by Paul
‘I love you, April. I’m so sorry this happened. You’re so beautiful and full of life and into everything – a joy to be with.
‘I love you xxx.’
A few days later, Dave picked us up to take us to court. Jazmin and Harley were understandably emotional at the prospect of being separated from us, and it was difficult to say goodbye to them. I had tears in my eyes as I hugged Harley goodbye, but I tried hard not to let him see how upset I was. My mum was there to look after the children but neither of us was able to speak as we left. She just wrapped me into a huge hug and we left it at that.
Coral’s friend Melere had agreed to come to court with us for part of the trial but she’d had to sign a confidentiality agreement to make sure she didn’t tell anyone about any of the forensic evidence. I went with Dave, while Coral and Melere went in Melere’s car.
Dave tried to keep the conversation light on the way to Mold, but I was obviously fairly distracted. We were shown to our accommodation, before Melere drove us to the local pub for a bar meal, as none of us could be bothered to cook. We explained what we could to her about the trial, as we knew what she was going to hear would be shocking and we didn’t want her getting too upset.
That night, Coral dozed off but I couldn’t sleep a wink. I slipped downstairs and watched television for a few hours, before going for a three-mile run. When Coral and Melere got up a few hours later, we were all feeling sick with nerves.
Dave and Hayley picked us up at 10 a.m. as the trial was due to begin at 11 a.m. We dropped Melere off and then Coral and I got out of the car so we could walk to the court steps together for the benefit of the press, who were gathered there. They had been in discussions with the police and had agreed to leave us alone if they were allowed one shot of us walking into the court building. Dave and Hayley hung back a little so they could get Coral and me on our own. Over the next few months, we’d walk past the scrum of photographers many times as we walked into the court, but the blinding light of the flashbulbs never got any less daunting.
We were then taken to our holding room, where we were told the case would be delayed for another hour due to legal argument. The court volunteers made tea and chatted to us. They were very nice people but our minds were on other things. We just wanted to get this over with.
Around 12.30 p.m., we were told Elwen wanted to speak to us, so she was brought to us.
‘I’m afraid the trial is likely to be delayed,’ she said. I assumed she meant a delay of a few hours, a few days at the most.
‘What do you mean?’ I asked.
‘Mark Bridger is now claiming diminished responsibility,’ she explained. ‘He wants to argue that he was not of sound mind when he killed April. This means a psychiatric report will have to be carried out, which will take around four weeks.’
‘Four weeks!’ I echoed. Bridger had killed our little girl, but it felt like he was holding all the cards. Why did he always have the upper hand?
‘Then we’ll want to get our own psychiatric report done,’ Elwen continued. ‘So that will take us to Monday, April 29th.’
We knew not to blame Elwen, but Coral and I were both very angry. We’d spent weeks making plans for this trial and we’d psyched ourselves up to face Bridger and hear his lies first-hand. Now the agony would be prolonged, as he tried everything he could to wriggle out of the mess he’d created for himself.
We were taken into court, where the situation was explained for the benefit of the press, although they weren’t allowed to report on the reasons for the delay as this could affect Bridger’s right to a fair trial. Of course, in our more logical moments, we appreciated how important this was. It would be galling if he got off on a technicality or if he was freed on appeal. However, it was hard not to feel that everything was being done for his benefit and that our rights – not to mention April’s – had been momentarily forgotten.
Once again, we were sat just a few feet from him but he avoided making eye-contact with us, his gaze fixed firmly on the ground. He was such a coward he couldn’t even look at us. I felt far less calm this time, but I knew it wasn’t worth getting emotional or showing him how much he’d got to us. He was so sick he’d probably have enjoyed that.
After the hearing, we returned to our accommodation and packed our bags. It was only then I realised how exhausted I was. The adrenaline had kept me up all night and now I was beginning to crash. I felt flat and empty when we returned home.
‘Coral is very frustrated,’ I wrote in my diary that night. I could barely keep my eyes open but I had to vent my emotions. ‘It’s taken a bit of effort for her to get this far and now we have another eight weeks to get through.
‘I’m very tired and I’m shaking with anger and frustration, too. It took a lot for us to get to where we are and we were hoping to relax when everything came out in court, as we can’t speak about what we know and we desperately want Mark Bridger to go down forever. The strain on Coral and me is so much, it’s like we’re not in control. He is still calling the shots.
‘I love you, April. Dad xxx.’
The next eight weeks passed in a bit of a blur, as once again we found ourselves in limbo. I started to dream about April more and more vividly each night. One night, I dreamed we were down by the river, throwing stones, as we often did. When each stone hit the water with a splash, April would giggle and beg me to throw another one in. I’d just picked up the biggest stone I could find when suddenly I woke up. Startled, I sat up in bed and it took me a few minutes to realise I’d been in a deep sleep. Then reality hit me like a sledgehammer, as it always does. April was gone and we’d never throw stones in the river together again. I spent the rest of the night crying into my pillow, praying I wouldn’t wake Coral. By the time morning came, my eyes were raw.
