Becky

by Darren Galsworthy

  ‘Are you sure you want to look at this?’ I asked Anjie. ‘This is what your son has done.’

  She looked me in the eyes, and nodded. ‘She was my daughter too,’ she said. ‘I’m her mum.’

  As soon as I lifted my head, I could see a stone-slab table at the far end of the room. It was small and dingy in there, and it was so cold that I could see my own breath in front of me. On the slab was the body, covered in a red blanket. Only the head was visible, but there was a clear outline of the rest underneath.

  Despite the room being quite dark, I recognised Becky straight away. My heart stopped hammering then – it just stopped dead in my chest. Time slowed down, and I willed my legs to move forward. It was as if I was watching myself push Anjie into that dark and unwelcoming room. Anjie let out a loud sob as she caught her first glimpse of our beautiful girl. Somehow, I managed to push her close to where Becky was laid. I was vaguely aware of the door closing behind us.

  It took all of my strength not to collapse with grief when I was close enough to see Becky’s face. Her appearance knocked all the wind out of me, as if my chest had been hit with a sledgehammer. She looked small and fragile, and unbearably young – no older than twelve years old. Her skin was pale and her little mouth was slightly open. Her lips were blue, her eyes were closed and her hair was pushed behind her head, matted and untidy. In the midst of all my despair, I couldn’t help thinking that Becky would have hated her hair being untidy like that. She took great pride in her long hair, and she was a complete clean freak, like her dad. She would often have two or three showers a day.

  I wondered how her body shape could still look intact under the blanket, and then I realised that she had been carefully pieced together, like a human jigsaw puzzle. They must have assumed it was the best way for us to see her – the way we remembered her – rather than the horrific reality.

  I gazed at her face, taking in the purple bruises on her forehead, and as my eyes travelled down I could see that her hands were sticking out from beneath the blanket. Her knuckles were covered in dark bruises too, and I instinctively knew that those bruises showed she had tried to fight back. I had taught Becky to box, and I’d always encouraged her to defend herself if she ever needed to. I could tell that my daughter had fought for her life. I later learned that Becky had suffered forty injuries in the struggle. Her little body was completely battered.

  Anjie’s sobs were getting louder, and she was struggling to catch her breath. I broke down in floods of tears myself then – everything just seemed too much to bear. The bottom had fallen out of my whole life. Tears were rolling down my cheeks as I wrapped my arms around Anjie. I still couldn’t bring myself to utter a word. I felt an overwhelming sense of being crushed, as if an elephant was sitting on my chest.

  After a few minutes I reached forward and gently pulled the blanket down slightly, just past Becky’s shoulder. I had to see for myself what they had done to her, but I made sure that Anjie couldn’t see. Becky’s neck was covered in white crêpe bandages, but on the right-hand side the bandage had slipped down, revealing an ugly, gaping wound where her head had been removed from the rest of her body. Her wrists had the same bandaging around them. My little girl was so damaged that she had to be bound up like a mummy. I felt sick to my stomach and didn’t pull the blanket down any further. I knew the rest of her body was likely to look the same.

  Swallowing hard, I wondered how anyone could possibly do this to a young girl, to take her life and simply discard her body in such a brutal and horrific way. It was inhuman. To make matters worse, the two people responsible for this brutality were family members, whom I had spent years taking care of and helping financially. My stomach twisted into a horrible knot.

  ‘What the fuck have we done to deserve this?’ I muttered.

  I reached out again and slowly stroked Becky’s hair, then I leaned forward and gently kissed her forehead and her lips. She was as cold as ice.

  ‘I promise you, Becky, I will get those bastards,’ I said, sobbing. ‘I will get them for what they’ve done to you, even if it’s the last thing I do on this planet.’

  Anjie reached for Becky’s hand and kissed it. She was still sobbing uncontrollably. I couldn’t help but wonder how she felt, knowing her son had done this. She looked in so much pain that Nathan might as well have stuck a knife in her as well.

