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

by Fergus, Denise

  I spent nine months haunted by Kirsty’s death, but the hospital staff were amazing with me. I decided to have my second baby at the same hospital so they knew my history and they kept such a close eye on me – making it clear that I could come in any time and have a check-up or scan if I was worried. The main issue I had was not knowing why Kirsty had been perfectly active and healthy one minute and then died the next. In my mind, I had no way of making sure it didn’t happen again as I didn’t know the cause. After I had Kirsty the hospital did offer me a post-mortem but there was no way in hell that I wanted my precious baby put through any more – a post-mortem was obviously something I couldn’t avoid with James, and it broke my heart.

  In truth I would say that all of my pregnancies were psychologically hard – there is no way they wouldn’t be after all that happened. Dr Abdulla, who works at Fazakerley Hospital, was amazing and delivered James and my subsequent babies, which gave me peace of mind. But there is no doubt that my pregnancy with James was heightened by the stress and anxiety that something would go wrong again. I tried to focus on the good things: I was having my longed-for baby and I had just married Ralph, I just had to get through this pregnancy and everything would be fine.

  I checked every detail. I was given a kick chart by the hospital and I was obsessive about logging every single movement – even the hiccups! I must have driven the hospital demented, but they were so understanding, I suppose they must see it a lot. However, not even filling out kick charts relentlessly gave me any peace of mind. After all, Kirsty had kicked right up until I was in labour. No, for me, until that baby was in my arms and crying, I took nothing for granted. In a way, I was dreading going into labour too – for most people that is the final hurdle, the finish line, and the pain is made bearable by the fact that you get to hold your perfect baby in your arms. For me, labour was the moment my baby had died and so the whole process was the wrong way round.

  However, apart from my anxiety, the pregnancy was actually very straightforward and it seemed to pass quite quickly. After the wedding it was the build up to Christmas and anyone who knows me will understand why I mention this. I am the biggest fan of Christmas, I cannot get enough of it – for me the build-up starts in September. I am a nightmare! Then suddenly the new year arrived and our baby was due. This time around I knew better than to plan anything at all – I didn’t get anything ready, no Moses basket, no washed little clothes ready, no pram in the hallway. I didn’t want to jinx anything so all I had at the bedsit was a Babygro to bring the baby home in and a shawl. I kept everything else at my mum’s. I didn’t really even think too much about how I wanted the birth to be – it was like I couldn’t plan any bit of it just in case it all went wrong again. I had given birth to Kirsty naturally, and all I knew was that I wanted to do the same this time round, but the doctors weren’t going to take any chances. With Kirsty I went into labour during the early hours of a Wednesday morning and she was born the same day. With James they didn’t want to let me go full term and decided to take me in two weeks before he was due and induce me, which was reassuring – though it could have been because they couldn’t face another two weeks of me popping in for a scan!

  ***

  The day finally arrived and off we went. We were both really quiet on the way to the hospital, excited and terrified all at once, and both so aware that this was exactly how we had set out a year before when I was expecting Kirsty. We were taking the same route and I had packed the same hospital bag, but this time we had a whole different set of hopes and expectations. This time we knew all too well that the ending wasn’t always a happy one.

  I got to the hospital and Dr Abdulla was there to greet me, he flashed me a reassuring look and told me everything would be okay. I am sure he could see the fear written all over my face. I was taken into a different room from last time and they started the labour. I tried not to let my mind revisit Kirsty’s death and kept reminding myself that this time, after all the pain, there would be a crying baby in my arms.

  It was a tough labour and I remember being in the labour ward and suddenly being hit by an overwhelming need to sleep. Ralph started panicking and asked the midwife, ‘Is she going to be okay, is the baby going to be okay?’

  The midwife explained that I was fine. Thanks to the pain relief I would have a sleep and, once I woke up, I would be ready to give birth. The joy of an epidural! The needle had gone in and I fell asleep straightaway and then, just as she said, I woke up in full-blown labour. Eventually, after about 36 hours in all, I was ready to push. After what seemed like forever, with Ralph by my side, out came James and I remember the doctor saying, ‘It’s a boy, Denise!’

  My beautiful James Patrick Bulger – named after Ralph’s dad who had died before I gave birth – was born on 16th March 1990. He was biggest of all my babies, weighing in at 6lbs 3oz. He had blond hair, blue eyes and the most perfect skin. I was overwhelmed by this beautiful, pink, perfect, screaming bundle. I often think back to that moment, when I first held my baby boy and vowed he would never leave my sight.

  Chapter 3

  Forging a Bond

  James came out screaming and didn’t stop from the minute we got him home as he had terrible colic. It is no exaggeration to say that he screamed the house down all day every day for the first four months of his life and it was a nightmare because nothing I did eased his pain. I had him over my knee, rubbing and patting his back, I sang to him and rocked him as I cried too because I felt so helpless. There is nothing worse than not being able to make things better for your baby. This was one of the all-consuming thoughts I had in the days immediately after James’ murder – that when he needed his mummy more than ever I hadn’t been there. I was haunted by the idea that in his darkest hour he had been calling for me and I didn’t come and make it okay. That thought doesn’t really ever leave me.

