Sarah managed to organise the whole thing in just a few weeks, thanks to all the donations from the public, and it was planned for Friday, 17 April. That was the day we had to say our final goodbye.
Around the same time, we had been informed that the post-mortem results had come back, confirming that Becky had died because she was suffocated. Whatever else had happened, that was how she had been killed. It made me feel sick to my stomach to know that her final few moments were spent gasping for air while fighting for her life, but I tried to push that out of my mind as much as I could.
I barely slept a wink the night before the funeral. My mind was full of all the things we needed to do the next day, all the things to remember. I was terrified of something going wrong. Most of all, my thoughts were dominated by memories of Becky. I still couldn’t quite believe that I was going to be burying her the next morning.
As soon as dawn broke, my family started pouring through our front door to get everything ready. It was hard to keep the tears at bay as I put my suit on. When I was dressed, I looked at myself in the mirror and drew a huge breath. It was the smartest I had looked in a while, and I knew that Becky, who was always immaculate, would approve if she could see me. I could clearly imagine her smiling at me and telling me that I ‘scrubbed up well’.
I came downstairs to where Anjie was sitting in her wheelchair, dressed in a baby-blue top with black trousers and a black coat. She had a white rose pinned to her coat with a blue ribbon. I sat opposite her and she smiled weakly at me.
‘You look lovely,’ I said, smiling back. ‘Are you sure you’re going to be able to do this, love?’
I was worried that the day might be too tough on her. Her mobility was decreasing by the day as her MS worsened, and she often experienced a scary mental fog that made it hard to think or speak.
‘I want to be there for you,’ she replied. ‘And I have to say goodbye to Bex.’
I reached across and gave her hand a squeeze. Anjie had always been my rock. Even when times were difficult for her, she always supported me.
It was a beautiful sunny day, and as my family and I waited outside for the hearse carrying Becky’s coffin, I was a bag of nerves and emotion. I looked across at Danny, and the poor boy seemed to be struggling with the situation even more than I was.
‘You all right, boy?’ I asked, putting my hand on his shoulder. He nodded, but he shifted uneasily on his feet.
I could tell he was nervous. Danny hadn’t even set foot inside our house since Becky’s death. He was completely shaken up after losing his sister. The whole thing had been as traumatic for him as it had been for us all. Nathan had been a friend of his, and Becky had been his baby sister. He must have been struggling to understand what on earth had happened, and why – the questions none of us had proper answers to yet.
The hearse pulled up outside the house. The coffin was to be lifted into the horse-drawn carriage waiting at the top of the street. Seeing the coffin hit me like a ton of bricks, causing my heart to thump rapidly in my chest. It was almost as bad as when I saw her on that slab in the morgue. It broke my heart knowing my little girl was in that box.
It affected Danny too, because he suddenly turned to me, pale as a sheet and trembling.
‘Dad, I can’t do it,’ he said. ‘I can’t carry it in.’ He was still so young, only just twenty. To be honest, I don’t think I could have done it at his age.
‘That’s OK, son,’ I said. ‘I understand. Don’t worry, I’ve got a back-up plan.’
I had told everyone who had agreed to be a pallbearer that if any of them suddenly had a change of heart, I wouldn’t be offended. I didn’t want anyone doing something they found too difficult, so Dan Broom, Sarah’s husband, quickly stepped in to take Danny’s place.
When I first set eyes on the horse-drawn carriage, I was bowled over. The horses were magnificent creatures, wearing pink feather headdresses. Becky would have absolutely adored them. It all looked amazing, like a princess carriage from a fairytale.
‘Only the best for our Bex,’ Sarah said, smiling, having clocked my reaction.
‘You’ve done her proud, Sarah,’ I replied, genuinely touched by the thought she had clearly put into organising her niece’s funeral.
‘It was the least I could do, Dar,’ she said.
The cars to take the family, following behind the carriage, pulled up, and we all looked at each other, our faces etched with emotion.
‘Let’s go and say goodbye to Bex,’ I said quietly, before opening a car door.
