – he would have been so excited. We would have made him feel included, talking to him endlessly about the baby coming and how grown up he was now that he was a big brother. We should have been a family of four – James should have been excitedly hurtling down the hospital corridor to meet his new sibling. I could just imagine him stretching out his arms to stroke the baby, intrigued, excited and maybe a little bit jealous. Instead I would be carrying our new baby to the cemetery to meet his big brother – Thompson and Venables had truly stolen everything that my family could have been.
***
Michael James Bulger was born on 8th December 1993, weighing 4lb 14oz, and I fell in love immediately. He was named after both the wonderful Father Michael, who had seen us through so much pain, and after Michael Jackson, whose music James had adored. I had spent a lot of time wondering if I’d have enough love for another child. I know that’s a normal feeling for some mothers when they have a second child – your first child turns your world on its head and then becomes everything so that you can’t imagine having the ability to love another in the same way. With James dead it made those feelings doubly complicated – having a new baby felt as if I was moving on without James and that wasn’t something I was ready to face.
I didn’t have to worry – words cannot describe the joy and relief I felt when Michael was pulled screaming into the world. I felt as though I had been holding my breath for nine months and could finally let everything out. Once they had stitched me up, Dr Abdulla put Michael straight into my arms and I studied every detail of this perfect baby who had come from so much sadness. The love I felt for him was instant, but what took my breath away was his little face – he was the image of his big brother, and that was comforting and utterly devastating all at the same time. Ralph was by my side and I think we were both overwhelmed to have another son; we had chosen to keep the sex a surprise and I’d had no idea what to expect. I am not sure if another boy made it more or less bittersweet, but I was smitten and exhausted. Michael had lots of dark, fine hair, beautiful blue eyes and rosy smooth skin – I wouldn’t let the nurses take him from my arms.
I couldn’t help but think back to the moment James had been born, not long after I’d lost Kirsty, and how I’d thought that everything would be okay now that he had arrived. I had truly believed that him being born alive meant that the worry was over. Now, as I looked down at Michael I realised that I had no innocence left because I had truly experienced all that was bad in the world – all the evil it had to offer – and I had no idea how I would protect this precious baby from it all.
I knew that Michael could never replace James – I didn’t want him to, as that would diminish all the joy that James had brought. But, as I held my new baby tightly, I felt like I had a purpose again – finally I had a reason to live. I can hand on heart say it was the first time I had smiled since 12th February.
Chapter 16
Petition for Justice
After the birth of James I had been impatient to leave the hospital, but with Michael I didn’t have much choice. It became impossible to stay at the Fazakerley maternity unit due to the large groups of paparazzi stationed outside the entrances and exits. As I’d had a caesarean, Dr Abdulla was initially keen to keep me in for a few nights, primarily so that I could rest and repair but I also think to give me a little bit of respite from the public glare. From the moment Sean had released a statement to the press announcing the pregnancy, the world had wanted to be part of our happy ending. I know all our well-wishers had the best of intentions and we were so grateful, but it was as if people thought a new baby would fix everything. Perhaps for some the idea of a new life meant that somehow innocence was restored, that the depravity of two young boys could be erased and replaced with good news.
Whatever the rationale, Michael’s birth was front-page news: a lead story pretty much everywhere and generally a much-celebrated event – especially in Liverpool where the outpouring of love was immense. The night Michael was born I was sitting up in my hospital bed giving him a bottle, when I switched on the television to watch the ITV News at Ten headlines. Suddenly, Trevor McDonald announced Michael’s birth and added, ‘Both mother and child are doing well’ and I remember thinking, How do you know?!
Just as we had been when James was murdered, we were inundated with flowers, teddies and good wishes from all over the world. It was humbling and overwhelming, but it soon became clear that all this attention was too much for the hospital. It might have been manageable if it hadn’t been combined with journalists posing as patients and family members in order to gain access to my ward. There were banks of photographers waiting outside, trying to talk to my visitors and get the scoop on the new baby and how I was doing – one photographer even gave Ralph a huge bouquet to pose with outside the entrance and tried to make a story out of that. Luckily I was cocooned upstairs away from all the action, but I know that people visiting other patients found it intimidating to deal with.
