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

by Fergus, Denise

  We were still strapped for cash as Ralph had casual jobs that didn’t pay regularly. I didn’t work as I had James to look after and I didn’t feel happy about leaving him. I am sure my mum would have had him, but I wanted him with me all the time. I know all women are different and I would never knock any mum for doing things her own way, each to their own. I just felt the need to be at home. I didn’t miss a minute and, as it turned out, I thank God every day for that. It was precious time – I just had no idea it was also borrowed time.

  It wasn’t long after we moved into the flat that my baby became a one-year-old. I couldn’t believe that time had passed so quickly and it had been the happiest year of my life. I set about planning a little tea party for James and it followed the pattern of other family parties we’d had for the kids: loud, messy and chaotic, with buns, sausage rolls and cupcakes. He and his cousins adored each other; they were like siblings really and the age difference didn’t really seem to matter as James was so easy to play with.

  Everyone said it, mainly because he shared everything – even from a young age. He was never one of those boys to hold on to a toy if anyone else wanted it – he would hand it straight over and find something else to occupy him without any fuss. I can’t stand kids who don’t play nicely with others, but I didn’t need to worry about James as his nature was never like that – he was never a greedy child. He was a sharer and he was trusting. You only have to look at the CCTV footage of him being led away from The Strand to see that.

  Chapter 4

  Fizzing With Life

  Part of the reason I wanted to write this book was to tell the world about the real James, my baby boy. Not the murdered toddler who made headlines and sold papers, not the media’s version of James Bulger, but the baby I gave birth to.

  The media came to love one particular image of James that they used over and over again – the blurred photograph of him frozen in time and looking straight at the camera, with a serious face, a few strands of fair hair falling into his wide eyes and what looks like milk around his mouth. I would often get asked what that was around his lips – it was actually yogurt he’d had for his tea just before the photo was taken. That image has been used on the covers of other books about the crime and to publicise documentaries and various programmes about what happened that fateful day – but that isn’t my baby. James became immortalised in death and the world has only ever known him because of the way he died, meaning he is often talked about and remembered in the same breath as Thompson and Venables, an association which I hate.

  To me there is so much more to my baby than the grainy images that are recycled by newspaper desks to mark an anniversary or a similar news story – my James was real and fizzing with life. James lit a room up – he was never grumpy, there were no tantrums and he wasn’t naughty; he was a cheeky little ray of sunshine. That said, I won’t try and portray him as an angel – he had a really mischievous side to him that’s for sure. It has been so important to remember the fun times as well as the sadness.

  I remember one particular day we were at my mum’s and my sister asked if she could take him to the shopping centre to pick up a few bits she needed for tea that night. As usual the answer was no, because I wouldn’t let anyone take him anywhere, and so he stayed behind with me at Mum’s. I was folding some clothes and he was playing in the room where my mum had a shelf of ornaments, all the precious bits she had collected over the years. James was tearing around, running in and out of the room when, suddenly, he reached up with his little hands to grab one of the ornaments and ended up pulling the whole shelf down. He watched wide-eyed as every single ornament smashed to smithereens. I ran over and checked to see that the china hadn’t cut him (I didn’t care about the ornaments!) and James was just staring at me, laughing at the commotion and slightly amazed he had caused all this drama. Meanwhile, Mum was shouting, ‘I’ve had those for years!’ – although James was soon forgiven as no one could be mad at him for long.

  James went at life with gusto. He never really walked anywhere, he ran at you and everything in his little life was done at 100 miles an hour. Even if he was just going from one room to the next in our tiny flat he would sprint. As he came at you all you could see was bouncing hair, followed by that cheeky James smile. His beautiful hair was thick, blond and curly, until I took him for his first haircut. I still have his first lock and his hospital band in a special box. Once I’d had his hair chopped, I kept it quite short and it went darker in his final winter months, making him look like a proper little boy rather than a baby.