I got into a car with Anjie, Becky’s friends Courtney, Adam and Teela, and her boyfriend, Luke. I had to take a few deep breaths to steady my nerves as the driver started the engine and we moved off slowly behind the carriage.
Because of the huge public interest, the police had agreed to close some of the roads temporarily as the cortège made its way from our house to the church. We had decided that everyone in Bristol should have the opportunity to be a part of the funeral if they wished. We made sure that everyone knew they were more than welcome by putting up the funeral plans on Facebook and publishing them in the local paper.
I was amazed when I saw how many people lined the streets to watch Becky’s last journey. There must have been at least 500 of them, many carrying beautiful pink roses, which they threw onto the carriage as it passed. I was moved when I realised that all my work colleagues had come out in force to support us, alongside countless friends and hundreds of strangers. People who didn’t even know us came to say their own goodbyes to the girl who was now known as Bristol’s Angel. Gazing at the sea of faces, I felt humbled.
Some people waved at us through the car windows, while others simply nodded to show their solidarity. A few folks were bawling their eyes out; some were consoling each other and dabbing at their eyes with handkerchiefs. The scene really touched me.
Despite being timid and shy, Becky had become famous. Even though it was tragic that her death had been what made her so well-known, I couldn’t help smiling a little. I knew that she would have absolutely hated being the centre of attention like this, with everyone looking at her, but it was a moving demonstration of Bristol’s community spirit. It made me feel very proud of my city.
As we got close to the church, I saw a line of supporters – the people who had helped with the searches and raised the money for the funeral – wearing white T-shirts with Becky’s photograph on the front. As we passed they turned around to reveal the words ‘Shoulder 2 Shoulder’ on their backs. Their show of sympathy really got to me and I started to choke back tears.
‘Come on, you have to do this,’ I told myself as I tried to regain composure. ‘Get it together – don’t crumble now.’
Anjie squeezed my hand. I think she was too stunned by the view out of the car window to say anything.
As we rounded the corner and came to a halt at the gates, the people gathered outside the church remained respectfully silent and still. It was a stark contrast to the anger that had been shown by both the public and my family following Becky’s death. Now, there was only grief. Only the sounds of quiet crying and distant traffic broke the silence.
I got out of the car, my legs shaky beneath me, and Dan, Joe, Sam and I carefully lifted the coffin out of the carriage then started walking towards the church entrance, one foot in front of the other, just the way we had practised.
As we slowly made our way into the church and set down the coffin, ‘Footprints in the Sand’ by Leona Lewis was playing. Sam had been the one to pick it, not just because he thought Becky would have liked it, but also because the lyrics seemed right for the occasion, particularly the chorus: ‘I promise you, I’m always there. When your heart is filled with sorrow and despair. I’ll carry you, when you need a friend. You’ll find my footprints in the sand.’
I felt a stabbing pain in my heart as I listened to the song. The last time Becky had been in that church, she was beaming at me while I was saying my vows to Anjie – the woman she had loved lik
e a mum. Now, I was staring at her coffin, overcome by grief. It felt unreal. No parent should ever have to go through this, and I still couldn’t begin to get my head around why it had happened to us. All I knew was that somehow I had to hold it together and get through the day.
The church was packed for the half-hour service, with around 350 people inside and another 150 outside watching on screens. Reverend David James – the same man who married Anjie and me – led the service, which included the hymn ‘Lord of the Dance’.
‘This is for a young girl who loved dance, and was often encouraged to turn down her music,’ said Reverend James, smiling at me.
Then it was time for my tribute to Becky, which focused on her school days and how she always looked after others. I was too distraught to read it out myself – I didn’t think I could get through it without breaking down – so I asked Reverend James if he would do the honours. Thankfully, he obliged.
