April

by Paul

  At that moment we were so focused on finding April that Mark Bridger was almost irrelevant. We didn’t yet feel any anger towards him – all we wanted was for him to give us our daughter back and we were clinging desperately to anything that might tell us where she was. I was so numb and exhausted I’d almost become incapable of feeling anything.

  As it was the only emotion I remember experiencing at that point was shock at the fact that April had apparently been taken by a local. Perhaps because the concept of a child being abducted was so alien to me, I assumed April had been taken by a faceless stranger passing through the town – a loner in an anonymous van, with no ties to anyone we knew.

  Over the next few weeks and months, reports in the press would contain various accounts of our relationship with Mark Bridger. Some suggested that he was a close friend of mine, others that we even thought of him as family. These were all wild exaggerations. In truth, I hadn’t had a proper conversation with Mark Bridger in years. He had dated the sister of a former girlfriend of mine in the late nineties, but we were rarely in each other’s company. We’d nod to each other on the street and perhaps we’d say a few words – nothing more than that.

  At forty-six, he was just a few years older than me and had lived near us when we’d first moved to Bryn-y-Gog. Shortly afterwards he’d broken up with his long-term partner and since then he’d stayed in various places in the area. A father himself, he had six children to numerous different women, and I’d heard on the grapevine that he’d just become a grandfather. Long before April was born, he’d had a few games of darts with Coral in one of the pubs in the town and it would later emerge that he’d sent Jazmin a friend request on Facebook shortly before April vanished. Jazmin had no connection to Bridger and when she asked him why he had sent her the request, he claimed it was because of these tenuous links to our family.

  All this considered, I wouldn’t say April knew him as such. It would probably be more accurate to say she knew of him, as Harley sometimes played with two of his children, who were neighbours of ours. He often drove to the estate to pick them up and she’d likely have recognised his car.

  Still, it seemed inconceivable that he could be responsible for taking her but there was no time to waste – we had to tell Dave and Hayley about our suspicions.

  ‘We think you’re looking for a man called Mark Bridger,’ I said. ‘He’s the only person in Mach with a left-hand drive.’

  Dave and Hayley sprang into action straight away and began asking questions of the friends and neighbours who were gathered in the house. Bridger had recently moved from his address in Machynlleth to a rented cottage in the village of Ceinws, near where Coral and Tim had been searching the previous evening. Ironically the house was called Mount Pleasant. Now, it’s impossible to distinguish fact from rumour, as there is so much speculation about his behaviour in the weeks before April was taken, but we’ve heard on the grapevine that he had specifically sought a property with a fireplace.

  However, the police were unaware of his change of address and, as a result, had broken down the door of an innocent man who had just moved into his old house. Thankfully it isn’t easy to stay hidden for long in a community like ours.

  ‘I think I know where he is,’ Mel told Dave. ‘I think he’s moved to Ceinws.’

  Dave immediately relayed this information to senior officers at the station. Unknown to us, the man accused of taking our daughter had begun feigning concern for her wellbeing. In the early afternoon he had joined the search, telling other volunteers he’d been out all night looking for her. Several of them thought his behaviour was odd. In particular they were struck by how clean he was for a man who’d allegedly spent hours roaming the countryside. The volunteers were unaware that the police were hot on Mark Bridger’s heels.

  Officers took off to track Bridger down. They located his cottage and forced entry into the house, but he’d already gone. The property was uncomfortably hot and they immediately noticed an overpowering smell of detergent – but there was no sign of April. It was becoming increasingly obvious to them that this was a man with a lot to hide. Half an hour later, they found him walking on the A487, the main road between Ceinws and Machynlleth. He was arrested and taken to the police station in Aberystwyth, where officers started questioning him in connection with April’s abduction.

  We weren’t aware of these developments until several hours later. Dave and Hayley were keen to keep us in the loop, but they were also anxious not to give us false hope or to relay any information before it had been confirmed. Emotionally we were hanging by a thread and it wouldn’t help to bombard us with information before the police could be sure it was accurate.

