April Read online

  But when I laid eyes on April for the first time since I’d been parted from her when she was just hours old, my first feeling was one of panic. At 3lb 12oz, she was even smaller than she’d been when she was born. Although the doctors told us that this was normal, as many babies drop in size after birth, she looked so small she’d fit in the palm of my hand.

  In fact, over the next few days, I was so scared of harming her I shied away from picking her up. Instead I simply stood over my tiny daughter’s incubator and watched her sleep. Tears welled in my eyes and I felt a mixture of pride and anxiety. We’d nearly lost her so many times, yet each time she’d clung tightly to life, refusing to let go. She was a born fighter.

  A few days later we were thrilled when the doctors agreed to let us take April home. As Harley had also been premature, they were confident we’d be able to look after her without assistance. Although I was looking forward to settling into family life, I was also painfully aware of how vulnerable April seemed. She was so small we had to order special tiny nappies for her and a few times I caught myself gazing at her in awe, wondering how someone so little could withstand so much.

  I picked Coral and April up at the hospital in Coral’s car, but my failing eyesight meant I had to concentrate hard on the drive home. Still a thousand thoughts were racing through my mind and I prayed we’d be able to give April the care she needed. It wasn’t until we were in the confines of our new home that I found the courage to pick up my tiny daughter and give her the first of many cuddles we’d share.

  Holding her little body in my arms, my heart swelled with pride. In that moment I was sure that the strength of my love for my beautiful baby girl would be enough to protect her from any harm she encountered. I was blissfully unaware of how wrong I was.

  2

  An Idyllic Childhood

  Almost instantly it was impossible for Coral and me to imagine our little home without April in it. While we’d been a happy family of four before she made her grand entrance into the world, we both felt her arrival had completed us. We were the perfect little unit and, far from being jealous of the attention their little sister commanded, Jazmin and Harley surprised us with how much they doted on their younger sibling, always keen to hold and cuddle her. She was so tiny we had to bathe her in one of Coral’s mixing bowls, but Jazmin and Harley loved lending a hand.

  But April’s first year was not without its problems and we were both fiercely protective of our daughter because of the struggles she’d already faced. Coral was determined to breastfeed but her mother’s instinct told her something wasn’t right, as April would regularly drop off to sleep in the middle of a feed. Although she was aware that all children are different, this worried Coral. Jazmin and Harley hadn’t been so easily worn out and she couldn’t understand why April always seemed so tired.

  Thankfully April was already being closely monitored and, when we received a visit from the midwife a few weeks later, she arranged for her to be seen by a heart specialist. We then made the two and a half hour journey to Alder Hey Children’s Hospital in Liverpool, where April was examined.

  She underwent various tests and scans and doctors soon explained she’d been born with a hole in her heart. Like most parents, Coral and I didn’t have much medical knowledge and were naturally terrified to hear that April had a heart condition and may need an operation.

  However, the doctors explained that her condition might not be as serious as we feared, and that there was every chance the problem would correct itself over the next year. Still, April’s first year passed in a blur of tests and hospital appointments and her health problems were always foremost in our minds. There was no other treatment that could be prescribed for the problem, so we simply had to wait and hope for the best. Any parent who has been in a similar position will testify as to just how frustrating this can be.

  Despite this, April was growing into a bright, beautiful girl and our love for her grew with every day that passed. Blissfully unaware of the battles she faced, she was remarkably contented, with huge brown eyes and a smile that could melt the hardest heart.

  She began to meet her milestones and was soon trying to join in our conversations. But, unlike most babies, her first word wasn’t ‘mum’ or ‘dad’ – Jazmin was thrilled when, instead, she chose to say her sister’s name first.

  Then, shortly before her first birthday, we were given the good news we were longing for – the hole in her heart had repaired itself naturally, just as the doctors had predicted. The thought of our baby going through major heart surgery was unbearable and it was a massive relief to be told it wasn’t necessary for her to have an operation.

