Becky

by Darren Galsworthy

  We didn’t ever get married because the relationship always had problems, but I was excited when our son Danny was born on 19 February 1995. He came into the world at Southmead Hospital – same as his old man. When I held him for the first time I couldn’t help but laugh because he was covered in fine black hair and looked like a baby chimp! I was thrilled to see that he looked exactly the same as me in my baby photographs. It was a very proud moment. I was overwhelmed that I had a son, and I swore there and then that I would always love and protect him.

  Danny and I bonded instantly and I threw myself into being a dad, but I was working such long hours as an engineer that my time with him became sacred. Meanwhile, my relationship with Tanya was deteriorating fast. We began to fight about anything and everything, hurling hurtful comments at each other, often continuing rows into the early hours of the morning. I tried to shield baby Danny from as much of it as possible, but living with Tanya was getting harder and harder for me.

  Sometimes she kicked me out of the flat after a row, and one night in January she told me I’d have to sleep in my car. I didn’t sleep a wink all night long, and as I lay there shivering, I realised that Tanya and I being together was doing more harm than good. I couldn’t see any way we could make it work in the long term, but at the same time I didn’t want to leave my baby son, so I kept trying.

  We got into a pattern: we’d have a big row, Tanya would kick me out, then I’d go back a few days later to see my boy and we’d try again. Danny was two years old before I eventually decided enough was enough. Tanya kicked me out after yet another row, and I moved into a flat my friend was subletting while he worked away from home. Two weeks later, Tanya called and asked when I was coming back, and I told her that the answer was never.

  I was relieved that at last the decision had been made, but it was horrible being away from Danny. I missed him terribly. He was just at the stage of chatting away in a mixture of baby words and real words and I couldn’t bear to miss any of it, so I persuaded Tanya to let him come to stay with me on the weekends. Hand-overs were difficult because the communication between us was in tatters by then, although I tried my hardest to be civil for Danny’s sake. I paid my child maintenance, but still we often argued over money. It was difficult, to say the least, but Danny was precious and I treasured every single moment with him.

  It was a tough time all round. The only thing keeping me going was the thought of seeing Danny at the end of each week. I worked all the hours under the sun to make ends meet. My father didn’t teach me much, but he did teach me the importance of hard work. I’ve always been a hardworking man and I’m proud of that.

  One Saturday night in October 1997, I was in my flat, with Danny asleep in bed, when Tanya knocked on the door. I opened it, expecting her to start an argument with me about something, but instead she was smiling and friendly. I’d had a few drinks by that stage and decided to let her in. One thing led to another and we ended up sleeping together. She left before the sun came up, and as soon as I woke I regretted what we had done. It was sending out all the wrong signals because, as far as I was concerned, the relationship was totally over.

  I tried to forget about it and move on, but a few months later one of Tanya’s female friends – she didn’t say who she was – rang me while I was at work.

  ‘Tanya’s pregnant,’ she blurted out. ‘And you’re the father.’

  ‘And how on earth am I the father, then?’ I demanded. ‘Of course it’s not my bloody child. She’s just trying to mug me off.’

  When I saw her next, as I was dropping Danny home the following weekend, she noticed my eyes wander down to her growing baby bump. I said I didn’t believe it was mine.

  ‘It is your baby,’ she shrugged. ‘You’ll see.’

  The months passed and I carried on having Danny at the weekends, as usual. Then, on 3 June 1998, I got a call at work from one of Tanya’s friends to tell me that she had given birth to a baby girl. I thought it was nice that Danny would have a sister, but I still didn’t believe the baby was mine, even though she was born roughly nine months after Tanya and I’d had that one-night reunion.

  The day after the birth, I drove Danny up to the Bristol Royal Infirmary so he could meet his little sister. Tanya had decided she was to be called Rebecca, Becky for short. Danny was excited about it, and I didn’t want him to miss out.