  In the meantime, we had to give the police some of April’s belongings so they had samples of her DNA. This could prove vital if officers needed to verify any sightings of her. It broke our hearts to hand over her hairbrush, toothbrush, mug and some of the teddies from her room. I couldn’t bear to give them Dolphin, so I chose a few others but made the police promise we’d get them back. Swabs were also taken from Coral, Jazmin, Harley and me.

  It wasn’t until evening time that Dave told us we would shortly receive a visit from DS Andy John, who had some important news. By now, detectives had spent many hours quizzing Bridger. Although I still hoped for the best, I think I’d already begun to prepare myself for the worst.

  We asked the majority of people in the house to leave, only allowing close family to stay. It was at that point I realised Harley was playing outside with a group of friends, one of whom was one was Bridger’s son. It was the most surreal of situations.

  ‘Probably best if they go home,’ Dave said, gently.

  Andy John arrived shortly afterwards, around 8 p.m. He was a tall, thin man with steely grey hair. He had a sympathetic manner, which made both Coral and me warm to him almost immediately, but the expression on his face told us he wasn’t here to give us good news. Dai, my mum and Fil were allowed to remain in the house but they had to stay in another room while we were briefed. Only Dave and Hayley could be by our sides.

  As soon as we were seated, Andy started to speak.

  ‘There’s no easy way to say this,’ he began, carefully, as I squeezed Coral’s hand. ‘But we’ve got Mark Bridger.’

  I’d suspected this would be the first thing he’d tell us, but it didn’t stop my stomach from lurching as beads of cold sweat prickled my neck.

  ‘He has made a statement saying he killed April Jones on the evening of October 1st, 2012.’

  I instinctively wrapped my arms around Coral but I don’t think either of us had started to cry yet.

  ‘He said he was driving his car down the road when he felt a small knock,’ Andy went on. ‘He got out and realised he had hit April. In a panic, he put her in the Land Rover Discovery and drove around Machynlleth not knowing what to do. He tried to revive her by giving her mouth to mouth but failed. He then can’t remember what he had done or where the body was placed.’

  I felt shock cascade through my veins as I held Coral tightly. Both of us found it hard to speak, but we needed to hear more.

  ‘We’re not sure we believe his account of what happened,’ Andy said. He explained that there appeared to be no blood on the road, or on the car, although they’d have to wait for a forensic report to confirm this.

  ‘Do you think there’s any chance she’s still alive?’ I heard myself asking, my voice finally breaking, as I clutched at straws.

  Of course we wanted to believe that April wasn’t dead, but I hadn’t been able to shake off the horrible feeling I’d had the previous evening, that sense of foreboding that my worst fears had come true. It was a few seconds before Andy spoke, but it felt like an eternity.

  ‘We’re still pursuing various lines of inquiry but I think it’s bad news if he’s saying she’s already dead,’ he eventually replied, meeting my eye. ‘I’m so sorry.’

  It had been agreed that some of the news could be relayed to the rest of the family if the
y promised not to divulge what they knew, as the investigation was at such a crucial stage. The next few minutes passed in a blur of tears and chaos as the awful news was broken to them.

  Our life as we knew it had been shattered into a thousand pieces but I was almost oblivious to the sobs ringing out around me. All I knew was that our old world had ended and a new world had begun.

  When Andy left that evening, we were visited by a doctor who gave Coral and me some diazepam to help us sleep. It was the last thing I wanted to do, but Dave and Hayley reminded me I needed to keep my strength up. As I climbed into bed, I suddenly realised that my body was aching with tiredness but my mind was still racing. But a little while later the pills kicked in and I fell into a deep, dreamless sleep. I managed just short of six hours before I woke up and was hit instantly by a wave of nausea. Opening my eyes, it hit me all over again – April was gone. How could I have slept when my little girl was lost? I had to rest, but I felt sick with guilt.

