I Let Him Go: The heartbreaking book from the mother of James Bulger

by Fergus, Denise

  Published by Blink Publishing

  3.08, The Plaza,

  535 Kings Road,

  Chelsea Harbour,

  London, SW10 0SZ

  www.blinkpublishing.co.uk

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  Hardback – 978-1-911-600-12-1

  Trade paperback – 978-1-911-600-13-8

  Ebook – 978-1-911-600-14-5

  All rights reserved. No part of the publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, transmitted or circulated in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior permission in writing of the publisher.

  A CIP catalogue of this book is available from the British Library.

  Typeset by EnvyDesign Ltd

  Copyright © Denise Fergus, 2018

  Denise Fergus has asserted her moral right to be identified as the author of this Work in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  A portion of the proceeds from the sale of this book will be donated to the James Bulger Memorial Trust.

  Every reasonable effort has been made to trace copyright holders of material reproduced in this book, but if any have been inadvertently overlooked the publishers would be glad to hear from them.

  Blink Publishing is an imprint of the Bonnier Publishing Group www.bonnierpublishing.co.uk

  In memory of James and for all my beautiful children: Kirsty, James, Michael, Thomas and Leon x x x

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1: A Liverpool Girl

  Chapter 2: Loss and Life

  Chapter 3: Forging a Bond

  Chapter 4: Fizzing With Life

  Chapter 5: Final Hours

  Chapter 6: The Hunt

  Chapter 7: ‘Please Bring My Baby Home.’

  Chapter 8: Starting a Life Sentence

  Chapter 9: The Arrests

  Chapter 10: My Baby’s Funeral

  Chapter 11: Falling Apart

  Chapter 12: The Eye of the Storm

  Chapter 13: The Trial

  Chapter 14: Guilty

  Chapter 15: A Reason to Live

  Chapter 16: Petition for Justice

  Chapter 17: Just Me and My Son Michael

  Chapter 18: My Rock

  Chapter 19: Picking up the Fight

  Chapter 20: New Beginnings

  Chapter 21: My Voice

  Chapter 22: Release

  Chapter 23: Keeping Focussed

  Chapter 24: Caught

  Chapter 25: Gone, But Never Forgotten

  Acknowledgements

  Prologue

  When I gave birth to my baby boy, I was full of hopes and dreams for him. But the one thing I didn’t ever imagine was burying my son’s tiny body after his murder. No parent wants to outlive their child or say goodbye – it’s impossible to imagine – but my final hours and minutes with my beautiful James will be etched on my mind until my dying day.

  Getting my purse out to buy two pork chops for tea was the last thing I did before my world imploded forever. I went into the butcher’s holding my little boy’s hand, making one final stop before heading home, and I left without James’ hand in mine.

  That was how our last moments together went: no long goodbye, no last cuddles and snuggles with the baby who meant more to me than life itself, just me letting go of James’ hand for a split second, rummaging around in my purse for the right change, and my two-year-old son being led away to his death by the ten-year-old boys who murdered him.

  I remember clearly going to The Strand shopping centre in Bootle and parking up. We had a list of what needed doing and we were very efficient. Nicola – my brother Paul’s fiancée – had my other brother John’s little girl, Vanessa, with her. We’re a close family, and Nicola was looking after Vanessa for the day. As all mums know, you dash around like a mad thing trying to get everything finished while the kids are in a good mood and playing ball. Once they hit that wall of boredom, you have no chance of getting anything done. We got all we needed and decided to buy something nice for tea for the blokes after their hard day of DIY.

  We went into A.R. Tyms, the butcher’s, happy this was the last port of call. James was restless and running around a bit. He had been so good but was reaching the end of his patience. It was time to get him home so he could play with his toys and have his tea. Then it would be bath, stories, pyjamas and bed – the same routine we had every night. There was nothing I loved more than tucking him up at bedtime and knowing he was safe and cosy. Because we only had one bedroom, James had a little bed at the side of ours, which was fine by me as I liked him close.

  I went into the butcher’s and straight to the counter, looking at what there was on offer. I said hello before pointing out the chops I wanted, all the time telling James to stand still. The butcher’s shop was small so there wasn’t much space for James to get up to lots of mischief, but he was playing and dancing around a bit – it was definitely home time. I remember clearly that I was by the counter, he was running around in circles and Nicola was in the corner by the fridge with Vanessa.

  James was laughing and I beckoned him over to stand by me. I held on to his hand as the man wrapped up the meat and chatted to me. He was very friendly and said hello to James before telling me what I owed him. And this is the last thing I remember: I let go of James’ hand and looked at him saying, ‘Just stand right there by me, don’t move, okay?’

  He was there right by my left thigh. I smiled at him and pulled my bag from my shoulder, took out my purse and went to open it to get my money. As I snapped open the clasp, I glanced down and James wasn’t there. Immediately I looked over to the fridge cabinet and expected him to be playing with Nicola and Vanessa. He wasn’t there. I shouted, ‘Where is James?’