It was hard on Ralph and me too. Just as the pregnancy didn’t offer any kind of instant solution, neither did Michael’s birth. I was in the hospital for three days and I didn’t see much of Ralph. Looking back I was preoccupied with recovering from surgery and the emotion of finally having Michael; I probably didn’t notice much. But my family did and they were quick to see that the gap between us was widening, even at this special time. When I asked Ray about it he said, ‘It is hard to explain exactly how your marriage fell apart, from the outside the best way to describe it is that you just weren’t together like you used to be.
‘The love just went and it was replaced with raw anger and grief. You were hardly together – he was out drinking and you were in your bedroom, crying for your boy. You either get closer or distance sets in and you can’t get back. I became aware just before Michael was born that things weren’t good. Once you had the baby, we would all pile up there to see you, desperate for cuddles and to reassure ourselves that you were coping okay, and Ralph just wouldn’t be there. I had been convinced that, after James, he was going to smother this new baby with love and adoration, but he was nowhere to be found. That’s when I knew he either wasn’t dealing with something or the marriage was on its way to being over. You were still living under a huge burden and it weighed you down; you even walked like you had the weight of the world on your shoulders; there was nothing else to go round.’
Perhaps it was inevitable as we had shut each other out, but we had Michael and he deserved two parents, so I buried my head in the sand and concentrated on bringing our baby home and making us a family of three again.
On the third day after I gave birth, the hospital staff politely came round and told me that having me there was disrupting how they functioned. I was mortified, and we arranged that I would leave the next morning. My departure offered a rare moment of humour as the hospital staff smuggled me out of the back exit. I shuffled to the waiting car with a blanket over me like I was some kind of celebrity, rather than a new mother with a caesarean scar that might give way at any time.
We were driven home by Ray and taken straight to the new house so we could settle Michael in. Mum had helped get everything ready, as there had been some baby bits at hers – I didn’t want to see them in case it jinxed anything so she only brought them over once Michael had arrived safely. I had helped pick the house but had left the decorating to Ralph, as I just didn’t have the will. He had also said that having something practical to focus on would help him to drink less, which was music to my ears. I let him decide everything and only had th
ree requests: nothing dark or green, as green was for grief, and no Christmas tree up when I got home. Ever since I had met Ralph, he’d had to suffer the fact that I adore Christmas and I had hoped to pass that on to James. James was alive to see three Christmases and I went to town on each one – the build-up started in September and I loved getting everything ready. But this year was going to be different – it was our first without James, our first with Michael and the first one I had dreaded. I knew we had to get through it but I didn’t want to celebrate in the slightest – a tree felt carefree and happy and neither of those descriptions applied to my state of mind.
We arrived home and I went inside to find wall-to-wall dark green – the furniture, the walls, even the curtains, and when I looked to the far corner there was a huge Christmas tree all twinkling and decorated. I didn’t have the energy to protest, all I wanted was to get Michael inside and sorted – I was drained of everything. The initial post-birth euphoria was now mixed with deep sadness because I felt so lonely, guilty and sad. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be, tucked up in our warm house with our new baby and James lying cold and alone in the ground. I still felt a real sense of shock whenever I thought about what had happened and I wondered if that would ever pass. I was delighted Michael was here and I wanted to be happy, but it all felt like such a betrayal of James.
***
We soon fell into a rhythm with Michael and he was a much easier baby than James because there was no colic. He fed well and settled quickly, which meant I got some sleep and he was very calm, almost as if he understood the sadness we felt. Right from being a tiny baby he would have this way of looking up at me that could reduce me to tears, as if he was a wise old soul sent to try and heal us all. As was the case with James, Michael’s carrycot never left my side, day or night. I have always been one of those mums who keeps newborns with her at all times and Michael didn’t leave my eyeline for a second. As with James, I adored those night feeds where it was just the two of us awake while the rest of the world slept soundly. I savoured those early days, but they were also filled with anxiety and pain. Having Michael there was a godsend but it also intensified my grief in a way that was difficult to describe.
I Let Him Go: The heartbreaking book from the mother of James Bulger Page 14