April Read online

  ‘I win again, Dad!’ she laughed.

  When I returned home, I took the dogs on a walk up Penrach. Autumn has always been my favourite season and, feeling the light rain on my face as I climbed the hill, I noticed that the leaves had begun to turn a lovely, deep-red colour. I didn’t have much time to spare, as Coral and I had planned to spend the day shopping in Aberystwyth, but I was already looking forward to my next long walk up the hill with April.

  Although it was only the beginning of October, we’d started buying a few Christmas presents for the children in a bid to spread the cost a little. Every parent knows how expensive the festive season can be, especially if you have more than one child to buy for. We’d already bought April some clothes and a selection of her favourite Hello Kitty toys, so we’d decided that today we’d look for a television for Harley. We thought this would be a nice surprise for him, as it would mean he could play his Xbox games in his room. Coral drove to Aberystwyth and we spent a few hours mulling over which model to buy, eventually deciding on one from Currys.

  By the time we’d paid for the television and bundled it into the car, we hadn’t left ourselves much time to get back to Machynlleth for school finishing at 3.20 p.m., so I quickly rang Phil next door and asked if he’d be on standby to fetch April if we weren’t back on time.

  Fortunately we pulled up outside our house just before the bell sounded and Coral and I headed straight to collect April. As I took her to school in the morning, Coral usually picked her up in the afternoons, but for some reason I decided to accompany my wife that day and I was immediately glad I had. April was so eager to learn and when she told us about what she’d been taught her enthusiasm was infectious. We both loved hearing all about her day.

  Looking back, it’s hard to find solace in anything that happened on that awful day, but now it seems unthinkable for neither of us to have been there to greet her as she bounded out of the school gates for the final time. April loved Phil and she wouldn’t have been fazed to find him waiting for her, but it gives Coral and me the smallest crumb of comfort that we made it back in the nick of time to pick her up ourselves.

  At the end of the school day, April’s legs were often tired, meaning even the five-minute walk back to our house would test her. On that fateful Monday afternoon I popped her on my shoulders as I often did and carried her home, unaware it would be the last time I’d do so.

  ‘Your hair needs brushing, Dad,’ she giggled, running her hands through it, as we walked past the school buses and said goodbye to the teachers. ‘It’s all messy. I’ll do it for you tonight.’

  ‘Thanks, sweetheart,’ I laughed. I hadn’t had a haircut in a little while and I was aware it was becoming a little overgrown.

  ‘I’m going to put it in a ponytail!’ she announced. April loved sitting on the couch, brushing my hair. It was just one of the seemingly mundane tasks which could occupy her for hours as she chattered away, although sometimes she’d mischievously hit me on the head with the hairbrush to make sure I was paying attention.

  Sadly April didn’t have much time to do my hair that evening, as we had to get back to the school for her parents’ evening. Coral and I dropped her at a friend’s while we went off to meet her teacher, Mrs Williams.

  Mrs Williams was a kind, experienced teacher who had been at the local school for many years. She was loved by all of the children, including April, but on the short walk back to school Coral and I could never have predicted how many people would get to hear about our meeting with her in the coming days. However, as parents, we were privately very proud of the glowing school report April received.

  Mrs Williams told us that April had settled in very well since moving up from the reception class. Although she could at times be a bit shy when outside the comfort of our happy home environment, she had lots of little friends and, as the weeks went on, she was becoming more confident about raising her hand to answer questions in class. She also said her Welsh was coming on a treat and she was picking up all the new words she was being taught, which naturally made Coral incredibly proud. April loved art lessons and was never happier than when drawing or making something. Before we left, we were shown some of April’s work and we weren’t surprised to find she’d painted various pictures of butterflies, which had always been her favourite creatures.