  We celebrated with a huge party, complete with balloons, toys and party games. Coral had always made a huge fuss of the children on their birthdays and Christmas, but this time she really went all out. Family and friends filled the house and Coral’s mum, Sue, made the long journey down from Holyhead. My mum and stepdad, Dai, had given up their hardware shop a few years previously, opting to spend their retirement in the seaside town of New Quay on Cardigan Bay. They now also lived over an hour away by car, but they doted on the children and visited regularly. They wouldn’t have missed April’s big day for the world.

  We’d decided to buy April a rocking horse, but throughout the day our guests added more and more presents to her pile, until there were almost enough new toys and clothes to fill an entire room. Even now, it’s hard to look at our favourite photograph of April from that day. Sat at the table in front of her Disney cake, with tufts of curly black hair and a huge smile, she is the picture of innocence and happiness.

  As her health improved, she really came into her own. She became a real live wire and she’d climb everywhere – we couldn’t take our eyes off her for a second for fear she’d fall and hurt herself, as nothing seemed to scare her. As she grew older and more mobile she began to cause even more mischief – with a little help from Harley, who became her partner in crime. Our hearts would be in our mouths as we’d find them sliding headfirst down the stairs in sleeping bags!

  Harley and April also shared a love of the wrestling events which occasionally came to our local community centre. When they heard that one was imminent, they’d look forward to it for weeks, then spend hours afterwards attempting to copy the wrestlers’ moves. I’d often be doing my daily press-ups in the living room and, before I knew it, one of them would be jumping from the couch onto my back in a bid to recreate one of the stunts they’d seen. One day, we’d only taken our eyes off April for a second when she managed to clamber up onto a kitchen work surface and knock out half of a baby tooth. This was how she earned the nickname we’d affectionately know her by for the rest of her short life – diafol, which means ‘little devil’ in Welsh.

  As much as April could be boisterous, she was also incredibly sweet-natured. By this point, she’d moved from Harley’s room into Jazmin’s, and Jazz would often wake in the morning to find her little sister had climbed into her bed for a cuddle, accompanied by several of her favourite teddies. She also doted on our two springer spaniels, Autumn and Storm. She was like Coral’s little shadow and copied everything her mum did – it wasn’t unusual to see her following Coral around with her own little duster while she did the housework, or dipping her hands in the cake mixture as they baked together.

  She could also spend hours sitting on our back doorstep, singing little songs she’d made up, usually about rainbows and butterflies, a delightful mesh of English and Welsh words. The neighbours adored her, particularly our good friends Phil and Eirwen who lived next door. They were thrilled when April learned to climb over the small fence which separated our gardens and boldly walked straight into their kitchen. From then on, she’d regularly pop in to see them, armed with a bunch of Eirwen’s favourite flowers, sweet peas. When Eirwen passed away in 2010, April felt it keenly. By this point my eyesight had deteriorated so much that I was registered as partially sighted, meaning I was no longer able to work or drive. I’d alway
s led an active, full life and valued my independence, so it was a bitter blow. Coral’s numerous health problems meant she too had been unable to take a job for several years and, with three young children to support, money became tighter than ever.

  While we didn’t have a fancy house, or expensive foreign holidays, there was so much love and laughter in our home that we never felt like we were missing out. With a young family to attend to, our days were far from empty and it was nice to have the time to watch them develop. I quickly found pleasure in the simplest of things and putting April to bed soon became my favourite part of the day. My failing eyes meant I struggled to read her bedtime stories from traditional children’s books, so I made up my own. April would squeal with delight as I told her that magical creatures visited her every night while she slept. I insisted that her freckles were kisses from fairies and, if she found a knot in her hair, it was because pixies had been dancing on her head. When she’d finally drift off to sleep, surrounded by teddies, I’d kiss her tenderly on the head and creep back downstairs, so as not to wake her. I treasured our goodnights so much that I dreaded the day she’d become too old to be tucked in by her dad. As I watched my little girl fall into a peaceful sleep, night after night, I had no idea that day would never come.