When Becky started school she was so shy that she wouldn’t let Anjie leave her there on her own, so Anjie ended up being an unpaid teaching assistant for four years. We remember her coming home one afternoon, when she had just started first year at the juniors, and she was crying. When we asked her what was wrong Becky told us that no one would play with her because she had the wrong doll. So we went out and made sure she had the right doll for the next day, and on that day she returned home all smiles and excitement, and told us about a new friend she had made. This friendship lasted all the way through junior school.
She soon became a mentor for younger children joining the school. Although still very shy herself, she would watch out for any child stood in the playground on their own, looking lost and scared. She would encourage them to join her little mentor group. That was Becky all over. She couldn’t make friends herself, but she didn’t want younger children to feel like she did. We received letters from the parents of these children, thanking us for all that our big-hearted girl did for theirs.
Secondary school was when our family went through very dark times. Becky was bullied about her weight and consequently we almost lost her to anorexia, but with a lot of care from us and the Bristol Hospital Education Service we were able to get our Becky back. Once in hospital education, she made two new friends, Courtney and Adam, and became inseparable from them. She was the happiest we had seen her in a very long time. We used to call them ‘The Three Amigos’.
Gradually building up her confidence, she started to go out more and more, and she became really fashion-conscious, developing her own style and always looking immaculate.
Becky has left a huge void in our lives and touched the hearts of the nation. We all loved you so much, and as you look down from heaven, just look at what your short life has achieved – not bad for a shy girl. You will forever be in our hearts and thoughts. Rest in peace, angel of Bristol.
Thank you to all the people of Bristol, all the fundraisers and all the support we have received from the entire country.
Hearing my own words being read back to me was the strangest thing. It didn’t feel real. I burst into tears when he had finished. I couldn’t stop myself – I just couldn’t stay strong any more. I put my head in my hands and let out a giant wail. Next to me, Anjie was sobbing her heart out, Danny was crying on my other side, and around us I could hear the distress of the rest of the family.
Reverend James said that Becky’s death had brought the community closer together.
He said, ‘We might not have seen how particularly close our community is, until now. But when events such as this happen to one of our own, someone who went to school in our area, who sat down here somewhere singing carols, who went about being a normal teenager, it unlocks a depth of compassion and care, which has been such an inspiration.
‘And so, despite her tender years and her death, which seems deeply sacrificial, she has made a substantial contribution to the neighbourhood.’
I nodded in agreement. Becky’s death had shown me just how much kindness there was in my community.
Denise got up and did a reading, and then ‘Dream Catch Me’ by Newton Faulkner – one of Becky’s favourite songs – was played as candles were lit for her. The service ended with the Lord’s Prayer. I stumbled over my words towards the end of the service, dread growing within me that I would soon have to carry her out to be buried. My hands started shaking so violently that I was scared I would drop the coffin.
In desperation, I turned to Joe. ‘I can’t carry her out,’ I said, showing him my hands.
‘I’ve got it, Dar,’ Joe replied. ‘You walk with Anjie. It’s all right.’
So Luke, Joe, Lee and Adam carried Becky’s coffin out of the church, and I followed behind them, pushing Anjie in her chair. We walked out to a song my dad, John, had recorded especially for the funeral. It was ‘Somewhere’ from the musical West Side Story, and he thought Becky would have liked it. He sang it beautifully, and I sobbed a little harder as I listened. I was in such a state, it was just as well that Joe had taken over for me.
As we left, we noticed a teenage boy a few years younger than Becky standing on his own, sobbing his heart out. Sam went over to give him a big hug, and the boy explained that he knew Becky from school. He had struggled to make friends, just as she had, and Becky had befriended him so that he didn’t have to feel alone. My heart was bursting with pride when Sam told me this later on.
After the coffin was placed back in the carriage, it was time for me to release a single dove to mark our final goodbye to Becky. We all thought that this would be a nice touch, but I couldn’t stop my hands from trembling as I opened the cage to lift the bird out. I fought back my tears as I raised it as high in the air as I could.