  After the birth I stayed in hospital for five days. It wasn’t like it is now where if everything goes well you can be in and out within 12 hours. It was a long time to be in and I hated it because I just wanted to get James home and settled. I have a clear memory of being on the ward, lying in bed with James in his plastic cot next to me and hearing the clink of the glass formula bottles as the nurse pushed round the metal trolley at feeding time. It was all very regimented and there was no ‘feeding on demand’. I didn’t really consider giving breastfeeding a go. The hospital certainly didn’t encourage it in the same way they do these days. The bottles would come round, they had long dark brown teats and the milk was always so cold. I remember thinking it was far too cold to give to James and sitting there rubbing the bottle in between my hands to warm up the milk before his feed. I actually ended up doing that for all four of my boys when I fed them in hospital – I had it in my head that their little tummies couldn’t handle the chill. It’s funny the small things that run through your head when you’ve had a baby. The maternal instinct is overwhelming.

  During my hospital stay I was definitely lulled into a false sense of security as James was fairly quiet and fed well – then, as soon as we got home, the full-blown colic kicked in. He wouldn’t take a bottle, he wouldn’t settle, all he did was scream. It was awful to watch him having one of his episodes, as he would bring up his little legs and his face would go purple. I knew he was in agony and there was nothing I could do. I took him for long walks in his pram to the park, up and down the road or to my sister’s. Come rain or shine I walked him for miles and hoped that the rhythm of the pram would soothe him. Sometimes the motion helped, sometimes it did nothing and I walked in circles as he carried on screaming – I tried everything, including industrial amounts of gripe water.

  Often I ended up at my sister’s front door desperate, knackered and crying and she would say, ‘Give us him’, and then start pacing the floor with him. When she couldn’t manage it, her husband would have a go, and eventually James tired himself out after all his screaming and dropped off. But then we would go home and he’d feed and the cycle would start all ov
er again. It was relentless.

  The only way I could settle him during the night was by propping him up in his little bouncy chair. If I put him in that and positioned my legs underneath the chair to rock him, he would drift off, but as soon as I stopped he’d wake up and start screaming. We were in the bedsit and so all in one room – Ralph was good at sleeping through it but, to be honest, that didn’t bother me. It was down to me to comfort James. When he was upset, James wanted his mummy, and that was that.

  As a result, in those first few months we forged the most incredible bond. I look back now and I am so grateful for all those late-night cuddles and the extra time we had while the rest of the world slept. After he was murdered, I remembered those long nights together and wondered if, somehow in a weird way, the universe had given us the chance to cram in as much time as possible before he was taken from me. There aren’t many mums who look back fondly on sleep deprivation and long, broken nights, but I do.

  Once James got over that colic he was like a different baby, so smiley, and we spent every minute together. Don’t get me wrong, it was hard work and in those early days I would have loved some time to sleep. Ralph started going out a bit with his mates and sometimes I wouldn’t see him for a few nights in a row. He loved his son and doted on him when he was at home, but all his mates were young and single and it was a big adjustment. All new parents have their rows in the early days – both of you are tired and feel like one is doing more than the other, it can become a competition about who is more exhausted! But, like a lot of mums then, I did most of the feeding and changing on my own, something that made my bond with James even tighter.

  James’ first year passed in a sleep-deprived flash and was punctuated by milestones that I savoured: his first smile, lifting up his head, his first tummy roll, sitting on his own for a few seconds, crawling and bum shuffling, and then finally his first steps. I know every mother is biased but I do think he was very advanced for his age (though I would say that!) He walked quite early and once he was on his feet there was no stopping him. Everything had to be put out of reach and the bedsit fully baby proofed. From the minute the colic disappeared, James had the sweetest nature, but he was also full of energy from the moment he woke to the second he fell asleep. As every mum knows once a baby becomes independent and starts moving around, it is non-stop.

  Because we were still in the bedsit, it was cramped and it got worse once James was mobile. He had slept by our bed since we brought him home from hospital and the lack of space meant that we were side by side all day. I loved every stage. I know some mums prefer the baby bit, or love it once their kids start interacting and they can have a conversation, but there was nothing I didn’t adore about being James’ mum.

  From the very start, my daily routine with him was simple – we would get up together every morning and potter in the bedsit. When he was small he sat in his baby chair or would lie on his mat while I did my chores; once he was older I propped him up with cushions and his toys, and eventually he crawled around after me. After we were both washed and dressed, I would put James in his pram and we would either go to my mum’s or get together with my sisters and their kids in the park. Mum used to joke that she couldn’t actually keep us away, me and my sisters all piled round to hers with our kids and there would be prams blocking the hallway. In fact, it became a hilarious competition to see who could get there first because that person got the prime pram parking spot and the rest had to leave theirs out in the rain!