  We then returned home and Coral collected April for her swimming lesson. She asked if our friend’s daughter could come to the leisure centre with her and Coral agreed. The terrible events which unfolded later that day mean the identity of this little girl is now protected by law, but for the purposes of the story, we’ll call her Amy. Amy was two years older than April but they loved playing on their bikes together on the large patch of grass near the front of our house. As she skipped along the road by April’s side, this unassuming seven-year-old didn’t have a care in the world. In just a few hours, her innocence would be cruelly snatched from her, as she became a key witness in one of the most horrific murder trials our nation has ever witnessed.

  By now, Jazmin was seventeen and had left school to study media at college in Aberystwyth. Coral, April and Amy met her as her bus came back into Machynlleth and they headed to the pool together. While they were there, I did some of the household chores and prepared April’s favourite dinner, spaghetti hoops on toast.

  It was only April’s second ever swimming lesson and she was still unable to swim without armbands, but she loved splashing around in the water. When the girls came home, Amy stayed for dinner and they watched the Disney film Tangled. April had seen the film once before, but that didn’t put her off watching it again. Like lots of young children, when she found a film she liked she’d watch it over and over until she could recite the dialogue off by heart. Her favourite film was the musical Mamma Mia!, which she once watched four times in one day!

  I was amazed when April polished off the entire plate of spaghetti hoops. Although she loved to steal the occasional bite of her mum’s breakfast, her eyes had always been bigger than her stomach and in reality she had a pretty tiny appetite. Getting her to finish her dinner was always a chore and I remember wondering if we’d finally made a breakthrough.

  When evening came round, there was an autumn chill in the air but the drizzle had lifted. Soon April and Amy had grown tired of the television and were itching for fresh air.

  ‘Can we please go outside and play?’ April asked.

  ‘Yes, but make sure you stick together,’ I said.

  April and Amy were only outside for a few minutes when they met up with another girl – we’ll call her Louise. Louise was in April’s class and lived a few hundred yards away. For the next quarter of an hour, the three girls played happily on their bikes together as Coral and I enjoyed a chat with Val, one of our neighbours who had popped round for a visit.

  I can say with complete honesty that neither Coral nor I ever had any concerns about April playing outside. We’d check on her regularly, she always respected her carefully set curfews and she knew she wasn’t allowed to stray from the boundaries of Bryn-y-Gog. The estate is small – nothing more than a few rows of terraced houses – and, in some ways, is like a big family, where everyone sticks together and looks out for each other. Neighbours are always dropping by for a cup of tea and people are genuinely interested in each other’s lives.

  One of the reasons our life here was so idyllic was because it felt so safe. We’d never been attracted to city living as it always seemed too busy and dangerous, especially for young children who deserve the freedom to play with their friends without fear. For decades, scores of children have safely played on Bryn-y-Gog’s streets, running around and chasing each other on bikes, never far from their parents’ sight. There are no main roads and all of the young people are known to their neighbours. Jazmin, Harley and April were always told not to speak to strangers but we naively assumed no one in this tight-knit community could ever do them any wrong. Indeed, before that dreadful October evening, we thought the worst thing that could ha
ppen to any of our children here in the heart of the beautiful Welsh countryside was a grazed knee or a punctured bike tyre.

  April was never far from the back door and it wasn’t long before she and her friends had returned. By now it was just before 7 p.m., and although it wasn’t dark the sun had begun to set. The girls tried to bring their bikes through the house and I immediately stopped them.

  ‘You know the rules, April,’ I said, firmly. ‘Bikes outside, not in the house.’

  She took her bike back outside and went into the kitchen to speak to Coral, where she asked if she could play for a little longer.

  ‘Please, Mum,’ she said. ‘We’ll take Louise home and then we’ll be right back.’

  At the time, allowing April an extra quarter of an hour to play outside seemed so insignificant we barely gave it a second thought. It’s a decision parents all over the country no doubt make every night, rarely with any lasting consequences, and Coral figured April deserved a treat because her school report had been so glowing.

  ‘Fifteen minutes,’ Coral said firmly. ‘But only because you’ve been so good at school.’