  The next morning, Coral was desperate to do anything to help the police get answers and they suggested we could do a television appeal.

  Coral recalls:

  For most normal people, the idea of going in front of the nation’s media at the most vulnerable point in their lives would be terrifying. I can’t deny I was scared, but the nerves paled into insignificance compared to my fears for April. I was clinging to any tiny shred of hope I could that my baby was still alive. While there was still no body, I couldn’t give up hope and I prayed that the television appeal might trigger a vital clue.

  It was hard for Paul and me to grasp anything at that point, but we were vaguely aware of how much interest there was in April’s story. I hadn’t really left the house since the night April vanished, but friends told me that by the hour more and more press were gathering on the estate. Most were camped out less than a hundred yards from the house, armed with cameras, microphones and notepads. One brazen photographer climbed our fence and trampled all over the flower garden as he tried to take a picture of the house, but he was quickly chased away by the police.

  We decided that Paul would remain at home while I took part in the press conference. I desperately wanted him by my side, but we agreed that Jazmin and Harley needed his support. However, the thought of doing the appeal alone was overwhelming so I asked Dai to come with me.

  The police took us to the council offices in Aberystwyth, as the police station wasn’t big enough to accommodate the media. It was only two days since I’d last made this journey, but I felt like a different person from the woman who’d been excitedly browsing for her children’s Christmas presents. This time it was a blur and I could barely see through my tears. I could tell Dai was trying his hardest to be strong for me, but his own pain was written all over his face. April was the apple of his eye and she’d always rush to greet him with a huge hug whenever she visited.

  Hayley introduced me to the police press manager, Rhian Davies-Moore, and Detective Superintendent Reg Bevan, who had spoken at the previous day’s press conference and would now be appealing for more information. Rhian and Hayley then helped me draft my short statement and it was agreed that Dai would read it for me if I became too emotional to continue. They told me to keep drinking water in case I became too warm under the heat of television lights, but my own welfare was the last thing on my mind. I was relieved when they told me not to answer any questions from reporters – just getting through my statement would be hard enough.

  It was only when I walked into the room where the press were gathered that I realised how big a deal the appeal was. It was the first time either Paul or I had spoken directly to the media and they’d turned out in their droves. I’m not sure exactly how many people were there, but it seemed like hundreds. As soon as they caught sight of me, the room became a sea of flashbulbs and everyone seemed determined to thrust a camera or a microphone in my face. It all seemed so ridiculous and unfair – I should have been getting ready to pick April up from school. It was hard to believe that two days ago I’d been a normal mum.

  I was led to a table, where I was sat with Hayley and Dai on one side and DS Bevan on the other. Behind me were some of our most treasured pictures of April, along with a headshot of Bridger and a photograph of his car. Just displaying April’s picture next to that of her suspected abductor seemed criminal, but it was essential that as many people as possible saw our little girl’s face. We’d picked two of the most recent pictures we could find – in one she was wearing one of her favourite pink dresses and the other showed her sitting on a wall dressed in the padded purple coat she had on the night she was taken. It was painful that what had once been private family photographs were now public property, splashed across the front page of every newspaper in Britain, but I’d have given up every picture I owned if it led us to April.

  As I started to speak, a hush descended on the room and I wanted to curl up in a corner and cry, but I knew what I had to do for my daughter.

  ‘It’s been thirty-six hours since April was taken from us,’ I began, trying my hardest to keep the sobs at bay. ‘There must be someone out there who knows where she is and can help the police find her.’

  Now the cameras and microphones were edging closer. As reporters and photographers elbowed each other out of the way to get nearer to me, it felt like a pack of wild animals was descending on me and I was powerless to stop the attack. I’d been warned by Hayley and Rhian that this might happen, but nothing could have prepared me for how daunting it was. With the benefit of hindsight, I can appreciate that everyone in the room had a job to do, and the support of the media was vital in helping spread the word about April’s disappearance, but for an ordinary person who has never asked for any kind of fame or publicity, this kind of attention is truly petrifying, especially when you are already at your most fragile. Somehow I found the strength to keep speaking.