  Sometimes we’d scrape together enough money to take the children on a weekend away, and our trips to the South Wales coast remain some of our favourite memories. Coral and I will also always remember taking April to Drayton Manor theme park in the Midlands when she was a toddler. She was too young to go on any of the rides, but she managed to win a massive dolphin teddy, which was bigger than her. She was so pleased with her prize that Dolphin, as he was simply named, took pride of place in her bed for the rest of her short life.

  Shortly after April turned three, we began to notice that she was a little clumsy, often tripping over her little feet. It seemed to affect her more when she was tired, but we were concerned nonetheless, and took her to our GP. After an initial consultation, she was examined by several doctors and a physiotherapist. A diagnosis of mild cerebral palsy was eventually confirmed. We were told this was fairly common in children who have been born prematurely.

  April was such a sociable, happy little girl that Coral and I immediately vowed to do everything to ensure her diagnosis wouldn’t hold her back. I’d take her for regular walks up our favourite hill, Penrach, which sits on the north side of Machynlleth. When she couldn’t walk any further I’d pop her on my shoulders and take her to the top. Penrach is a fairly small hill – most of the larger summits would have been too punishing for her, even with my help, but we could still see the whole town stretched out below us as we sat on our favourite white rocks eating oranges and bananas, while I taught her the names of all of the different plants and animals. Bringing up children in such idyllic countryside was a joy and, afterwards, I’d help her pick flowers for Coral before she’d beg me to let her run down a steep grassy verge near the bottom of the hill, as she’d seen Harley do many times.

  ‘Can I try it, Dad?’ she’d say. ‘Please? I’ll be really careful.’

  I’d always chuckle and tell her I’d allow her to try it when she was older, knowing her little legs couldn’t yet support her. April was determined that she’d one day be strong enough to chase her brother down the hill. The cruel reality, of course, is that she’d never get the chance to try.

  Although she could walk for short distances, she suffered from agonising pains on the left side of her body if she pushed herself too far, meaning we still had to use her buggy when she got tired. Sometimes this attracted the odd disapproving glance or snide comment from an ignorant stranger who didn’t realise she had a medical condition but, thankfully, April was too young to take any notice. She rarely complained, but at times the pain was so great the thought of climbing the stairs was too much for her, and she’d sit on the bottom step and sob. However, Harley and Jazmin were always on hand to carry their sister to her room.

  Despite her problems, April craved the independence her little friends on the estate enjoyed. That’s why I couldn’t resist buying her a small pink bike when I spied it at a local market shortly after she was diagnosed. It was a simple gift, but you’d have thought I’d handed her the world. I spent hours teaching her how to ride it on the grass outside our house. Her cerebral palsy meant it took her a while to get to grips with it but, after many hours of coaching, she eventually managed to ride it without stabilisers. Soon she pleaded with me to be allowed to cycle to the end of the street. I was apprehensive, and followed closely behind the whole way in case she fell, but I was filled with pride when she managed to get to the last house without any problems.

  From then on, you’d rarely see April without her bike. As she couldn’t walk far, it gave her a huge sense of freedom, even though she never ventured further than a few hundred yards from the back door. She was thrilled when we bought her a bigger model for her fifth birthday. It too, like most of April’s possessions, was pink, which had always been her favourite colour. But her old bike came with such fond memories that neither Coral nor I could face giving it away and it remains with us to this day.

  When April was four, she was fitted for a special Lycra suit designed for cerebral palsy sufferers, which doctors hoped would help improve her muscle tone and posture. She was one of the first children in the area to try this treatment, and in a way she was a bit of a guinea pig. When she was being measured for the suit by the manufacturer, she giggled incessantly, telling us that the tape measure was ‘tickly’. The manufacturer told us it was a welcome relief, as most children cried the whole way through the process. Of course, we had the suit made in pink and, heavy as it was, she never seemed too upset about having to wear it. We soon noticed a difference, as her balance improved and she became less clumsy.

