The Evil Within: Murdered by her stepbrother – the crime that shocked a nation. The heartbreaking story of Becky Watts by her father
Darren Galsworthy
Previously published as Becky, this is the heartbreaking story behind the murder of 16-year-old Bristol schoolgirl Becky Watts, a crime that shocked the nation and tore a family in two.A vulnerable and shy girl, Becky Watts was brutally murdered and dismembered by her own step-brother on 19 February 2015. As her father Darren discovered the horrific details of what happened to his darling girl, his world fell apart.Writing about the darkest hours, Darren uncovers what Becky’s relationship with her step-brother Nathan, a child he had raised as his own son, was really like. He recalls the devastation of discovering the truth about the depravity with which Becky was torn from him in the safety of her own home. And he recounts the torment of the legal battle to see his step-son sentenced to life behind bars.Both heartfelt and haunting, searingly honest and unflinching, this is the ultimate story of a family tragedy.
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First published as Becky by HarperElement 2016
FIRST EDITION
© Darren Galsworthy 2016
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Source ISBN: 9780008179618
Ebook Edition © March 2016 ISBN: 9780008179625
Version: 2018-09-13
Dedication (#ub2c27f71-42a2-5555-b29e-03e7aad039b2)
For my beautiful Bex
Contents
Cover (#udd91fec7-ab95-5c8e-bdc8-af2f61c1fb04)
Title Page (#ulink_0065a791-36a7-5d46-9999-3dff5d9d9ec1)
Copyright (#ulink_8e19b563-0429-5f22-9ce5-25a41d94b122)
Dedication (#ulink_3b08b134-74ff-5c5a-96b5-36ab19541b28)
Foreword (#ulink_6f35cadd-3aee-528e-b901-0a40feb29843)
1. Becky (#ulink_77ebfa1a-2b89-5a53-9de2-efe82de79a97)
2. The fight (#ulink_b1066a52-fa38-58d7-831c-a9fd1d633266)
3. Happy families (#ulink_5aae2726-c787-5a5e-a786-ccfb0d7f4ffd)
4. My boy (#ulink_04c4ad08-e725-5195-8170-d1f1816aabf7)
5. Becky’s teenage years (#ulink_86075946-f6be-5b59-b20c-85d34ae61cfc)
6. Shauna (#litres_trial_promo)
7. The day that changed our lives (#litres_trial_promo)
8. The search (#litres_trial_promo)
9. The arrests (#litres_trial_promo)
10. Saying goodbye (#litres_trial_promo)
11. The funeral (#litres_trial_promo)
12. Limbo (#litres_trial_promo)
13. The trial begins (#litres_trial_promo)
14. The trial continues (#litres_trial_promo)
15. Verdict and sentencing (#litres_trial_promo)
16. Aftermath (#litres_trial_promo)
Afterword by Anjie Galsworthy (#litres_trial_promo)
Picture Section (#litres_trial_promo)
Acknowledgements (#litres_trial_promo)
Moving Memoirs eNewsletter (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
Foreword (#ub2c27f71-42a2-5555-b29e-03e7aad039b2)
I’ve always enjoyed the outdoors. When I was growing up, my father would teach me all about the wonders of nature, and there was nothing I enjoyed more than pulling on my wellies and running outside to explore. To me, it was the only place where you could be free and let your imagination run wild. An open clearing would become a kingdom, a wooded area would turn into a secret, magical garden. A large tree would become my castle for the day. When I had children of my own, I taught them that their imagination was limitless. As they grew up to love the outdoors too, I rediscovered it through their eyes. For me, that was part of the magic of having children.
I still love taking long walks, but these days I tend to be alone. It gives me a good opportunity to think and to set the world to rights. I never feel completely alone anyway – everywhere I look I can see memories of my daughter Becky, from when she was a toddler, clutching her microscope to examine the bugs on the leaves, to when she was a teenager, examining her nail polish as we walked together, talking about her hopes and dreams.
Becky was at the beginning of adulthood when she was cruelly taken from us. She was just starting to figure out who she was, and who she wanted to be in the future. She was growing into a beautiful young woman, with a wicked sense of style and an attitude to match.
These days, I take a long walk whenever I want to feel her presence around me again. I often stroll slowly along the familiar winding lanes and sit down by the edge of a pond, enjoying the film reel of memories as they play out in my head. It’s there that I usually have one of my many one-sided conversations with Becky.