The delay in the start of the trial meant we had to get on with life as best we could. On the rare occasions we managed to have a fairly normal day, we’d be gripped by guilt that we weren’t constantly thinking of April. One day I went to visit some friends in Aberystwyth for coffee, and I actually found myself laughing, as we joked around, barely mentioning the court case. I knew I needed these days in order to stay sane, but it didn’t make me feel any better about enjoying them.
‘It’s days like this I get this guilty dread,’ I wrote that evening. ‘It’s a sad feeling. I’ve had a normal day but I feel like I’m letting April down by not crying and thinking of her every minute of the day. She is always in my heart, never far from my thoughts.’
To top it all off, those eight weeks brought two important milestones, the first of which was our first wedding anniversary on 13 March. We’d assumed we’d be too caught up in the trial to mark it but now we were at home and we had to face it.
In the end, we didn’t do much, as neither of us had any inclination to celebrate. Coral had a bad headache early in the day but was feeling a little better in the evening, so I encouraged her to go to bingo with Jazmin and some friends while I went for a long walk with the dogs. I spent a lot of time thinking about how much had changed in the year since we’d got married and how excited April had been that her mum and dad had finally become husband and wife. None of us could have predicted the awful turn things would take.
The second event was even harder – April’s sixth birthday, which would have taken place on 4 April. Unlike our wedding anniversary, we couldn’t sit at home and pretend it wasn’t happening. This was April’s day and we had to mark it.
It was Coral’s idea to release pink balloons from the grass outside our house to see how far they would travel. Each of the balloons had a tag on which you could write a message to the person who happened to find it. April would have loved this idea and would have been desperate to see how far her balloon would go.
It was a beautiful spring day, with barely a cloud in the sky. Coral and I spent the whole day blowing up the balloons with the help of friends and family. We’d also made and iced cakes for anyone who wanted to come back to the house afterwards.
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br /> The balloons were released around 6.30 p.m. that evening and it was a spectacular sight. In the end, around 750 people had decided to take part, including almost all of the pupils from April’s school. Coral was quite tearful, but as I squeezed her hand I hoped there were some happy tears as well as sad ones. I couldn’t help but think how April would have squealed with joy had she seen the balloons sailing high above Bryn-y-Gog. The balloons were found in all corners of the UK and one even travelled as far as Germany, where it made the local news. As always, our beautiful daughter was stealing hearts all over the world.
Unsurprisingly there was lots of press interest and the balloons floating off into the sky made for a great photo opportunity. We were approached by one photographer who offered to give us some copies of his pictures free of charge. Coral was so overwhelmed she invited him into the house for a coffee with our family and friends. He didn’t ask a single question about April or attempt to pry any further into our lives, which really helped restore our faith in the media. We’ll always be grateful for the restraint and respect he showed that day.
‘It was a beautiful birthday and a great day,’ I wrote in my diary that evening. ‘It could so easily have been a very sad day but somehow it was turned around into a celebration of our beautiful daughter, who would have been six.
‘Happy birthday April. I love you, beautiful, and miss you so much it hurts. All my love, Dad xxx.’
A few weeks later the search for April was officially called off. It had lasted nearly seven months. Some seventeen separate search teams, including specialised dog handlers, had hunted for April every week since she’d vanished. They’d covered around 60 square kilometres and 300 search sites, over some of the most challenging terrain in the UK. It had become the biggest ever police search in British history – but it still hadn’t led us to April.
Despite this we’d developed a massive respect for the search teams. It had been a long, wet, cold winter but they’d been undeterred by the conditions, braving wind, rain and even snow in a bid to find what was left of our little girl. They’d only stopped during the Christmas period, resuming the search at the start of January. We’d often spot them going in and out of the town, never complaining about the task in hand.
The police had set up a feeding station for them on an industrial estate on the outskirts of Machynlleth, and for months Coral had been quietly making supplies for them. I’d often come home from a walk with the dogs to find her in the kitchen, making a huge plate of sandwiches or baking a chocolate cake. She’d then drive to the feeding station with a friend, where she’d hand over the food. As she’s a fantastic cook and baker, the provisions were always gratefully received. It was our small way of saying thanks to the teams. We knew how desperate they were to find April. Sadly it wasn’t to be.
Now, as the court case approached, we had to think about having a funeral with what scant remains we had. It was something we hoped we wouldn’t have to face, but it was looking like it would be the reality of the situation. We couldn’t make any arrangements until the trial was over, but we started to make tentative plans. We had a meeting with Kath Rodgers, the local vicar, and began to think about what kind of service we’d like. Coral said she wanted to have a white coffin and pink flowers, but I couldn’t dwell on the details. How could we bury part of April when the rest of her was still out there somewhere?
‘It’s very difficult and awkward talking about funerals when we don’t have a conviction or a body,’ I wrote in my diary that evening. ‘Is there no end to our suffering?
‘We’re so tired and so stressed. We don’t know left from right, don’t know which way is which. It’s so confusing. I wonder what will be left of us when this is all done. The strain on me makes me feel sick and tired and Coral cries most of the day. I wonder if people realise what we’re going through and just how tired and sad we are?