  When it came time for April to start school, Coral and I decided to enrol her in a Welsh-speaking class. Coral has always been extremely patriotic and had already taught April some Welsh words, which frequently made their way into the songs she improvised in the back garden. Her health problems meant we were a bit nervous about how she’d cope with the long school day, but the minute she stepped into her reception class, our fears melted away. April adored school, and when we picked her up at the end of the day she couldn’t wait to show us the pictures she’d painted or teach me the new Welsh words she’d learned.

  It was around this time that Coral and I made the rather spontaneous decision to get married. Neither of us had ever doubted the other’s commitment, but we’d simply never found the time or the money for a wedding. We got engaged quietly at the beginning of 2012. There was no grand proposal, or sparkling engagement ring – we just mutually decided that the time was right. We booked the local registry office for 13 March that year. We thought this was fitting, as it was the twelfth anniversary of our first date. We spent all of our meagre savings on wedding rings and decided that our only guests would be the children. We didn’t tell them what we were planning until the morning of the wedding and April shrieked with joy when she was told she’d have another chance to wear the bridesmaid’s dress she’d worn at my brother Fil’s wedding, two years previously.

  The ceremony itself was basic – our witnesses were two members of staff we’d just met in the corridor – but we couldn’t have been happier. I’d borrowed some money from my mum so we could have a family meal in the pub afterwards, telling her I was taking Coral out as an anniversary treat. When I phoned her later that evening to tell her we’d got married it took me almost half an hour to persuade her I was telling the truth!

  As I put April to bed that evening, she seemed more contented than she’d ever been.

  ‘I’m so glad we’re a family now, Dad,’ she said. Surrounded by her teddies, her arms around Dolphin, she was struggling to keep her big brown eyes open.

  ‘We’ve always been a family, sweetheart,’ I laughed.

  ‘No, but now we all have the same name,’ she replied. ‘Mum is a Jones, too. W
e’re a proper family.’

  3

  1 October 2012

  Monday 1 October 2012 began as an unremarkable day. As usual I awoke before anyone else in the house to attend to Autumn and Storm. I let them out about 6.45 a.m. and the weather was overcast with a slight drizzle. I made myself some coffee and soon it was time to wake April and Harley up for school.

  I always got April up shortly before 8 a.m. As usual, she was sleeping peacefully surrounded by her teddies. I gently coaxed her awake and, after a few seconds, she opened her eyes and greeted me with a huge smile and a cuddle.

  ‘Morning, honey,’ I said. I then took her through to Coral, so she could get her ready for the day ahead. We’d told April that if she wore her special cerebral palsy suit to school, she could take it off when she went out to play in the evenings and she happily accepted this compromise.

  While Coral got April washed and dressed and applied the cream used to treat her eczema, it was my job to prepare the breakfast. I made them both a bowl of Ready Brek, with a glass of juice for April and a coffee for Coral. Coral can’t abide strong coffee and likes hers to be made in a very specific way – only a quarter of a teaspoon of coffee powder, with three sugars and lots of milk. This meant April liked to steal her mum’s cup in the morning and this day was no different. After gulping down half of the sugary coffee, she ate a few mouthfuls of her mum’s Ready Brek, too.

  ‘Make sure you leave some for Mum, April,’ I said. She simply turned round and gave me a massive cheeky smile, looking like the cat who’d got the cream.

  I always did the school run in the morning to allow Coral to get things in order for the day ahead. The school, Ysgol Gynradd Machynlleth, is just a five-minute walk from Bryn-y-Gog and Harley was now old enough to walk with his friends, but April was still too young to make the journey herself. Most days she liked to race me to the gate at the bottom of the garden and that morning was no different. Of course, I deliberately slowed down and she squealed with delight when she beat me.