‘Hello, Bex. I hope you’re happy and safe, wherever you are. I hope you’re with my nan and she’s showing you all the love she showed me when I was your age. I wish you were with me so much. I miss everything about you – your laugh, your sense of humour, even the way you would make fun of me all day long.
‘I miss trying to embarrass you with my “dad dancing”. I even miss the practical jokes you used to play on me – like the time you waited until I fell asleep on the couch and then you painted me with as much make-up as you could find. I wondered why the man at the door was looking at me so strangely when I greeted him, but when I heard you giggling from your room I knew instantly that you had something to do with it. I was horrified when I looked in the mirror and saw my red lips and bright blue eyelids – but you thought it was hilarious, and the sound of your laughter was enough to make everyone smile.
‘I miss having fun with you when you were a little girl, scrunching up my face into all sorts of shapes just to make you collapse into giggles, baking cupcakes with you in the kitchen, and reading to you in bed. My favourite part of the day was always watching you fall asleep then kissing you goodnight.
‘Bex, I even miss the rows we used to have. We were so alike, we used to rub each other up the wrong way, but we’d always end up rolling around with laughter. I miss the way you used to hurl yourself at me when you came in, winding me in the process. I miss you pulling my right arm around you and cuddling in. You could stay like that for hours, and I used to thank my lucky stars that you still wanted to do that, even when you were a teenager.
‘Not an hour goes by that I don’t think about you, Bex. From the moment I open my eyes to the moment I rest my head on my pillow at night, I see you. I see you in your room on your phone, I see you messing about with your friends at the front gate, I see you in our living room, cuddled up watching a film – you are everywhere. In a way, I’m glad because I don’t ever want to forget anything about you.
‘I try very hard not to think of the way you were taken from us, but it’s difficult. All I ever wanted to do was protect you, and I’ve tortured myself that I wasn’t there for you on that fateful day.
‘I loved you so much, Becky – and you knew it too. You knew how to wind me around your little finger. I couldn’t even tell you off for being naughty without telling you that I loved you first. I didn’t want you to have any doubt about how loved you were. You are still loved so much – not just by me, but by your friends and the whole family. Now that you’re gone there is a huge hole in our hearts.
‘I try not to focus on our loss; instead I think about all the amazing memories we made together. I used to worry about you not making friends easily, but now I’m actually grateful that you didn’t, because I became both your dad and your friend, and I will always treasure the time we spent together.
‘So for now, until we meet again, my princess, I just close my eyes and imagine you running around with your brown hair – which always shimmered red when the sun caught it – a big smile on your face and a lot of love in your heart. Your laughter could cheer me up even on a dark day. And one day, I know I’m going to hear that laughter again. Lots of love, Dad x’
Chapter 1
Becky (#ub2c27f71-42a2-5555-b29e-03e7aad039b2)
MONDAY, 23 FEBRUARY 2015
Appeal over missing schoolgirl: Concern is mounting over the disappearance of Bristol schoolgirl Becky Watts. The 16-year-old was last seen by her stepmother, Anjie Galsworthy, four days ago after she returned to her home at Crown Hill, St George’s, following a night at a friend’s house. Mrs Galsworthy says she saw Becky at around 11.15 a.m. on Thursday and chatted with her before heading out. Becky’s family and friends are growing increasingly worried as her disappearance is out of character. Her boyfriend Luke had been expecting to see her that day, but she didn’t respond to his texts. Becky’s mobile phone and laptop are missing too, but it appears she took no cash, clothes, makeup or anything else that might suggest she was going away for any length of time. Today, her father, Darren Galsworthy, and grandmother, Pat Watts, made a heartfelt public appeal for her return. Mr Galsworthy said: ‘Becky, we just want you to come home. You’re in no trouble at all – we just want to make sure you are OK. If you can, please give us a call or a text to let us know you are safe. We all love you and want you back home with us.’ Police are working with the family. They’ve released a photo and description of the missing girl and a social media campaign is under way, with the hashtag #FindBecky.
The first time I peered down at my baby daughter Becky, my heart melted. She was a proper bundle of joy and cute as a button. As she gazed up at me from her cot, blinking rapidly to try to take in her new surroundings, I couldn’t help but fall for her. At 6 pounds 12 ounces she was tiny, but I soon discovered that she had a good set of lungs for a newborn and could silence a whole room with her cries.