  Nicola told me not to worry, that he would be playing just outside the shop and that he couldn’t have gone far. I got to the doorway and stopped to look left, right and left again. The place was packed and there were so many people I couldn’t see a thing – which way would he have gone? My heart was thumping and even then I was full of icy dread. It is like fingers of fear grip your heart and crush it so you can’t breathe. I knew right then it was bad, I just knew. It was one of those moments where the world feels like it is turning in slow motion, and you struggle to take in what has happened. I remember this voice in my head, Not James. Not my beautiful boy. This couldn’t be happening to me, I didn’t ever let him out of my sight.

  Which way, which way would he have gone? I kept asking myself – left out of the shopping centre doors or right into the crowds. In a way it was a silly question, as he didn’t even know his left from his right, he wouldn’t have understood what he was doing. I stood there feeling sick to the pit of my stomach and I turned left to start the frantic search.

  People often ask me if I blame myself for what happened that day – for taking my eyes off him for that split second. For letting go of his hand as I looked for my purse. They ask if I blame myself for not seeing what the CCTV footage later showed: Venables and Thompson beckoning James away from my side and out of the shop at 3:39pm?

  The answer is: of course I do. There aren’t the words to describe how I still feel now, every day. I was the one who let go of his hand; I was the one there meant to protect him. But do you know what my biggest regret is? That I didn’t turn right instead of left – if I had taken the right turn and gone around the corner, I would have seen James being led away, just four short minutes after he had left my side, trustingly holding hands with
the boys who were about to murder him.

  Chapter 1

  A Liverpool Girl

  When I tell it like that it almost sounds like it happened to someone else, in fact for a long time afterwards I felt as if it had, as the shock and grief were like a heavy veil that blocked out the world. When people say that life can change in an instant, that fate can collide in the most destructive way, I am living proof it does. Once it does, there is very little that matters.

  For over 25 years I have been known as ‘Denise Bulger (later Denise Fergus), the mum of murdered James’, but before he was abducted on 12th February 1993, I was Denise Matthews from Kirkby and all I wanted was my own family. I had a happy and simple childhood with loving parents who gave us the very best they could, like all good parents do I suppose. We didn’t have much to go round but we didn’t ever go without and all I remember are happy times. There were 13 of us altogether (12 now that my older brother, John, sadly died a few years ago). It is funny – I can never remember the age order when I am reciting the names of my brothers and sisters, so I have to list them as boys versus girls: the boys are John, Joe, Ronnie, Ray, Paul and Gary; the girls are Joan, Barbara, Rita, Sheila, Eileen, Pat and me. When I think back to my childhood now, it must have been chaos – but mostly I imagine all the washing! Although there weren’t 13 of us all living there at any one time, the ironing pile is bad enough in my house with three lads, never mind any more than that. Mum had a twin-tub and I remember starting to wash and rinse my own clothes from a really young age in order to help – I don’t know how my mum did it, but she never made it feel like hard work.

  They were amazing parents, Eileen and Hugh, and although my dad was my mum’s second husband (she married him after her first died) and some of my brothers and sisters (John, Joan and Joe) came from that marriage, we were a tight-knit clan. We never questioned or referred to it, instead it was just one of those family facts that didn’t make a difference.

  I was born second to last, almost the baby of the family until my little sister, Sheila, arrived. Mum seemed to give birth like clockwork and there was a neat two-to-three-year gap between all of us. When I think about the fact that I am 50 years old at the time of writing this book and my youngest son is 18 years old, I realise that’s a lot of pregnancies!

  Dad worked hard and very long hours to give us all he could and support us. I only knew one home growing up and that was Scoter Road, in Northwood, Kirkby, where I stayed until I met and moved in with Ralph. Historically, Kirkby was developed in the 1950s as a housing overspill of Liverpool. Because of the damage caused by the Blitz, much of the housing that survived in the inner city of Liverpool was considered substandard and they were more like slums. So people were moved out to newly developed estates like Kirkby, which became one of the largest and fastest growing communities in Liverpool. I don’t know if that’s why there is such a fiercely loyal feel to it, but all I do know is that when the chips are down, there is truly no better place to live. The love and support I received, and still get to this day, has made all the dark days after James’ murder far more bearable and for that I will always be grateful.

  At the time my parents moved into their house, Kirkby was still a bit of a mud ground – there was no road or anything really and Mum and Dad were some of the first to move in. People often raise their eyebrows at the fact there were 13 of us and we only had four bedrooms, but by the time I came along the older few were marrying and moving out – there was over 25 years between me and the eldest – so it freed up some space. It was a bit like a relay race! In my bedroom were Sheila, Rita and me, then Gary and Paul shared a room, and there was one for whoever else was in and out of the house, and Mum and Dad had their room. That all sounds fine, but queuing for the bathroom was a bit tricky at times and probably caused the most fights!