  ‘I love you,’ I whispered to Becky. ‘You’ll always be my little girl. Why didn’t you come to me and let me know what was going on? Why didn’t you tell me you were scared? I would have protected you. I was always the one who protected you. I would have given up my life trying.’

  I wished I could trade places with my daughter right then. I wanted so much for her to be alive. I wished it were me on that table. It would have been kinder to kill all of us rather than leave us behind with this pain.

  We stayed there for about half an hour, until it became apparent that Anjie couldn’t take it any more. To be honest, I didn’t know how much more I could take either. I felt so weak and lightheaded, I thought I might fall down.

  ‘Have you seen enough?’ I asked her, squeezing her hand. She nodded. Her face was blotchy from all the crying.

  ‘Come on, love,’ I said. ‘Let’s get you out of here.’

  I turned back towards Becky one last time, and bent down to give her one more kiss on the forehead.

  ‘I’ll see you again, my beautiful little Bex,’ I whispered, trying hard not to break down again.

  As I started to push Anjie out of the room, I felt surrounded by blackness. My little girl was dead. My world had caved in around me. When we emerged into the corridor outside, I could hardly see for my tears. Jo held the door for us and pressed something into my hand. It was a small transparent bag, with a lock of Becky’s hair inside. I was deeply touched by the gesture, and very grateful.

  I could see Tanya, her aunt Lyn and her mother, Pat, standing in the hallway, waiting to go in. They were clearly nervous. As we walked past, I looked at Tanya and could see that she was going through the same hell as us.

  ‘I need a fag,’ I said to her. ‘Don’t pull the blanket back.’

  I pushed Anjie out of the door, and with shaking hands I lit a cigarette for each of us and inhaled deeply. We were closely followed by Russ and Jo. Suddenly, my grief was replaced by a tidal wave of anger. I turned to Anjie and spat out the most hurtful thing I could think of.

  ‘You gave birth to a monster,’ I screamed. ‘Your fucking son is gonna die. When I get my hands on him I’m going to fucking kill him.’

  I knew that I would never get close enough to Nathan to touch him, but at that moment I wanted to cause him as much pain and suffering as he had to Becky.

  Anjie stayed silent, apart from the sounds of her sobs. I knew it was unfair of me to lash out at her, and I felt dreadful afterwards, but I was consumed with red-hot rage. It seared through my body, and I ended up punching the spare tyre on my Land Rover over and over again.

  If I had ever had the slightest inclination about what Nathan and Shauna were going to do to my little girl, I would have killed the pair of them and happily spent the rest of my life in prison. I would have done anything to keep Becky safe. But I knew it wasn’t Anjie’s fault, and I instantly regretted what I had said to her. I knew that I couldn’t have found a better mother figure for Becky. Anjie loved her as her own child, and she would have done anything to bring her back to us.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I whispered.

  After another fag I calmed down enough to get back in the car, and we began the drive back to the hotel. We hadn’t been allowed back to the house because they were still collecting forensic evidence. We remained silent in the car, but I reached across for Anjie’s hand. We were both stunned. I found it hard to comprehend what we had been through that day. I just wanted all the emotions – fury, despair, unbelievable sadness – to stop, just for a moment.

  When we pulled into the hotel car park, I noticed that we were surrounded by bright yellow daffodils,
which had opened during the past few days. Once again, my thoughts flashed back to Becky, and I thought about how much she would have delighted in seeing them. She was such an outdoorsy girl.

  I swallowed the lump in my throat, and Anjie and I went straight to the bar, where I asked for a double vodka and coke and Anjie ordered a double Malibu. For twelve years I hadn’t had a drink that often except at Christmas and on family birthdays. But from the moment I learned that Becky was dead, I drank every single day. I just wanted to shut out the world, to feel numb again. I longed to feel absolutely nothing, rather than the gut-wrenching devastation I had grown so used to. I was an empty husk of a man without my daughter in my life. Drinking was the only escape I had.

  We sat down at a table in front of the bar, and as the drink started to kick in, we relaxed a bit. But I couldn’t help feeling distant from Anjie that day. I loved her, but the truth of the matter was that her son had brutally killed my precious daughter. That’s enough to tear any man in two.