I adored Becky from that first moment, even though my feelings were tinged with uncertainty because I wasn’t sure if she was really my child. Her mother and I had been in an on–off relationship that was veering towards ‘off’ at the time she was conceived. But as Becky grew up, she became more and more like her old man – so much so that it startled both of us at times. Her big hazel eyes were the same as mine, and as she got older she developed a lot of my mannerisms. The only difference between us was the fact that she was far better looking! I called her ‘my beautiful Bex’ because, to me, Becky really was beautiful – inside and out.
I was born and bred in Bristol and have lived here all my life. Some parts of the city aren’t pretty, as I well know because I’ve made my home in some of the roughest bits, but in Bristol I have a strong sense of belonging. Bristol folk are some of the kindest, most genuine and supportive people you will ever meet, and I am proud of the city’s brilliant community spirit. I simply can’t imagine living anywhere else.
I was the first child in my family, born on New Year’s Eve 1963, when the Beatles were at number one with ‘I Want to Hold Your Hand’. I waited until 11 p.m. to make an appearance, so my parents, John and Sue Galsworthy, were staring down at my scrunched-up face as the clock struck midnight and everyone else across the country was welcoming in the New Year.
The next day, they brought me back from Southmead Hospital to their two-bedroom terraced house in Easton, Bristol. At that time Easton was one of the most deprived areas in the South West and it was multicultural, which was quite rare in those days. My family were among the only white people on our estate. Life in the 1960s in Bristol was quite tough for working-class people like us, and we had to struggle to make ends meet. My dad worked long hours as a machinist for a nuclear and defence engineering company, and my mum worked in a leather factory then later became an auxiliary nurse at an old people’s home.
My little brother Lee was born on 15 August 1966, when I was two and a half. We shared a room and at first I quite enjoyed having a younger brother, but as he grew older he became a bit gobby, always getting himself into trouble with the other kids on our estate. Because I was the older one, I had to jump in to protect him, and I eventually got a reputation for enjoying a fight – all thanks to Lee!
The 1970s was the decade of strikes, which led to power cuts and huge piles of rat-infested rubbish on the streets because the bin men weren’t collecting it any more. The economy was prone to inflation – it seemed as if every single time you went to the shops, prices had gone up. This led to workers demanding higher wages, which the government didn’t want to pay, and as a result the unions started to call for all-out strikes. Three-day working weeks were introduced as businesses were only allowed to use electricity for three consecutive days each week, while there were regular power cuts for home users. This meant that the inside of our house was as freezing cold as the outside during the winter months – we had ice on the inside of the windows. I was taught to bake bread at school because the bakers were on strike, like everyone else, and I got in the habit of nicking coal whenever I spotted it just so we could light the fire at night to keep warm. Huddled together by candlelight in the evenings, Lee and I thought it was great fun – but, of course, we were young and didn’t have any responsibilities. I imagine it was quite different for our parents, who had two kids to feed and keep warm.
My dad was the head of our household and extremely strict, as many fathers were back then. It wasn’t uncommon to receive a beating with his belt if we were naughty. Sometimes if my brother was bad I’d be punished too, and vice versa, which didn’t seem fair. Teachers were also allowed to beat pupils in those days. We were often hit with a bat, like a wooden paddle, in primary school, and when we got to secondary school a cane was used. I was quite an emotional kid, and it didn’t take much to make me cry. When the teacher asked me if I wanted a telling off or the bat, I always chose the bat because I was used to getting beatings at home and knew I could take them. Strange as it may sound, to me words hurt more.
My mother wasn’t the most maternal person and never stood up for my brother or me. She worked morning or evening shifts at the leather factory, and we would often come home from school to find her passed out on the sofa after drinking gin during the afternoon. I didn’t realise she was an alcoholic until much later. I didn’t really know what that was then, but I knew it was useless trying to get any sense out of her when she’d been drinking. Since she wasn’t capable of making dinner, I learned to make food for Lee and me from an early age. At first it was just sandwiches I made from the food parcels donated to poor families by people at the local church. Later, I learned to make simple meals like egg and chips or sausage and chips, and I often made dinner for my father too. He was always in a better mood if there was food on the table ready for him when he returned home from work.