  It was a free and easy childhood, very typical of the times, but one I look back on now and can’t imagine given what I am like with my children. Mum used to feed us and then send us younger ones out to play with our older brothers and sisters before being sent to bed. If I try and explain that to my boys now, they look at me like I am a mad woman, given they were never out of my sight. It was a simple way of life and I feel lucky that it was so pure – we didn’t have a spare penny for any kind of expensive activities like the cinema or youth clubs, so we had to make our own fun. We were allowed to roam free and learn about life on the streets – the irony is not lost on me that I enjoyed the most relaxed childhood imaginable and my son’s murder ended up making parents all over the world too scared to let their children out the front door. We played rounders, kerb ball and cricket in the street and had bikes and endless races – all cheap entertainment. Every front door was left open and anyone could wander in and out and get fed and watered – I suppose it’s the way kids should be allowed to live in an ideal world.

  When it came to school, Sheila, Paul and I were in the same building at the same time. We were split up due to age but the school was so small that we would mix anyway and I would often slip into the older playground to embarrass Paul – he would bribe me with his biscuits to get rid of me, which was great as that was all I wanted really. I drove him mad because I could see how much it wound him up to have me following him around. At lunchtime we all went home to eat as Mum loved cooking and we much preferred her food to the stuff we got at school. Paul used to have to walk me home and he hated that too – he would meet his mates halfway and then be stuck with me making a show of him and winding him up, playing for laughs. I was a nightmare! They were carefree days when there was nothing to really think or worry about.

  I didn’t really like school much and, as a result, I didn’t try very hard – I was there for the laughs and my mates. I wasn’t remotely academic and spent most of my time being distracted. It was always affectionate and I never wanted to be a menace, but mucking about was a way to pass the time. I suppose I was cheeky and that was a gene James definitely inherited. I didn’t have a favourite subject although, if pushed, I would say that I didn’t mind a bit of typing, but that was probably the extent of my curriculum interest. I couldn’t wait to leave and, when I got to 16, I had a few days off to look after my mum. She’d had an eye operation and needed someone to care for her – the older ones were at work and I certainly didn’t mind leaving the classroom to help out.

  A few days as a nursemaid turned into a few weeks, and before I knew it I’d missed a lot of the year – I decided I wasn’t that fussed about taking my exams or leaving with any qualifications, so I didn’t bother. There wasn’t any real pressure from home and, although the teachers were encouraging, there wasn’t much to hang around for.

  I made some great friends but, as with anything, your life changes and you pick up and lose people along the way depending on your circumstances. I’m not in touch with lots of the people I knew back then and I suppose it is harder for me to trust and make friends after what happened – people’s intentions aren’t always as they seem, and losing James and fighting in his name has made me wary of hidden agendas.

  After I left school I got seasonal work in an ice cream factory, I loved it there and formed a great circle of friends. I still lived at home as I couldn’t afford to move out as a single woman, especially once the ice cream factory closed down and workers were laid off because the machines were doing all the work. One day I went in and the boss tried to get me to clean up the floors – I told him that wasn’t my job and as far as I was concerned I was there to work on the machines. That, as they say, was that!

  I was at a crossroads in my life – I had lost my job and was still living with my mum and dad. I was a bit lost. Though I was a hard worker, I am not embarrassed to say that my life plan didn’t ever involve having some high-powered career. I knew I didn’t have the qualifications for that. I had always thought motherhood would be my biggest role – children were always on the agenda for me and I couldn’t imagine a better purpose in life.

  With all my older siblings having families
of their own, it meant that growing up I was never far away from a baby. As a result, I felt really relaxed around young kids and knew how to handle a baby with confidence. I often think it’s a good job we don’t know what’s in store for us because, despite always knowing that I wanted to have lots of babies, I didn’t ever imagine that would involve giving birth five times and only having three children to bring up.

  With the arrival of my little nieces and nephews I was never far away from a cuddle – in fact I became known as the ‘baby hogger’ and used to dream up lots of clever ways to wake up a baby so that they needed comforting by me. Once I was caught red-handed knocking into the pram deliberately so that my nephew would wake and I could pick him up without being scolded and told to ‘let the baby sleep’. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll see to him,’ I would shout as I seized the chance to comfort, cuddle and rock the baby. I was so bad that I got the blame when the baby woke up, even if it wasn’t my fault! I used to imagine what it would be like to hold my own baby whenever I wanted to and, once I had James, my favourite thing was to hold him as he slept and feel his little chest going up and down.

  All this coincided with the night I met Ralph Bulger in Kirkby Town, a night club not far from where I lived. I was on a night out with my sister and a couple of other mates when we bumped into a group of lads at the bar. I got chatting to Ralph and he bought me a drink, before asking me out on a date the following week. We hit it off and quickly became serious. I was so young at 18 and Ralph was my first serious boyfriend, and I suppose I quickly got caught up in the excitement of making a life together without giving too much thought to how compatible we really were. At that age we think we know it all, don’t we? There is little thought of what the future might hold. All I had ever wanted was a home and family of my own, and here was a man who could give it to me. We loved each other and seemed to want the same things so it all seemed very straightforward, and for a while it was.