  As we walked through the ward, Danny spotted Tanya and ran towards the cot where little Becky was sleeping.

  ‘Don’t wake her up!’ Tanya warned as he peered over the edge. I was proud of how quiet and gentle he was for a three-year-old. I could tell he instantly felt protective towards his baby sister.

  ‘Don’t you want to say hello to your daughter?’ Tanya asked me, and I sauntered over to the cot to have a better look.

  Becky was a cute little thing, wrapped up tightly in a white blanket and with a little white cotton hat on her head. I didn’t want to fall in love but I simply couldn’t help myself. She was so adorable, I fell hook, line and sinker on the spot. It was overwhelming, just like the feeling I’d had when I first saw Danny. But was she mine, or was some other man going to come along and claim to be her dad? At that stage, I didn’t know.

  Tanya took Becky home a few days later, and we went back to the routine of me having Danny each Friday to Sunday.

  ‘Why not take Becky as well?’ she asked one Friday night when Becky was three months old.

  I was reluctant, as I didn’t want to spoil the time Danny and I spent together, but Tanya wouldn’t take no for an answer.

  ‘She is your daughter,’ she insisted. ‘You’re going to have to start looking after her sooner or later.’

  ‘We don’t know that she’s mine,’ I pointed out. ‘I’m not having her until I know the truth.’ I’d thought about getting a DNA test, but it was expensive and at that time I didn’t have the cash to spare.

  Finally, Tanya said, ‘You’re not having Danny if you don’t take Becky too.’

  She knew she would win with that. I was backed into a corner, with no choice other than to take little Becky home with me. I could remember all the routines from when Danny was a baby: getting up in the night to feed her from a bottle, bathing her carefully in a little baby bath, and dressing her in her tiny clothes. It was during these moments that I started to look at her more closely, and I noticed her hazel eyes were starting to look exactly the same as mine. I melted inside when she beamed up at me, and my stomach filled with butterflies whenever she reached out to grab my finger. I’ve always been a complete softie at heart, and Becky was winning me over more and more every time I saw her.

  I was out one weekend with the kids, Danny holding my hand and Becky, who was six months old, in her pushchair, when I bumped into Anjie on Kingswood High Street. I felt flustered but Anjie’s face broke into a huge grin as soon as she saw me.

  ‘Darren! How are you? I haven’t seen you in ages!’ she said.

  Suddenly, I got the same rush of electricity running through me as I’d had ten years previously, when we first met, and I felt tongue-tied. I’d caught glimpses of Anjie over the years while she was out and about in Bristol – usually with her little boy – but we’d never had the opportunity to chat properly.

  ‘Oh, you know – keeping busy,’ I forced myself to reply, gesturing at the kids.

  ‘They are very cute,’ she said, the smile not leaving her face. ‘Are you still with Tanya?’

  ‘Oh no, not at all,’ I answered quickly. I really wanted Anjie to know I was single. I was disappointed when she then told me she was in a relationship, although something in the way she talked about it gave me a hint she wasn’t too happy.

  We parted, promising that we would go for a drink and a good catch-up soon, and for the rest of the day I thought of nothing else but her. I’d honestly never had such strong feelings for anyone in my life, and the possibility that things might work out between us was incredibly exciting.

  A few months later, I was in the pub having a
pint after work when she walked in with her friend Kim. I could tell from the expression on her face that she was not in a good way, although she raised a smile when I asked if I could get some drinks in and join them.

  ‘I was hoping to see you,’ Anjie said, taking a seat. ‘That’s why I came here.’

  It turned out that things were on the rocks with her boyfriend, but she hadn’t had the guts to tell him yet. We had a few drinks and she came back to stay at my flat, just to clear her head. I said I was sorry she was having such a difficult time, although secretly of course I was delighted at the thought that she might soon be single. A few weeks after that night she broke up with her boyfriend, and we started seeing each other. I was over the moon.