  We drank at least six doubles before we felt ready to talk.

  ‘I don’t know if you can accept this or not, but I’m going to kill your fucking son, and that girl he’s with,’ I said to her.

  Anjie met my gaze. Her eyes were heavy with sadness, and she looked completely wiped out. ‘Do what you have to do, but don’t tell me about it,’ she replied.

  She didn’t attempt to defend Nathan, which surprised me. It was clear that she was just as angry as I was about what had happened.

  We sat there in silence for a while longer, each trapped in our own hell, both trying to work out where to go from there, and how we could possibly survive.

  Even though we weren’t allowed to go home yet, people started leaving flowers, sympathy cards and teddy bears at the gate to our driveway. A lot of them didn’t know our family, hadn’t known Becky, and it touched me deeply that strangers could be so kind and thoughtful. Becky soon gained the nickname of ‘Bristol’s Angel’, which I rather liked. She looked angelic and so young in all the photos used in the media, and it was a reflection of how well the people of Bristol had supported us during our horrific ordeal. The city’s two football clubs, Bristol Rovers and Bristol City, each paid their own tribute to Becky. Bristol Rovers held a minute’s silence before their game against Eastleigh in the Vanarama Conference, and Bristol City organised a minute’s applause during their match against Walsall at Wembley in the Johnstone’s Paint Trophy final.

  On Sunday, 8 March, almost a week after Becky’s death was announced, my family organised a balloon-release memorial for her in St George’s Park, one of her favourite places. It was a way of bringing together all the people who had helped us with the search, as well as providing us with an opportunity for some sort of acceptance of what had happened. Not everyone had been able to see Becky to say goodbye properly, so this seemed like the next best thing.

  My whole family came out for it – even Anjie. She was determined to be there. As I pushed her wheelchair across the field, I was amazed to see that around 400 people had gathered together, all clutching a variety of colourful balloons. Becky’s boyfriend, Luke, was there, and I nodded when he caught my eye. I greeted a few of my friends and family, then we all stayed silent as we lifted our balloons up into the air and let them go. It felt as if I was letting go of Becky in that moment. The crowd gave a small cheer, but I couldn’t help bursting into tears as I watched the balloons float away. The sky was filled with different colours and shapes, and it was beautiful. I knew Becky would have been delighted by it and I hoped that somehow she could see them.

  It was a really moving day, and I was overwhelmed by the great kindness shown towards us. After the release of the balloons, I shook hands with almost everyone there. I wanted to personally thank as many people as I could for making the effort to support my family during the hardest time of our lives.

  One person especially sticks in my mind: he was a huge mountain of a man, but he was sobbing like a baby as he came over, clasped my hand and gave me a great big hug. And that response was typical in Bristol. I’ll never forget the way the people of the city rallied to our side.

  On 26 March, Nathan and Shauna, along with four other defendants, appeared at Bristol Crown Court for a preliminary hearing. Nathan was charged with Becky’s murder, and Shauna was initially charged with perverting the course of justice, but in June she was also charged with murder. Both of them appeared via videolink. I attended the hearing with Anjie, my dad, Denise, Sam, Joe and Sarah. A lot of supporters also turned up and sat in the public gallery wearing badges with Becky’s face on them. I started to shake with anger when I saw Nathan and Shauna’s faces appear on the screen, but I had to stay because I wanted to be there for Becky. Looking at Nathan, I felt immense rage, but also sadness. I had loved him as a son and this was where it had got me.

  Jaydene Parsons, who was charged with assisting an offender, also appeared via videolink, while James Ireland, who faced the same charge, appeared in person. Also facing charges of assisting an offender were Karl Demetrius – whose house Becky’s body parts were discovered in – and his twin brother, Donovan. I didn’t know any of them. How could they live with themselves? What kind of people were they to help cover up the murder of a teenage girl?

  We had to wait for justice to be done. The trial would not take place until October. In the meantime, we had seven months to come to terms with the fact that my beautiful daughter Becky was gone, and that no matter what we did, she wasn’t ever coming back.