  She tenderly zipped up April’s purple padded coat before our precious daughter skipped out of the door with her friends and grabbed her beloved bike. She was so happy and full of life that even now it’s hard to believe it was the last time we’d see her smiling face.

  If only we’d known that in allowing her this small, rare privilege, we had just made the worst decision of our lives.

  Unaware of the horror that was about to unfold, we sipped tea and chatted to Val. Around 7.15 p.m., Coral sent Harley to fetch his little sister.

  ‘It’s getting cold,’ she told him. ‘Go and bring April in before it gets dark.’

  It’s hard to recall exactly how the next ten minutes played out, but one thing we both remember is that we heard Harley before we saw him. His screams were so piercing, so hysterical, that it sounded like he was being tortured. We knew something was terribly wrong and ran to the door to see him racing towards us, gripping the handlebars of April’s beloved bike.

  A huge knot of dread formed in my stomach as it quickly dawned on me there was no sign of April.

  ‘April’s gone!’ Harley wailed, sinking to his knees, in what seemed like slow motion. By now, he was almost hyperventilating. ‘Someone’s taken her!’

  In the months following April’s disappearance, many people have asked us if we immediately realised the seriousness of the situation. It’s true that children can overreact and, statistically, it was highly unlikely that April had been abducted. But from the second I heard Harley’s chilling cries I instinctively knew his screams were justified. One look at Coral, whose face had instantly turned ashen, told me she felt the same.

  ‘Oh, God!’ Coral cried, eyeing the bike Harley had brought home. ‘Someone’s got her! Paul, she’d never leave her bike!’

  April’s new pink bike was, indeed, her pride and joy. She never went out to play without it and we both knew her well enough to appreciate that she’d never abandon it on the street.

  Neither of us can remember much about what was said in the seconds that followed, but between sobs Harley managed to tell us that he’d gone to find April when he discovered Amy standing alone and confused on the corner of the street. April’s bike was propped up against a garage door across from Louise’s house. Amy explained to Harley that April had just got into what Amy thought was a grey car. She told Harley there was a man inside and he’d driven off.

  There was no time to waste; we had to phone the police.

  Coral recalls:

  My hands were shaking as I grabbed the phone. A thousand thoughts should have been racing through my mind but all I could think was that time was not on our side. There are few things more powerful than a mother’s instinct and mine told me April was in very real danger.

  I could barely breathe as I dialled the number and the operator answered. I knew it was vital to give the police as much information as I could as soon as possible, but every second on the phone was a second spent not looking for April.

  ‘Police emergency?’ the voice on the other end said.

  I could barely get the words out but somehow I managed to speak.

  ‘Bryn-y-Gog,’ I choked. ‘Please, my daughter’s been kidnapped from Bryn-y-Gog.’

  ‘Hang on a second,’ said the operator. ‘Tell me again, what did you say, your dog has been kidnapped?’

  I felt like I might burst with frustration, but I knew I had to keep calm for April’s sake. The signal wasn’t the best and I had to make sure the operator understood everything I said. I was vaguely aware of the fact I kept repeating our address over and over, almost as if this would spur someone into action.

  ‘My daughter was out playing with a friend and she’s been kidnapped,’ I replied. By this point, I was almost hyperventilating.

  ‘You’ve been kidnapped?’ said the operator.

  ‘No!’ I wailed. ‘My daughter! She’s five years old.’ I was conscious that I was on the verge of hysteria and I didn’t know how much longer I could bear to stay on the line.

  ‘Right, bear with me,’ the operator said. ‘It’s not a very good signal. Are you able to stay still for a moment?’

  But in that second, I knew I couldn’t stay rooted to the spot any longer. Every minute was precious and there was only one thing I could focus on: finding April. The operator was doing her job as best she could, but at that point it almost seemed irrelevant how long it took the police to arrive. April was my baby. If I couldn’t find her, who could?