Money was incredibly scarce for our family. We didn’t have a fridge – just a wooden cupboard in the back garden where we kept our milk. We were lucky enough to have a black-and-white television, but in those days there were only two channels and it took five minutes to warm up after you switched it on. Lee and I didn’t have any toys but we made our own entertainment, playing in rubbish dumps and skips and hanging out with other kids around the estate. We never received any presents at Christmas from our parents – they didn’t celebrate Christmas at all – but we knew that when we went to visit May, our grandmother on my mum’s side, we would get spoilt.
Nan always had time for her grandkids and would be sure to feed us up because she knew we weren’t getting enough to eat at home. I loved her dearly, and some of my best childhood memories involve her. On Tuesdays and Thursdays she picked us up to take us into town on the bus and she always had a bar of chocolate for us to share. When I was eight, she gave me the best present ever: my first proper bike. It was a bronze-coloured Panther bike, which was second-hand but still the best thing I’d ever seen. For years, Nan was the only source of love and affection Lee and I had, what with Mum’s drinking and Dad’s temper dominating life at home. I don’t want this to sound like a sob story because others had it much tougher than me, but let’s just say it wasn’t the most comfortable, stable start in life.
My parents split up when I was nineteen, and my dad then married Denise in September 1985. Through Denise I instantly gained two stepbrothers – Kevin, who was three, and Ben, who was one. My father and Denise went on to have four children together – Sarah, Sam, Joe and Asa. I bonded with them pretty quickly, and to this day they remain among my closest friends. Dad mellowed with age and became a much gentler man than the one I had grown up with, so that today we have a good relationship. My mum died in 2010, from pneumonia, and sadly we never became close.
I had already left the family home by the time Dad remarried. When I was eighteen I moved out to live with my girlfriend, Angela Holloway, who was a year younger than me. We later got hitched, but the marriage only lasted three years. It was a case of far too much, too young, for both of us.
During the period when I was married, I used to babysit for the kids of some friends of mine, Mark and Verna West. One day, I arrived just as their other babysitter was leaving, and the minute I set eyes on her I felt as though I’d been struck by lightning. She was so gorgeous I could barely speak to introduce myself.
‘I’m Anjie,’ she told me.
‘Darren.’
I felt electricity running all the way through my body, and I just couldn’t take my eyes off her. She kept glancing at me too, while we chatted about everyday things like the kids we were looking after, where we lived, that kind of thing. It was the strangest feeling, but I just knew there was something special about her. It was as if kindness and light shone out of her, and it was the most powerful sensation I had ever felt.
However, I was married to Angela Holloway at the time and, after we got divorced, I heard that Anjie was seeing someone else, then in 1986 I heard she was pregnant. I just assumed it was a case of bad timing and nothing was going to happen between us. I never forgot about her, though.
I was twenty-two when Angela and I broke up. I had a few girlfriends after that but nothing too serious. I was concentrating on my career, and that didn’t really leave me much time for a relationship. At the age of sixteen I had done a youth-training scheme in tyre-fitting and car maintenance, at eighteen I was taken on for an engineering apprenticeship at a company that made precast concrete products, and by my mid-twenties I was working as a sheet metal engineer for a firm called City Engineering. I was very serious about making enough money to have a better standard of living than I’d had when I was growing up. I wanted a decent place to live and enough food to put on the table, and I was prepared to put in the graft to earn them.
When I was twenty-nine, I met a girl called Tanya Watts, who was twenty-two and worked as a carer in an old-folks’ home. She was with some friends in a local pub, and we got chatting, as you do. We seemed to get on well, I bought her a few drinks, and suddenly, almost before I knew it, we were in a relationship. We moved in to a flat in Cadbury Heath soon after meeting and settled into a life of working, going to the pub at the weekend, and taking the occasional holiday. Her mum, Pat, paid for us to go to Pembrokeshire for a week the first year we were together.
We didn’t ever get married because the relationship always had problems, but I was excited when our son Danny was born on 19 February 1995. He came into the world at Southmead Hospital – same as his old man. When I held him for the first time I couldn’t help but laugh because he was covered in fine black hair and looked like a baby chimp! I was thrilled to see that he looked exactly the same as me in my baby photographs. It was a very proud moment. I was overwhelmed that I had a son, and I swore there and then that I would always love and protect him.
Danny and I bonded instantly and I threw myself into being a dad, but I was working such long hours as an engineer that my time with him became sacred. Meanwhile, my relationship with Tanya was deteriorating fast. We began to fight about anything and everything, hurling hurtful comments at each other, often continuing rows into the early hours of the morning. I tried to shield baby Danny from as much of it as possible, but living with Tanya was getting harder and harder for me.
