April

by Paul

  ‘We honestly come before you asking for strength in time of darkness,’ Kath went on. ‘We have come together to remember April in the presence of God. We have come to celebrate her short life and grieve together, to say goodbye.

  ‘Our hopes and dreams have changed because April has been taken from us. But we come also with a sense of thanksgiving for the many ways that April touched our lives and those with whom she came into contact.

  ‘For a five-year-old she touched a great many lives. For Paul, Coral, Jazmin and Harley, April was and is extra special. But she touched us all and we think and feel differently because of the difference she made to us.

  ‘Today, here in this place, she is linking us all together in grief. Yet, grief goes hand in hand with love. In whatever way we express our grief, it shows our love for April. And surely that is the most important thing for any human being of whatever age – simply to be loved.’

  One of the parishioners, a local man named Jim Marshall, had written two poems about April in the week following her disappearance. We were so touched that he’d put so much time and effort into paying tribute to our little girl that we decided to have the poems as readings at the service. As April had adored school so much, we thought it was only fitting that they should be read by her teachers. The first, simply entitled ‘April’, was read by a class teacher called Sian Calban. The second, ‘An Autumn Night’, was read by the headteacher, Gwenfair Glyn.

  We’d also chosen some hymns – ‘All Things Bright and Beautiful’, ‘Oh Father On Your Love We Call’ and ‘Blessed Are The Pure In Heart’. We sang the last hymn in Welsh. I barely remembered anything about the service, apart from how beautiful the poems were. Before April’s coffin was carried back out to the hearse, Kath said a few words of thanks on our behalf.

  ‘We give thanks to God for all those who helped Paul and Coral in those darkest of days,’ she said. ‘The police, the search and rescue teams, the hundreds of volunteers, the people of this town and beyond.’

  Both Coral and I were determined that something good should come of April’s awful death and, a few days before the funeral, Coral decided that she’d like to sponsor a child in Africa in our daughter’s name. With Kath’s help, we did this through the charity World Vision and we held a collection at the back of the church as the mourners made their way out. Once again, the people of Machynlleth surpassed themselves and we raised £1250. The money was sent to the family of a five-year-old girl in Uganda. For a child living in one of the poorest countries in the world, this amount of money was truly life-changing. We later found out the donations enabled her parents to buy some land and a small shack, as well as a cow to give them a livelihood they could only have dreamed of before. In life, April was so loving and giving. It seemed appropriate that, in death, our daughter had granted another child the bright future she herself had been so cruelly deprived of.

  It was only when we got outside that I really noticed how gorgeous the white horses were, with their pink feathers. I’d been so consumed by my tears as we left for the church that I hadn’t taken a proper look at them.

  The journey from the church to the graveyard was a fairly short one, so we walked behind the cortège in virtual silence, painfully aware that we were about to say our last goodbye. We were all very emotional when we arrived. The sobs of our friends and family were audible, as April’s little casket was lowered into the ground. Then, Harley and Jazmin each let off a pink balloon before we all threw a single red rose on top of the coffin. We said a little prayer and held each other for a few moments in silence as, inwardly, we all said our final farewells. None of us wanted to leave. It felt so wrong leaving April there all alone.

  After we’d composed ourselves, we made our way to the Celtica Visitor Centre. We mingled with all of our guests and it was lovely to see so many of the police officers who’d worked on the case.

  ‘We’ll never forget everything you’ve done for us,’ I told Dave and Hayley, my voice choked with emotion.

  By the time we arrived home at 3.30 p.m., Coral was wiped out. She lay on the sofa and fell asleep almost instantly, while I pottered around the house. I wasn’t quite sure what to do with myself so, when darkness fell, I went for a short walk to the graveyard with the dogs.

  As April was buried so close to our house, I knew the temptation would be to visit her grave as often as I could. I had already decided that it wouldn’t be healthy to spend every waking hour there, but I couldn’t help visiting it that evening.