‘You get sucked in and lose your way but really, as hard as it is, this is your moment, April, not ours. We have the rest of our lives and you have had yours taken away, so brutally, so cruelly. I feel our suffering is nothing in comparison to yours and I feel guilty for whinging and feeling sorry for myself.
‘I miss you, April. Dad xxx.’
9
The Trial
The journey to Mold the night before the trial started was a quiet one. Melere came along with us and, again, she drove Coral in her car while I travelled with Dave. Coral and I felt sick with nerves. We got to our accommodation in the early evening but neither of us got much sleep. The next morning we felt drained as we walked past the cameras and into the court, where we were led to our seats at the right-hand side of the judge. In the end, the first day was a bit of an anticlimax. There were a few hours of legal argument, before a jury was selected and then it was time to go home. I didn’t sleep any better that night. Coral was unable to settle either and eventually I decided it would be better if I slept on the sofa for a few hours to give her a better chance of some rest. I knew there would be no chance of either of us sleeping while we both tossed and turned relentlessly.
In the early hours I found myself writing in my diary to pass the time. As sunlight began to stream through the windows, I was gripped by a feeling of dread and anticipation. This was the day the prosecution would open their case. The police and the Crown Prosecution Service had tried to prepare us as much as they could for what we were about to hear, but it didn’t stop us worrying about how things would turn out.
What terrified me most was that there was only one person who really knew what happened to April that night and that, of course, was Mark Bridger. I couldn’t help but fear that he held all the cards.
‘We’re all having a bad night’s sleep,’ I wrote. ‘Coral is finding the bed hard and our minds are restless. Melere thinks there might be mice in the house. There is too much to think about. Even Dave and Hayley seem nervous, but I’m glad the trial has started now. Everyone will know what Mark Bridger did and we won’t have to hide and keep quiet. I hope everyone gets the answers to their questions.’
We got to court around 10 a.m. and the jury was sworn in – nine women and three men. It felt strange knowing that the fate of the man who killed our daughter was in the hands of twelve strangers, but we knew we had a good case and we had to put our faith in them. There were so many reporters that there wasn’t enough room in the main courtroom and some had to be sent to extra seats upstairs.
Once again, the morning was filled with legal argument and we had a long lunch before being called back in shortly after 2 p.m. Finally the court was ready for Elwen to open the case for the prosecution. I placed my hand in Coral’s and closed my eyes tightly. I knew what we were about to hear would not be easy and this was only the beginning.
Again, Bridger was just a few feet away from us in the dock. I’d been trying not to look at him but now I couldn’t help myself. He looked a lot less scruffy this time – he’d even put on a shirt and tie for the benefit of the jury. I hoped they wouldn’t be fooled by his act.
Elwen cleared her throat and turned to face the jury. We knew how fierce her reputation was but now we were about to see her in action. We could only hope that her courtroom performance was as awe-inspiring as everyone promised us it would be.
‘It’s the defendant’s case that he admits he drove April away,’ Elwen said, eyeballing Bridger, as a hush fell on the room. We immediately sensed that when this woman spoke people listened.
‘He admits that April is dead,’ she went on. ‘He admits that he killed her or probably killed her.
‘He accepts he must have got rid of her body. He says that he does not know where April’s body is, that he can’t remember.’
She paused for effect, giving Bridger a stern glance. He refused to meet her eye and I hoped the jury could see how pathetic he looked.
‘The prosecution case is this,’ Elwen went on, ‘that Mark Bridger abducted April, that he murdered her and that he went to great lengths to try and cover up what he had done. I
t’s our case that the defendant’s actions – abduction, murder, covering up what he has done – were sexually motivated.
‘He has played, we say, a cruel game in pretending not to know what he has done to her. It’s a game to try and save himself and try to manipulate his way out of full responsibility of what he has done.’
I breathed a sigh of relief, albeit a small one. If anyone could take Bridger down, it was Elwen.
She went on to speak of the evidence found on Bridger’s computer. In the days before April was taken, checks had revealed he’d been obsessively searching for content related to child sex abuse and murder. Some of terms he’d used were ‘nudism five-year-old’ and ‘British schoolgirl raped and murdered’. Coral had already turned white and I asked her if she needed a break.
‘No, I’m staying for all of this,’ she said, resolutely, although she was gripping my hand more tightly than before.
Elwen told the court that Bridger had downloaded images of various child murder victims, including Holly Wells and Jessica Chapman, the schoolgirls from Soham near Cambridge who were murdered by their school caretaker, Ian Huntley, in 2002. It made me want to vomit, but it didn’t end there. Bridger also had cartoons depicting child rape and a folder full of pictures of local girls of all ages on his computer, including April and Jazmin. He’d apparently taken them from Facebook.
‘That bastard,’ I mumbled to myself, my stomach churning. My eyes fixed on him in the dock but he didn’t dare look my way.
Elwen then said that, on the day April disappeared, Bridger’s girlfriend, Vicky Fenner, had finished with him, and he’d sent Facebook messages to three local women.
‘Hadn’t realised you were single, as I am,’ the first read. ‘Do you fancy a drink or a club or even a meal? See how you feel.’
‘Do you fancy a drink and a chat sometime?’ said the second. ‘No strings, OK?’