  ‘We are desperate for news,’ I went on, aware that my voice was shaking more and more with every word. ‘Please, please help find her.’

  As soon as I said the last word of my statement, I couldn’t stop the tears. I’d forced myself to say what I had to for April before I dissolved into sobs. I was vaguely aware of DS Bevan placing a supportive hand on my arm. It was a small gesture, but comforting nonetheless. For the rest of the press conference, I sat with my head in my hands, weeping uncontrollably as Dai tried his best to console me. Thankfully, Bevan was able to pick up where I’d left off.

  ‘In relation to this specific investigation we are pursuing a number of lines of inquiry and Mark Bridger is one of them,’ he told the room. By now, I was crying so hard I could barely breathe.

  ‘In relation to the images I circulated to you earlier today, which was the Land Rover Discovery and Mark Bridger’s photograph, can I again ask, did you see this vehicle between Monday evening and Tuesday afternoon? Do you know Mark Bridger and did you see him during that period, between Monday evening and Tuesday afternoon? If you have any information please contact us on the Child Rescue Alert Line.

  ‘Do not assume somebody else has already contacted us with information. Even if you feel yours is trivial, it may be the vital piece that we are missing.’

  I was ushered away as reporters barked questions at me. I can’t remember much of the journey home, but as I walked through the front door it hit me all over again – April wasn’t here. Although there were dozens of people trickling in and out of the house, it seemed so quiet and morbid without my daughter’s infectious laughter. Her toys were still strewn across the floor and her teddies tucked up in her bed. It was so hard to believe she was gone.

  Overnight I’d become obsessively protective over anything belonging to my daughter. If anyone touched her favourite biscuits, I’d be on the verge of a meltdown. I even burst into tears when someone tried to use a carrier bag she’d had at school a few days before she vanished.

  I was given some more sleeping tablets that evening and I managed to doze off for a few hours, but every time I opened my eyes my
grief hit me like a ton of bricks and tears began to stream down my face. Paul tried his best to comfort me, but his own pain was ripping him apart.

  I’m not sure how either of us managed to get up the next morning, but somehow we did. We were desperate to maintain a shred of normality for Jazmin and Harley, who didn’t realise just how bleak things were looking. Harley’s teacher kindly agreed to collect him and take him to school to get him out of the house for a few hours.

  Dave and Hayley came round shortly after 9 a.m., but they didn’t have much news for us. For Paul and me the waiting around was torture. By now, there were almost 400 people looking for April, but we were asked by the police not to join the massive search party. There was such intense press interest in the case that they worried our presence would attract unwanted attention, which could harm the chances of finding April.

  It felt unnatural, sitting at home while volunteers from all over the country braved the wind and rain to help the police and mountain rescue team look for our little girl. But we had to put our trust in the police. At the end of the day they knew best and we had to do what was right for April.

  But I felt like I might explode with frustration if I spent another minute sitting around. April had been missing for over two days and I desperately wanted to do something, anything that might help bring her home to me. At that point, I’d convinced myself there was a chance she could still be alive. That’s when I came up with the idea of making pink bows. Pink had always been her favourite colour and I thought it would be a nice way of keeping her at the forefront of everyone’s minds.

  Making the bows gave me a focus. Within hours, friends had rallied round to help and a shop in the town had kindly donated some pink material. Over the next day, word of the pink bows spread and people started making their own. It wasn’t long before almost every house in Bryn-y-Gog had a pink bow tied to its gate. Shopkeepers soon caught on, displaying them in their windows, and a giant pink bow was tied to the railings at the town clock. I was overwhelmed by how quickly the bows had become a symbol of hope for April.