  ‘No, I’ve got to go!’ I cried, and turned to Val. ‘Hang on, can you speak to them please?’

  I almost threw the phone in my friend’s direction as I sprinted to the door. Paul was pacing up and down the living room and Val was trying her best to keep calm for both of us – although the look in her eyes betrayed the fact she shared our worst fears.

  ‘Hello there, right, can you tell me where you are and exactly what happened?’ the operator asked her.

  ‘21 Bryn-y-Gog,’ Val said.

  ‘21 Bryn-y-Gog. Where is that?’

  ‘In Machynlleth.’

  ‘In Machynlleth, sorry, I beg your pardon. Right, what makes you think the daughter has been kidnapped?’

  In the chaos of the last few minutes, Val suddenly realised how little we knew about what was supposed to have happened.

  ‘What happened, Paul?’ she said.

  ‘She’s gone off in a car with somebody,’ Paul replied, trying desperately not to lose control of his emotions.

  ‘She’s gone off in a car with somebody,’ Val repeated. ‘Somebody’s picked her up in a car or something.’

  ‘What is the name of the child who’s gone missing?’ the operator asked her.

  ‘April Jones,’ Val answered.

  ‘April, how old is she?’

  ‘Five.’

  ‘Are you able to describe what she’s wearing?’

  Luckily Val had seen April when she returned home briefly and was able to describe her outfit in detail.

  ‘She had a white T-shirt,’ she replied. ‘Black trousers and a purple coat.’

  ‘They haven’t got details of the car at all have they?’ asked the operator.

  At that stage, we didn’t know much about the car or the driver. All we had to go on was Amy’s description which, amidst the chaos, had been tearfully relayed to us by Harley.

  ‘It’s a big grey car with a man driving,’ Val said.

  ‘Bear with me, stay on the line for me,’ the operator said. By now, I was in the middle of the street, in a state of panic. Neighbours heard the commotion and were gathering in their dozens around the front door, desperate to calm me down and see what they could do to help.

  ‘Everybody’s just scattered everywhere to go and look now,’ Val said.

  ‘Officers are on their way,’ replied the operator.

  I began running round the houses, screaming hysterically. I even l
ooked in the bins, just in case April was playing one of her games and hiding from us.

  I hazily remember phoning Jazmin, who was at a youth club, and telling her she needed to come home straight away. While I begged people for information, Paul found Amy and her mum. Between them, they managed to get some information from Amy, who said they’d gone to Louise’s, but Louise’s dad had told them they couldn’t come in as the family was having dinner. A few seconds later, the man had approached them and April had been taken away in what Amy thought was not a car, but a grey van. But there were no vans parked on the estate and we had no more clues as to what had happened.

  I have a vague recollection of the first police officer arriving at our house, less than ten minutes after I’d called 999, a kind and calming woman who obviously quickly realised she was dealing with a very serious situation. But I was in such a state of alarm I can’t remember anything she said to us.

  As soon as you become a mum you feel the most basic need to protect your children. Most parents will understand how terrifying it is to lose sight of your child for a second in a crowded shopping centre, or to see him or her running towards a busy road. But nothing can compare to the horror of having no idea where your child is, or whom they are with. With every second of every minute that ticked by, the terror inside me grew. The pain was indescribable – I felt so consumed by grief and fear that I was sure I would collapse at any moment. The only thing that kept me upright was knowing I had to be reunited with my little girl.

  Within fifteen minutes, word of April’s disappearance had spread all over Bryn-y-Gog and beyond and volunteers were already congregating on the grass outside our house, combing every corner of the estate and banging on doors begging for information. At that moment in time, I wasn’t aware of just how hard all of our friends and neighbours were trying to help find our daughter, but as well as helping with the physical search, they were also furiously uploading April’s picture to social media sites, aware that time was very much of the essence. Over the next few months, this amazing sense of community would help sustain Paul and me in our darkest hours.