  It was strangely comforting. Underneath the starlit sky, the graveyard was so quiet and peaceful and I felt a sense of calm come over me. It was lovely reading all the tributes to our little girl that had been laid there. One had a beautiful laminated picture of April and was signed simply from the ‘Community of Carmarthenshire’.

  ‘To the family of April,’ it read. ‘You will always be in our hearts and thoughts.’

  I wiped a tear away and spent a few minutes kneeling quietly by the graveside before I managed to tear myself away. When I returned home, Coral was still in bed, so I reached for my diary.

  ‘It’s been so emotional today,’ I wrote. ‘I feel so tired and drained. This funeral has been hanging over us for so long. We weren’t sure if we could have one. Coral and I desperately wanted one, so we could have a grave where we could visit April. It’s a relief to now have a place where we can go to see her and I hope it puts Coral’s mind at ease. It was hard to leave the graveyard when we did. I had to tear myself away, but I don’t want to camp there.

  ‘It was a sad but beautiful day for our April. Everyone was crying but they were all there for April and I find it helps me to know how many people have been touched by her. The kindness of people makes me cry sometimes. Jazz has picked up some of the local papers and from what they have written it seems like they have given April a lovely farewell.

  ‘I’m OK – for me, April will always be with me in my memories and in my heart. I loved that girl and I miss her so much. I can’t do anything for April but I can do something for Coral, Jazz and Harley by being there for them.

  ‘I love you, April. Dad xxx.’

  15

  One Year On

  Tuesday 1 October 2013 began in a very different way to Monday 1 October 2012. Then, I’d been restless the previous evening, anticipating the next day. It had been an unremarkable Sunday and we’d had little more to worry about than getting school uniforms organised for the week ahead. Now, it was almost unfathomable how we had no idea of how quickly, and how cruelly, our lives were about to change.

  Coral went to bed early but I was restless, so I took Autumn and Storm on a late-night walk up the hill on the south side of Machynlleth, which had been my refuge for the past twelve months. It took much longer than usual, as I kept stopping and sitting down on the grass, thinking of April. But, no matter how tired and down I felt, I kept climbing until I reached the summit.

  I still woke early the next day, but I had no April to gently coax from her bed. Coral didn’t have to help her into her cerebral palsy suit or apply her eczema cream. The empty bed in the room our little girl had shared with her big sister seemed emptier than ever. But we had to go on.

  As I prepared the morning coffee – Coral’s, as always, with only a quarter of a teaspoon of coffee powder, three sugars and lots of milk – a solitary tear rolled down my cheek. My mornings seemed so empty without April in them. I tried to distract myself by taking long walks with the dogs, but really I wanted nothing more than to race April to the front gate before taking her to class. I could hear the children from the estate laughing and chatting as they made their way to school and it seemed so unfair that my little girl wasn’t with them.

  I found myself wondering what her school report would have been like this year. What new Welsh words would she have learned and what pictures would she have painted for her teachers?

  As hard as it was, I managed to gather myself together when Coral came downstairs. I wanted to be strong for her, as I
knew how much she’d struggled over the last week.

  The days since the funeral had been quiet. On the Friday, Coral had stayed in bed for all but two hours. She only got up to go to the graveyard, where she and her friends tidied April’s plot a little before heading home.

  Shortly afterwards, Dave called round to drop off some of April’s teddies. They’d been taken away as part of the initial DNA tests and I was beginning to worry we might never get them back. I was relieved to see them again. The passing of time had meant April’s scent had all but faded from them but as I held them close to me, it felt good to have them back where they belonged. It would be a painful process, but we’d decided we would eventually move April’s teddies from her bed to a hammock we’d put up. It was unthinkable that we’d ever throw them out but we had to make some small changes to the room, for Jazmin’s sake if nothing else. I couldn’t imagine what it was like for her, as she drifted off every night, looking at the empty space where her sister had once slept.