  Chapter 11

  The funeral

  The pain I felt after saying goodbye to my beautiful daughter knocked me for six, leaving me cold and emotionless for weeks afterwards. As soon as we were allowed back in our house after six weeks of staying in hotels and an apartment the police had found for us, I locked myself away. In my mind’s eye I kept seeing Becky’s lifeless body lying in the mortuary. I couldn’t bring myself to discuss the practical things we needed to do, such as arrange her funeral. I’d lost four stone and the clothes were hanging off me because I was still struggling to eat. Everything seemed pointless. I’d never felt so empty in my whole life. It’s not that I didn’t think that Becky deserved a special send-off – it was just that organising the event seemed far too real. I preferred to spend my days in denial, staring into space.

  My family were constantly coming over, making sure Anjie and I were all right. Without their support, I would simply have given up. I didn’t see the point in doing anything any more, but they repeatedly provided a source of positivity, as well as taking care of little jobs around the house for us. We had so many visitors every day that we could have put a turnstile on the front door. Meanwhile, strangers were still leaving flowers and heartfelt tributes for us outside the front gate. Their handwritten notes were touching but heartbreaking at the same time.

  My sister Sarah was one of those who came most frequently, and a few days after we’d said goodbye to Becky in the mortuary, she raised the issue of a funeral.

  ‘Come on, Dar,’ she said, plonking herself down on the sofa next to me. ‘It’s time to organise the funeral now. She needs a proper send-off.’

  I nodded.

  ‘Do you want me to sort everything out for you?’ she offered kindly, and I nodded again.

  ‘Yes, please,’ I replied. ‘But it has to be at St Ambrose Church.’

  I wanted to lay Becky to rest in the same church where Anjie and I had got married just eighteen months earlier. Becky had been so happy that day that the smile never left her face. It seemed like the right place to say goodbye.

  Sarah is one of those people who is at her best when she has a project to focus on, so she started researching funeral directors and options for the day. Our supporters had been raising money online so we could afford a special funeral for Becky. I was so wrapped up in my grief that I couldn’t even think about money – and our lack of it – so I was truly appreciative of the effort they made. In the end, they raised more than £11,000 to provide a ‘send-
off for a princess’, and we decided that was exactly what Becky was going to get.

  Sarah and I sat down and drew up a list of ideas for the day – including a white carriage pulled by four white horses. I knew Becky would have loved something like that for her prom or her wedding – all those life events that tragically she would never get to experience – so I felt it was only right to do it for her funeral. We already knew that we wanted her favourite colours, baby blue and baby pink, to feature prominently, so I decided to buy matching baby-blue shirts for myself, Danny, Lee, Sam, Joe and Asa. Anjie, Sarah and Denise also planned to wear baby blue.

  Sarah was brilliant at taking care of the details, so all I had to do was write a reading in tribute to my daughter. I also planned to carry Becky’s coffin into the church, and I had to come up with a list of people to help me. I knew that I wanted Danny and my brothers Sam and Joe to be pallbearers, but I also asked Luke, Adam and my brother Lee to help as well. Luke and Adam in particular were very touched that I asked them. They had both been so important to Becky, I couldn’t think of anyone I would rather have helping my girl to her final resting place. We agreed that Danny, Sam, Joe and I would carry her into the church for the service, and then Lee, Adam and Luke would help me carry her out. None of us had realised how difficult carrying a coffin actually was. We had to practise for a few days beforehand, making sure our steps were all in time so the coffin could be kept as still and level as possible. We all took it incredibly seriously. This was our opportunity to pay our last respects to Becky, and we didn’t want anything to go wrong.

  I sat down one evening to write my reading, and as I stared at the blank sheet of paper in front of me, I started to choke up. I never would have thought in a million years I would be doing this for my daughter’s funeral. It just wasn’t right. My funeral should have been decades before hers. At first, I struggled to write anything that didn’t sound ridiculous, but after a while I started to think of all the things that made Becky wonderful and the words came to me. In fact, it was hard to stop myself from saying too much.