  I absolutely adored dressing James in lovely clothes. I don’t think I bought myself a single thing once he arrived – every penny went on making sure he looked smart. My favourite outfits were the lovely white sailor suit he had with matching socks and his denim shirt tucked into jeans, white Adidas trainers and a denim cap turned to the side, with his blond hair poking out of the side. He looked so adorable and people always commented when they saw me walking him round to my mum’s all dressed up.

  James celebrating his first birthday was one of many moments we treasured. There was a family holiday in Wales with James and Ralph as well as my mum, sister, her husband and their kids for a week. It was a real adventure as we all got the coach from Liverpool to Wales and then stayed in a caravan – the kids loved every minute of it and we made some wonderful memories as they all played together outdoors for hours on end. It reminded us of our own childhoods, running around in the fresh air until we were exhausted but not wanting to come in for bedtime. It ended up being the only holiday James went on, which makes the photos all the more precious.

  For James’ last Christmas we bought him a go-kart which we thought he would love to speed around on. He opened it up, all excited as he tore off the paper. and Ralph set to work putting it together for him. As soon as we turned around we found James sitting in the box it came in and he stayed there for hours, far more interested in that than the actual present! After we had opened all our presents we decided to go round to my mum’s and I asked James if he wanted to go on his new go-kart like a big boy. He nodded his head in agreement, so we got on our boots and coats ready to set off. As soon as we got outside we saw the tiniest dusting of snow on the ground, so fine you could barely notice it. James saw it and refused to climb on and so Ralph ended up having to carry the go-kart all the way to Mum’s as James happily held my hand and walked, stamping his feet into the tiny bit of snow that had settled!

  Everyone loved to treat James and he certainly collected a few sets of wheels in his short life: a Noddy sit-on car that also acted as a baby walker for his first birthday, a little blue tricycle from my mum for his last birthday, his go-kart – he loved going fast, and they all helped get him to where he needed to be in a rush. After he died I couldn’t part with anything so I still have all his clothes and all his toys. I don’t look at them but I just know they are there in loft and nearby. There is one jumper in particular that I have kept in a drawer under the bed and that has to stay there, directly underneath where I sleep. I sometimes take that out and smell it or hug it. It just makes me feel close to him.

  I have always been someone to make a fuss on Easter Sunday, too, and I definitely passed that on to James, as he adored it. For his last one I lined up all of his eggs in size order, right in front of his little stool. Because I had such a big family there were so many treats and his eyes were out on stalks when he saw them all laid out, he couldn’t believe his luck when he walked into the living room! Actually, looking back, it took months to get through the stash and we had chocolate for a long time afterwards. As a treat he was allowed some chocolate for breakfast on Easter Sunday, and that last year he had quite a bit. He was absolutely covered in chocolate and I took a series of photos as he slowly lowered his chocolate-covered hands towards my pristine white carpet, made his imprint and then raised them up again, posing for the camera the whole time and looking delighted. Those hand marks were hell to scrub out but it is still one of my most
vivid and happy memories of him.

  As well as chocolate he also loved Chipsticks – they were his favourite food. One time I walked into the living room to find him chucking them like darts at my curtains and laughing so hard as they stuck there, hanging from the fabric. Of all the toys he had, that was how he preferred to spend his time, just like the cardboard box. He loved simple things and would spend hours playing. He was easily pleased but also very bright – though I would say that as I am biased – but he was very quick at picking up new things. By the time he died he knew his ABC off by heart and he loved me reading to him; he would sit on my lap and he knew exactly when to turn the pages at the right time. I would tell him how clever he was and he would beam back at me, delighted.