  Coral was very quiet over the weekend and seemed to hardly want to speak to anyone, even me. Since the funeral, she’d barely done anything but sleep. It made me feel anxious and stressed so I took the dogs for a long 15-mile walk in the hills to try and clear my head. I didn’t realise that she’d been carefully writing a letter to Bridger, begging him to reveal what he’d done with the rest of April’s remains.

  Coral recalls:

  After the funeral, everything made me feel sad and stressed. I just wanted to be alone. At times, I didn’t even want to speak to Paul.

  None of my family knew that I was writing to Bridger as I sat alone in my room. Paul had spent months putting his thoughts on paper but I’d never had the inclination, or the energy, to write much down.

  It was only when I started to write that I realised how cathartic a process it was. I could feel my anger and grief bubbling to the surface, as my tears spilled onto the page. I wouldn’t go as far as to say it felt good, but it was certainly a release of some sort. I’d never had the opportunity to properly put into words how I felt about the man who’d ripped our lives apart and how, in a final, cruel, insult, he hadn’t even had the decency to admit to what really happened on that terrible night almost one year previously.

  Don’t get me wrong – I still had fantasies about hurting him. I hadn’t stopped imagining what I’d do if he was stood in front of me and someone handed me the nail gun I’d been dreaming of while we sat just feet away from him in court. But, although I couldn’t inflict physical pain on him, I wanted to make him suffer in some way. I hoped that giving him a tiny glimpse of the devastation he’d caused might go some way towards achieving my aim.

  ‘Mark Bridger,’ I wrote. ‘It is a year since you took April from me and my family. Last week, I had to bury my daughter, which no mother should ever have to do, and, as I watched her coffin being lowered into the ground, the pain and anger I felt was truly unbearable.

  ‘I cannot describe the hatred I have for you – it burns inside me each and every single day. You took my precious little girl from me and destroyed my family. You have torn my whole life to pieces. I’m now asking you to tell me where her body is. As a parent yourself, you should understand the bond you have with your children.

  ‘If you have any decency, I ask that you find it within yourself to tell me where you put April. We buried what we have of April, but the rest of her is out there somewhere. I will not be able to rest until we can bury all of her, so find it within yourself to tell me what you did with her. If there is a shred of humanity left inside of you, then find it in your heart to tell us where our baby girl April is.

  ‘Coral Jones.’

  I read and re-read my letter many times. It was just a snapshot of how Bridger had made me feel because, in truth, there weren’t enough words in the English language to accurately describe how much my life had been shattered by his actions.

  After much deliberation, I decided not to send it. Of course, I was almost positive he wouldn’t reply, even if I did send it, but I was a broken woman and I didn’t have the strength to enter a dialogue with him on the off-chance he decided to respond. I didn’t want to face him while I was a shell of the person I was before April disappeared. That could wait.

  The day before our little girl’s first anniversary, I took my letter to Paul and explained what I’d been doing. He took some paper clips and fastened it to a page in his diary in case I changed my mind.

  I didn’t hold out much hope that Bridger would pay any attention to the questions I longed to have answered, but I knew one day I’d find the strength to ask them. That day just wasn’t today.

  Throughout the day, presents arrived from friends, neighbours and even strangers. We were so touched by how many people were thinking of us on April’s first anniversary. Among the gifts was a star named after April and a map of the sky so we could find it. This made us both emotional and Coral had a little cry. It was like our beautiful daughter would always be looking down on us. Someone else had paid to have April’s name put on an Eddie Stobart truck.

  Although all of our family and friends had made the journey to be with us the previous week, many felt compelled to return for April’s first anniversary. My mum and Dai made the journey down from New Quay and Sue came from Holyhead. It was nice to have them around us, as it was important for us to mark the day with some of the people who’d loved April most.