Sometimes she kicked me out of the flat after a row, and one night in January she told me I’d have to sleep in my car. I didn’t sleep a wink all night long, and as I lay there shivering, I realised that Tanya and I being together was doing more harm than good. I couldn’t see any way we could make it work in the long term, but at the same time I didn’t want to leave my baby son, so I kept trying.
We got into a pattern: we’d have a big row, Tanya would kick me out, then I’d go back a few days later to see my boy and we’d try again. Danny was two years old before I eventually decided enough was enough. Tanya kicked me out after yet another row, and I moved into a flat my friend was subletting while he worked away from home. Two weeks later, Tanya called and asked when I was coming back, and I told her that the answer was never.
I was relieved that at last the decision had been made, but it was horrible being away from Danny. I missed him terribly. He was just at the stage of chatting away in a mixture of baby words and real words and I couldn’t bear to miss any of it, so I persuaded Tanya to let him come to stay with me on the weekends. Hand-overs were difficult because the communication between us was in tatters by then, although I tried my hardest to be civil for Danny’s sake. I paid my child maintenance, but still we often argued over money. It was difficult, to say the least, but Danny was precious and I treasured every single moment with him.
It was a tough time all round. The only thing keeping me going was the thought of seeing Danny at the end of each week. I worked all the hours under the sun to make ends meet. My father didn’t teach me much, but he did teach me the importance of hard work. I’ve always been a hardworking man and I’m proud of that.
One Saturday night in October 1997, I was in my flat, with Danny asleep in bed, when Tanya knocked on the door. I opened it, expecting her to start an argument with me about something, but instead she was smiling and friendly. I’d had a few drinks by that stage and decided to let her in. One thing led to another and we ended up sleeping together. She left before the sun came up, and as soon as I woke I regretted what we had done. It was sending out all the wrong signals because, as far as I was concerned, the relationship was totally over.
I tried to forget about it and move on, but a few months later one of Tanya’s female friends – she didn’t say who she was – rang me while I was at work.
‘Tanya’s pregnant,’ she blurted out. ‘And you’re the father.’
‘And how on earth am I the father, then?’ I demanded. ‘Of course it’s not my bloody child. She’s just trying to mug me off.’
When I saw her next, as I was dropping Danny home the following weekend, she noticed my eyes wander down to her growing baby bump. I said I didn’t believe it was mine.
‘It is your baby,’ she shrugged. ‘You’ll see.’
The months passed and I carried on having Danny at the weekends, as usual. Then, on 3 June 1998, I got a call at work from one of Tanya’s friends to tell me that she had given birth to a baby girl. I thought it was nice that Danny would have a sister, but I still didn’t believe the baby was mine, even though she was born roughly nine months after Tanya and I’d had that one-night reunion.
The day after the birth, I drove Danny up to the Bristol Royal Infirmary so he could meet his little sister. Tanya had decided she was to be called Rebecca, Becky for short. Danny was excited about it, and I didn’t want him to miss out.
As we walked through the ward, Danny spotted Tanya and ran towards the cot where little Becky was sleeping.
‘Don’t wake her up!’ Tanya warned as he peered over the edge. I was proud of how quiet and gentle he was for a three-year-old. I could tell he instantly felt protective towards his baby sister.
‘Don’t you want to say hello to your daughter?’ Tanya asked me, and I sauntered over to the cot to have a better look.
Becky was a cute little thing, wrapped up tightly in a white blanket and with a little white cotton hat on her head. I didn’t want to fall in love but I simply couldn’t help myself. She was so adorable, I fell hook, line and sinker on the spot. It was overwhelming, just like the feeling I’d had when I first saw Danny. But was she mine, or was some other man going to come along and claim to be her dad? At that stage, I didn’t know.
Tanya took Becky home a few days later, and we went back to the routine of me having Danny each Friday to Sunday.
‘Why not take Becky as well?’ she asked one Friday night when Becky was three months old.
I was reluctant, as I didn’t want to spoil the time Danny and I spent together, but Tanya wouldn’t take no for an answer.
‘She is your daughter,’ she insisted. ‘You’re going to have to start looking after her sooner or later.’
‘We don’t know that she’s mine,’ I pointed out. ‘I’m not having her until I know the truth.’ I’d thought about getting a DNA test, but it was expensive and at that time I didn’t have the cash to spare.