  As I had so many family members with babies, I didn’t go to classes or baby groups – there was no spare money for outings and it wasn’t like now where you all meet up for coffee and cake. Lots of people we knew were unemployed and just about surviving, it was hard to get work and so every penny counted. I preferred to spend time with my family. All the cousins played together, a couple of times a week one of us had the rest round, and I saw Mum and Dad every day as they lived round the corner. Life had a reassuring rhythm to it and everyone just made the best of what they had. I didn’t go out drinking with friends because we didn’t have the money, and also I didn’t want to leave James while he was so small – everywhere I went he came with me. I could count on one hand the number of things I did without him in his short little life. When he was gone, I felt like I had lost my other half.

  ***

  Despite the lack of money we were desperate for space, so we went on the list for a flat not far from where we already lived. The bedsit became impossible as James approached his first birthday – it was just a room with a bed along one wall and then a couch and TV on the other. It was particularly hard in the winter or when it was raining. So, once James was on the move it became more and more pressing to find somewhere bigger. The waiting list was long and I got really disheartened as I wanted James to have space to move around more freely. However, the quest for a new place was put on hold when my father died suddenly.

  On 16th December, as usual, James and I went round to spend the day with my parents. The visit passed without incident – everyone seemed fine. Dad made a pot of his special soup for lunch, we all ate together and he was full of good humour. Dad and James played endlessly together with little cars and James’ other toys, just as they always did. My parents idolised all of their grandchildren and made each of them feel special, and it was so lovely for me to see the close relationship that Dad and James had. We said our goodbyes late in the afternoon and I put James in the pram and set off home to do bath and bedtime.

  The next morning my brother-in-law came round to tell me that Dad had been taken ill the previous evening and rushed to hospital. Because Ralph and I couldn’t afford a telephone it had taken a while for the news to trickle down to me, especially as it didn’t seem serious. He had a bit of angina but I was told he was stable and not in any immediate danger, so I decided to go up to the hospital later that afternoon and, in the meantime, to pop to Kirkby market with my sister to get him some bits for his hospital stay – we had no idea how long he would have to be in.

  I remember that I had James in the pram and my sister had her little girl in hers too. We needed to pop into Ethel Austin but there was no room to take in the prams so I left James outside with my sister as I nipped in. Once I was inside I bumped into the stepson of my older brother John, and it became clear that we had to get home as something had happened.

  We raced back to my mum’s where all the family had just arrived, gathered in the front room, working out how to find me and my sister to tell us the news. As I looked at all the faces around me I immediately realised that the news was true. If I’d been in any doubt, it was quickly confirmed by the sight of my mum slumped in her armchair. She looked awful – no colour in her cheeks and in a complete trance. She stayed that way for a really long time. Truth be told, she never really got over the shock of his death.

  Apparently Dad sat up that morning in his hospital bed feeling much better than he had the night before. In fact, he felt so good that he decided to indulge in his favourite start to the day – a big cooked breakfast, which he didn’t do often but he loved. Within an hour of him finishing and being washed and dressed, everything failed on him and he died, just like that. It was 17th December, and the whole family was rocked.

  No one knew what to do but it soon became clear that Mum wasn’t coping and so began a long line of health troubles that plagued her right up until her own death eight years later – a series of strokes eventually put her in hospital, and a general dilution of her health meant that things were hard for her towards the end.

  James was nine months old and my mum’s saving grace – we carried on our routine of going round there all the time, and it was obvious that seeing James was one of the few things that made Mum seem like herself again. She looked brighter and more relaxed the moment we entered the room – James made her light up, but then he did that to everyone he met.

  We all rallied round – I guess that’s a benefit of having so many children, there was always one of us on hand to
pop over and see that she was okay. I would do a big cooked dinner for us all and try to make it as normal as possible for her. She did her best to be strong for us and we tried for her, but sometimes things happen that you can’t get over. Not everything is meant to be dealt with, I suppose, and there is only so much the human heart can take, something I came to know all too well only two short years later.

  Once Dad’s funeral was over it became clear that Mum was desperately lonely and wasn’t coping with living on her own, so Sheila decided to move in with her. Ralph and I decided that it made sense for us to move into Sheila’s flat. It was the perfect solution – Mum wouldn’t be on her own and we would have more space. I had a real battle on my hands with the council though, who were reluctant to give me the flat, so in the end I just moved in! I took the view that they couldn’t really kick me out with a baby. I needed that flat for my family and that was it. James settled quickly and it instantly felt like home.

  My sister’s place only had one bedroom but it felt like a palace to me as it was so much bigger than the bedsit. Me, James and Ralph all still shared a bedroom, but that’s how I liked it. The flat had a wide hallway, a living area, a bedroom, kitchen and a bathroom. Just as I had done with the bedsit, I went about making it a cosy family home and set aside special space for James’ toys; I couldn’t have been happier with our first proper family home.