  Everything was so easy with Anjie. We instantly felt like we were two jigsaw-puzzle pieces that fitted together perfectly. She was warm, loving, gorgeous to look at and great fun to be with. I’d gaze at her sometimes and have to pinch myself because I couldn’t believe my luck. One night, when we were cuddled up in front of the television, she looked at me and said something that stopped my heart beating.

  ‘We were always meant to be together, you know,’ she said. ‘I always knew it would be you and me.’

  It turned out that when we first met, Anjie had felt the same connection as I had. It felt like the most natural thing in the world for us to be together.

  I soon realised that Anjie was the kindest person I had ever met. Most people have the ability to be kind, but with Anjie it just radiated from her. She was lovely to everyone she met, and could never do enough to help someone in need. She would spend her days helping elderly neighbours with their shopping and chores, and she loved being around children. I couldn’t believe my luck that I’d found someone like her. As far as I was concerned, she was an angel on earth.

  Because Anjie’s previous relationship had been so troubled, she had taken the difficult decision to have her son, Nathan, stay with her mum, Margaret, during the week and come to her at weekends. Nathan was twelve when Anjie and I got together, and we decided that it was best for him to stay in the same school, which meant he had to stay with his nan, who lived five miles away. Anjie still saw him every day, though, because she used to walk over and take him to and from school, morning and afternoon, meaning that she had covered 20 miles by the end of the day. She was too broke to afford the bus fares.

  Nathan didn’t see anything of his biological father, so when she decided it was time to introduce us, I was keen to make a good impression, hoping I might become a father figure to him.

  ‘Nathan, this is Darren,’ Anjie said when we picked him up from his grandmother’s one weekend.

  ‘I haven’t seen you since you were a little boy – you’ve grown loads since then.’ I grinned at Nathan, but he regarded me suspiciously. I could tell straight away that he was possessive of his mother. The minute we got to Anjie’s house, he wanted to play-fight with me in the garden. It took a few hours of playfully throwing him around for me to break the ice with him, and that was it – we were fine after that.

  It was time for Anjie to meet Danny, who was four, and Becky, who was not quite two. This was a different kettle of fish as both my kids loved her the second they set eyes on her. Danny immediately sat next to her and listened, all ears, as she read him a story, while Becky just gazed at her in awe. Anjie was a natural mother, through and through.

  When Nathan first met Danny, he shyly invited him up to his room to play computer games. Danny was thrilled – he didn’t have anything like that at home. Suddenly, a boy eight years older than him was inviting him to play on the PlayStation with him. That was awesome! They remained locked up in that room for hours, and we barely heard a peep out of them. I think Danny had always wanted an older brother, and Nathan provided someone for him to look up to. From then on, Danny adjusted to life as the ‘middle child’ in our family, which suited him just fine.

  Becky was too young to play with Danny and Nathan, so she mainly spent her time with Anjie and me. She was quite a demanding child, who would scream at the top of her lungs for hours on end for no reason that we could ever work out. I’d had her checked out with a doctor and there was nothing physically wrong. It seemed as though she was just staking her claim for attention in the household. When we started feeding her solids instead of milk, she would scream in between spoonfuls of baby food because we weren’t giving it to her fast enough. She was like a little monster sometimes – but I was still a doting dad and nothing was too much trouble.

  At first, I would often take my kids out for one day every weekend to give Nathan time alone with his mum, because he seemed a little jealous when she was affectionate towards my two, particularly Becky. But Anjie was adamant that she wanted us to be a family and that we should do things together. When she said that, I gave her a huge hug. I would have done anything for my kids and I think they knew that. I wanted to give them a proper family life – the life I’d never really had – even if I could only do it at the weekends. Anjie wanted to give them a great home too, so that’s what we set about doing. For the next fifteen years, all of our energy was put into making sure the three kids had a stable upbringing with plenty of love. And there was so much love in our house it was unreal.