  When James was murdered he was out of nappies and wearing grown-up pants in the day and through the night; it was another milestone that had passed without a huge fuss, something I was proud of, especially as everyone told me potty training a boy would be a nightmare. With James I found it really easy and adopted the praise method, as he loved any kind of positive affirmation and being told he was a good boy. Whenever he did a wee he got a great big kiss and a cuddle and a round of applause, which he adored – he was such a happy and positive little boy and he loved it when he felt he’d pleased you. Even if it was just the tiniest bit, I clapped enthusiastically and he joined in, adding in a little dance too. I can still see him waving his arms in delight. Once he started wearing pants at night, I would wake up every morning and the first thing I did was to check his bed and then give him a round of applause when it was dry. I picked him up and swung him round, and he clapped himself, and then we would go and have breakfast. It became one of our morning rituals right up until his very last morning.

  I was particularly proud that he started using the toilet immediately too, so that I didn’t have to deal with a potty in every room and emptying it out the whole time. Eventually I got him little boxer shorts – I couldn’t get over the size of them. They were so tiny because he was tiny; they were the cutest things in the world.

  Anyone who knows me will be familiar with the fact that I am obsessed with Michael Jackson and James felt the same way even at his young age. My final Christmas present from James was a behind-the-scenes look at how they made the music video for ‘Thriller’! James and I used to watch it together and then James would get up and start imitating the moves perfectly – he would spend ages with his nose pressed up against the TV studying the dancing and then get up and put on his own little concert for me. I actually spent more time watching James than Michael Jackson! His favourite song just before he died was ‘Remember the Time’ and he loved the video with the magic beans; he would get up and do the whole song from start to finish, trying to get the words right. But the moves were definitely his thing and he was a great little dancer.

  Like all small children, he had his cartoon favourites and they included The Smurfs, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles and Thomas the Tank Engine – he had a duvet and matching pillow on his little bed, which was at the end of ours, and he loved climbing under that each night. He also had t-shirts and pyjamas with his favourites on them, and it was often a battle to bribe him into wearing anything else. Because of how much energy he used up during the day, he was often so exhausted at bedtime that I would bath him and get him all ready and then he would play with Ralph while I nipped out to the shops to get a few bits. I only went across the road and wouldn’t be any more than half an hour, but I liked going when the shop was empty. I would get back and unpack before doing story time and tucking James up safely in his bed. Once he was asleep I cooked for Ralph and me, if he wasn’t going out, and then would tidy up and watch my soaps before going to bed. It was a simple and quiet life really and was all about being James’ mum; I didn’t really think about anyone else.

  James bounced out of bed like a whirlwind but he was a boy of few words, especially in the morning when he first got up. I honestly think he decided not to bother talking as he could use his own pointing language with me and that seemed to get him exactly what he wanted! James was a gorgeous toddler and became a proper little companion – he was so funny.

  He and I were always up first in the mornings and enjoyed our quiet time. He would run in from the bedroom and sit down on the floor right in front of the TV, almost with his nose touching the screen. He’d look at me, then at the TV, nodding with a big smile, and I knew that was his way of asking me to turn it on. I would go over to the TV and point at it and he would nod again as if to say, ‘That’s right! Well done Mummy!’

  Then he would point to the VCR and nod again. Sometimes I didn’t respond just to see what would happen and if he would actually talk! He never did, but if I didn’t do what he wanted quickly enough he would simply do it himself, which always made me laugh. He was clearly capable of doing all these things on his own and just preferred to keep me busy and running around after him.

  Once he was sorted I would say, ‘Right, I am going to do your breakfast now. What would you like?’

  He had no trouble finding the words to tell me that – he would look up with a huge smile and say, ‘I want Frostieeeeeees!’ really stretching the word out on the last bit in a sing-song way. It was his signature phrase and the family used to tease him at meal times, saying, ‘What do you want for your tea, James? Do you want Frostieeeeeees?’ and everyone would fall about laughing, including James. Sometimes I made James have a change and he would have Rice Krispies, but everyone knew Frosties were his thing – he was obsessed!