  The afternoon was fairly quiet. Coral and some of her friends went to the graveside, while I stayed at home. I found that my mind constantly flashed back to the same day one year ago. Coral and I had been so carefree, as we wandered round the shops in Aberystwyth, mulling over which television to buy for Harley. I wondered how we would have reacted if someone had told us that these would be our last few hours of normality; how we would have felt if we’d known that soon the anonymity of our simple lives would be shattered forever. The things that we worried about before the night of 1 October 2012 now seemed so trivial. I’d never stop wishing that we could turn back the clock.

  Coral had decided she wanted to release some Chinese lanterns on Bryn-y-Gog in the evening. The lanterns had brought us comfort when we first released them the week after April was taken and we knew how much she would have loved them. We announced our plans on Facebook and over a hundred people came to the estate. Some also brought pink balloons. Those who had been touched by our story but lived too far away to attend sent us messages saying they would hold their own memorials and, soon, lantern releases were planned as far afield as Southport, Bristol and Blackpool. Some others simply pledged to light a candle in our daughter’s name.

  I’d written in my diary that there were times I wondered if the people of Machynlleth would one day forget about us and what we’d been through but when I stepped out of the house and saw so many people gathered on the grass, I knew April would be in the hearts of the people of our small town forever.

  We let the lanterns off around 6 p.m. The sun was setting and they looked beautiful as they soared into the salmon-tinted sky. I fully expected to feel low and tearful, so I was surprised to find the whole experience rather uplifting.

  Thanks to the actions of one evil man, our quiet town would never be the same again. When he’d driven off with April in his car that horrendous night one year ago, Bridger had taken away the light of our lives. The darkness of that evening would live with us forever, no matter how many lanterns we lit. But Bridger could never take away the community spirit of Machynlleth – it was the glue that had held the town together during the nightmare no one could have foretold. Together we were far stronger than he’d ever be.

  There were so many people gathered outside that Coral, Jazmin and I were outside the front of the house until 8.30 p.m. chatting to them. A few of Harley’s friends had come along, so he was happy to play with them as we mingled. Exactly twelve months ago, many of these people had stood outside our front door, similarly desperate to lend their support. But then the mood was one of panic and distress. Now
the atmosphere was much calmer. It was a time for reflection.

  It was helpful that we weren’t stuck inside alone, replaying every minute of what had happened a year previously. We’d gone over our last conversations with April hundreds of times but, no matter how many hours we spent agonising over each tiny detail, nothing would ever change. With the help of our counsellors, we were slowly getting our heads around this.

  We also posed for pictures for the local press. We were happy to cooperate with their request for a story. The coverage of April’s funeral had by its nature been very sad, so we hoped that this news might be something a little bit more positive for people to read.

  By 9 p.m., most of the visitors had drifted away and Coral was exhausted. She spent an hour unwinding in front of the TV before going to bed. As usual, I didn’t feel as tired, so I took Autumn and Storm out for a while.

  As I walked, I thought about the week ahead and I knew it too would be difficult. Our friends and neighbours couldn’t be with us every hour of every day and I appreciated that there would be times when both Coral and I would replay some of the worst moments of those initial, terrible days: the first visit from Andy John when he told us about Bridger’s claims he’d run April over; Coral’s agony as she addressed the nation’s press; being taken to the sanctuary for the first time to be told about the forensic evidence and, of course, the moment we were told Bridger had been charged with murdering our little girl.

  But, as I returned home to write in my diary, I realised all of that could wait. For now, I was just glad that we’d got through the day.

  ‘Today turned out to be a bit more of a happy event than a sad one,’ I wrote. ‘It’s strange, but we were celebrating April’s life rather than mourning the fact she’s been away from us for one year, lost to that monster Mark Bridger. It was a good night – it wasn’t full of pain and anger with people being sad and crying. It was more cheerful and I felt better for having family and friends around me. All in all, that horrible day turned out to be better than we expected thanks to our family, friends and neighbours and everyone on the Bryn-y-Gog estate.