  Eventually, the kids and I were seeing so much of Anjie and Nathan that it made sense for me to move in to Anjie’s house in Hillfields, which was just a few miles from where I had been living in Barton Hill. We then moved together to a new house in the St George’s area. In both houses, Nathan had a room of his own, while Danny and Becky shared a room. During the week, the house was quiet as it was just Anjie and me, but at weekends it was like living in a madhouse with three kids running around, winding each other up and playing games. But we didn’t want it any other way.

  I still hadn’t bothered to get a DNA test because I knew in my heart of hearts that Becky was my daughter. Tanya hadn’t named me on the birth certificate, though, and I wanted things to be clear, so when Becky was two years old I decided to go ahead with the test. When the results eventually came back they proved that she was definitely my daughter. By then, I loved her so much I don’t think it changed anything, but it did feel good knowing for sure that she was mine. I knew then that I would never, ever be forced to let her go.

  Chapter 2

  The fight

  SATURDAY, 28 FEBRUARY 2015

  Scores join search for missing Becky: Police have ramped up the hunt for Bristol teenager Becky Watts after she mysteriously vanished a week ago. A forensics team has combed her home for possible clues, the police helicopter has twice scoured the surrounding area – including Troopers Hill Nature Reserve, which lies two miles away – and police divers have been carrying out specialist open-water searches at the pond in nearby St George’s Park. Neighbouring forces from South Wales, Wiltshire, Devon and Cornwall, and Gloucestershire have now joined the operation, and police said yesterday that Detective Superintendent Liz Tunks, head of the major crime investigation unit, had taken over as senior investigating officer. Thousands of posters and leaflets have been distributed across the city, and there have been several public appeals for help by Becky’s family, but so far to no avail. In a tremendous show of support and solidarity, scores of volunteers have this week joined family, friends and neighbours to sweep the city for any sign of the missing schoolgirl. As time passes, hopes of finding her alive are fading. Pleading desperately for the return of his daughter on radio station Jack FM, Becky’s father, Darren Galsworthy, said: ‘It’s been absolute hell on earth. Someone out there knows something. I just want my girl back.’

  After a gruelling week at work, I always looked forward to spending the weekends with my family. The sixteen-hour days I was doing as a sheet metal engineer would leave me completely knackered by Friday evening, but there was nothing more satisfying than picking up my kids for the weekend – Nathan from his nan’s and Danny and Becky from Tanya’s house in Cadbury Heath. It was easily my favourite part of the week. I immediately felt that l
ittle bit lighter the moment I clapped eyes on them.

  Anjie and I would plan all sorts of activities for the kids: bowling and Laser Quest (a kind of hi-tech hide and seek) for the boys, or just simple trips to the park or beach. I was happiest when we were all together; it didn’t really matter what we were doing.

  Around the age of two, Becky became a proper toddler, prone to having loud tantrums. She’d never lost that powerful set of lungs she’d displayed in hospital, and she demonstrated them publicly on many occasions. When we went to a birds of prey show, she screamed so loudly she upset all the birds.

  ‘Will the family with the very loud toddler please leave, as you are interrupting the show?’ said an angry female voice over the tannoy.

  Anjie and I were mortified, and I tried to hide my embarrassment. I picked Becky up and stomped out of the building then plonked her down on the pavement outside, where she continued to scream and screech at me. To Anjie’s horror, I sat myself down a few metres away and started making the same noises back to Becky. People didn’t know what to think as they watched us screeching away. It certainly shut her up! I can laugh about it now, but it was a waste of the ticket price – a whole £18 I was never going to see again.

  When Becky was three, we took the kids on holiday to Exmouth. Danny, Nathan and I armed ourselves with little fishing nets and went searching for crabs and limpets when, all of a sudden, Becky decided it was time for a tantrum. She stood on the sand a few metres away from us and screamed her head off. No amount of coaxing from Anjie or me could make her calm down, so in the end I picked her up, put her on her lilo and paddled her into the sea.