  He had a little plastic football bowl that he insisted on using for all of his meals, and he would sit with his cereal watching his favourite video before we got ready for the day. When it came to teatime, we ate together, and he would be with me in the kitchen so that he could watch me cook. He would sit at the table on the other side, well away from the cooker, and watch as I chopped and stirred. But never one to miss a trick, he often helped himself to food when I wasn’t looking. Once I put down a plate of buttered bread on the table as I finished off cooking the meal, dished up, and when I turned back the bread had all gone, apart from a pile of crumbs – James had eaten the lot! It wasn’t surprising because he’d always had a brilliant appetite and ate whatever was put in front of him; he definitely skipped the fussy eating stage.

  James didn’t actually ever go to nursery, none of my kids did, mainly because I didn’t want to leave them, but that didn’t get in the way of his ability to socialise. James was pretty much at the heart of whatever was going on. He was so excitable and able to see the fun in life, he would give anything a go and loved joining in with his older cousins – he certainly didn’t let his age hold him back and was pretty fearless. While writing this book I obviously had mountains of stuff to sort through and one of the things I found tucked away in a photo album was my application for his primary school place. I have no doubt he would have loved school life, which was another ‘first’ he didn’t get to experience. It is hard to tell at that young age what he might have enjoyed, but I have no doubt that whatever it was would have involved climbing, chocolate, Frosties, being sociable and being fast!

  He absolutely loved being around other kids but was equally happy playing on the front room floor with his cars – like most boys he also liked clambering over furniture. He had his own little stool to encourage him not to climb over the sofa, and eventually Ralph built him his own wooden chair to sit in and watch TV. He loved sitting there; I could tell he felt like a big boy and would be up and down, getting on and off like a yoyo, as he couldn’t sit still for long. He was always up to something, getting every last drop out of every day.

  Chapter 5

  Final Hours

  It’s not often now that I allow my mind to dwell on those final hours with James by my side. In the early days, when I replayed every little detail over and over in my head, I often couldn’t breathe. There was a time when I could recite every last minute – always praying it would end differently. Ultimately, the only way for
me to survive has been to compartmentalise it so that the guilt and anger doesn’t completely swallow me.

  As with so many terrible stories, the day started just like any other with no hint of what was to come. It was Friday, 12th February 1993, a freezing cold winter’s day. James woke up full of beans at the crack of dawn ready for the day ahead. The whole flat sprang into action as soon as he was up – there was never any chance of ‘just five more minutes in bed’ with James around! Right from when he was a baby, we loved our relaxed mornings together and that day was no different. After inspecting his bed and giving him the usual round of applause for not wetting it, we went into the front room so he could watch TV as I got him a bowl of his beloved Frosties. He had his own little table and chair so that he could make as much mess as he wanted because, as with all toddlers, meal times were carnage! I had my breakfast with him but, much as I try, I can’t remember the cartoon he got to watch on his last morning.

  I remember Ralph being at home and, as it was a Friday, I didn’t have any specific plans apart from my list of usual chores. Ralph had agreed to help my brother Paul put together some new furniture, so I hoped he might take James along. I thought James could spend a few hours playing with his cousins and I could nip to the shops and get everything done in half the time without having to bribe a bored toddler. As we were all getting ready I suggested this to Ralph but he said no because he didn’t want James to be around the heavy wardrobe doors and all the tools, screws and dangerous bits. It made sense as James was a real livewire and definitely at the age where he was into everything, so in the end I decided to take James to my mum’s.

  I got myself ready and then washed and dressed James – his outfit is something I’ve had to describe so often that it will be etched on my brain forever: a silvery grey tracksuit with a white stripe down the side, white socks and his white trainers with a black inlay and white laces. Once he was dressed I zipped up his padded blue jacket, which had a hood at the back for extra cosiness. All three of us set off on the short walk to my mum’s – just another unremarkable start to a very ordinary Friday. We arrived to find that Mum had already left to do a bit of shopping with my older sister, Joan, so I settled down to have a cup of tea with my brothers while the kids played. Ralph stayed for a bit and then set off to Paul’s to start the work. As he shut the front door, he shouted back at James, ‘Tara’ – that was the last time Ralph ever saw his son and the final time we were a family of three.