‘Bye, Bex,’ I said quietly, and I let it go. It flew out of my hands and disappeared behind the back of the church, providing a fitting tribute to our beautiful angel. As I watched it fly away, I dissolved into tears once more. I was comforted by Sarah, who threw her arms around me while sobbing quietly herself. As I cried, I could hear the crowd around us clapping and crying with us. It was both an extraordinary and heartbreaking moment.
We all got back into the waiting cars and drove to Avonview Cemetery for a private burial for family only. There were still around sixty people there because our family was so big. Tanya hadn’t come to the church, but she did attend the burial. In a newspaper interview published in the Daily Mail the day before, she had said that she felt nervous about seeing Anjie, the mother of her daughter’s killer, at the funeral.
She greeted us with warmth when she arrived with her mother, Pat. She put an arm around Anjie and asked how she was coping. Despite Tanya’s difficult relationship with me, and the way she must have felt knowing that Anjie’s son had been charged with Becky’s murder, she put all that aside to say goodbye to her daughter. It was clear that this was a day for peace, not war, and I was grateful to her for that.
As we lowered Becky’s coffin into the grave, the pain in my heart grew worse than ever before. I kept thinking, I shouldn’t be doing this. It felt completely unnatural and wrong to put my beautiful Becky into the earth.
‘I should be in that hole, not her,’ I whispered to Anjie. She gasped out a sob in reply.
A few of us, including Sarah, my dad and Denise, threw some soil into the grave. There was a funny, bittersweet moment when Sam’s brand-new sunglasses fell off and into the hole, never to be seen again.
‘That’s quite fitting actually, because Becky was forever stealing my sunglasses,’ I commented, and everyone smiled through their tears.
Afterwards, we held a wake at Arnos Court Hotel for friends and family to celebrate Becky’s life. Once again, I was amazed by the amount of people who wanted to offer their support and raise a toast to my beautiful daughter – about 200 altogether.
We had some food and a few drinks while remembering Becky, and then I got up on stage and sang ‘Ain’t No Sunshine’ by Bill Withers, closely followed by my dad, who sang ‘Somewhere’, the song he had recorded for the fune
ral. It was even better live.
After he had finished, I got up on stage and made an announcement.
‘Right, everyone,’ I began. ‘Becky was not a miserable child, so let’s celebrate her life in the way she would have wanted.’
With that, we kicked off a disco, and everyone started to clap and cheer. It wasn’t long before we were hitting the dance floor, and the mood lifted.
Looking around the room, I could see so many faces I knew: friends of Anjie’s and mine, both past and present, my work colleagues, Becky’s friends and our family, all mixing together. It was a surreal moment for me. We were all there for one reason – we loved Becky. More than anything, it made me realise how much joy and friendship her short life had brought to these people. I was a proud father for that fact alone.
Everyone got on the dance floor that night, even me. Becky loved to dance, and I knew that she would have been up there with us if she could.
‘I bet she’s looking down on you now and laughing her head off,’ Anjie said as I came back from busting some dance moves.
‘She always did go out of her way to make fun of her dad,’ I replied, chuckling at the memory.
People were even having dance-offs to find the best dancer – a bit of a Galsworthy tradition. It felt so good to have a few laughs after the intensity of the past few hours.
While we were celebrating my daughter’s life, Nathan and Shauna were still in custody, awaiting trial in October 2015. As for the rest of us, we were prisoners in our grief. Becky had been taken from us far too early, and we had been forced to say goodbye and bury her in the ground. I still wasn’t sure how I was going to cope with each passing day, or even if I wanted to cope without Becky in my life. All I knew for sure was that we needed the truth – and we needed justice.
Chapter 12
Limbo
The next few months were a waiting game for us. We knew there wouldn’t be any major developments before the trial. Frustratingly, the police weren’t able to give us any details about what had happened on the day Becky died, or about what had been done to her body after her death. We knew from the post-mortem that she had died from suffocation, but we were completely in the dark about the rest of the details. We were still in close contact with our family liaison officer Jo, but Russ was retiring from the force, so he was replaced by another officer, Detective Constable Ziggy Bennett.
Becky Page 15