Finally, Tanya said, ‘You’re not having Danny if you don’t take Becky too.’
She knew she would win with that. I was backed into a corner, with no choice other than to take little Becky home with me. I could remember all the routines from when Danny was a baby: getting up in the night to feed her from a bottle, bathing her carefully in a little baby bath, and dressing her in her tiny clothes. It was during these moments that I started to look at her more closely, and I noticed her hazel eyes were starting to look exactly the same as mine. I melted inside when she beamed up at me, and my stomach filled with butterflies whenever she reached out to grab my finger. I’ve always been a complete softie at heart, and Becky was winning me over more and more every time I saw her.
I was out one weekend with the kids, Danny holding my hand and Becky, who was six months old, in her pushchair, when I bumped into Anjie on Kingswood High Street. I felt flustered but Anjie’s face broke into a huge grin as soon as she saw me.
‘Darren! How are you? I haven’t seen you in ages!’ she said.
Suddenly, I got the same rush of electricity running through me as I’d had ten years previously, when we first met, and I felt tongue-tied. I’d caught glimpses of Anjie over the years while she was out and about in Bristol – usually with her little boy – but we’d never had the opportunity to chat properly.
‘Oh, you know – keeping busy,’ I forced myself to reply, gesturing at the kids.
‘They are very cute,’ she said, the smile not leaving her face. ‘Are you still with Tanya?’
‘Oh no, not at all,’ I answered quickly. I really wanted Anjie to know I was single. I was disappointed when she then told me she was in a relationship, although something in the way she talked about it gave me a hint she wasn’t too happy.
We parted, promising that we would go for a drink and a good catch-up soon, and for the rest of the day I thought of nothing else but her. I’d honestly never had such strong feelings for anyone in my life, and the possibility that things might work out between us was incredibly exciting.
A few months later, I was in the pub having a pint after work when she walked in with her friend Kim. I could tell from the expression on her face that she was not in a good way, although she raised a smile when I asked if I could get some drinks in and join them.
‘I was hoping to see you,’ Anjie said, taking a seat. ‘That’s why I came here.’
It turned out that things were on the rocks with her boyfriend, but she hadn’t had the guts to tell him yet. We had a few drinks and she came back to stay at my flat, just to clear her head. I said I was sorry she was having such a difficult time, although secretly of course I was delighted at the thought that she might soon be single. A few weeks after that night she broke up with her boyfriend, and we started seeing each other. I was over the moon.
Everything was so easy with Anjie. We instantly felt like we were two jigsaw-puzzle pieces that fitted together perfectly. She was warm, loving, gorgeous to look at and great fun to be with. I’d gaze at her sometimes and have to pinch myself because I couldn’t believe my luck. One night, when we were cuddled up in front of the television, she looked at me and said something that stopped my heart beating.
‘We were always meant to be together, you know,’ she said. ‘I always knew it would be you and me.’
It turned out that when we first met, Anjie had felt the same connection as I had. It felt like the most natural thing in the world for us to be together.
I soon realised that Anjie was the kindest person I had ever met. Most people have the ability to be kind, but with Anjie it just radiated from her. She was lovely to everyone she met, and could never do enough to help someone in need. She would spend her days helping elderly neighbours with their shopping and chores, and she loved being around children. I couldn’t believe my luck that I’d found someone like her. As far as I was concerned, she was an angel on earth.
Because Anjie’s previous relationship had been so troubled, she had taken the difficult decision to have her son, Nathan, stay with her mum, Margaret, during the week and come to her at weekends. Nathan was twelve when Anjie and I got together, and we decided that it was best for him to stay in the same school, which meant he had to stay with his nan, who lived five miles away. Anjie still saw him every day, though, because she used to walk over and take him to and from school, morning and afternoon, meaning that she had covered 20 miles by the end of the day. She was too broke to afford the bus fares.
Nathan didn’t see anything of his biological father, so when she decided it was time to introduce us, I was keen to make a good impression, hoping I might become a father figure to him.
‘Nathan, this is Darren,’ Anjie said when we picked him up from his grandmother’s one weekend.
‘I haven’t seen you since you were a little boy – you’ve grown loads since then.’ I grinned at Nathan, but he regarded me suspiciously. I could tell straight away that he was possessive of his mother. The minute we got to Anjie’s house, he wanted to play-fight with me in the garden. It took a few hours of playfully throwing him around for me to break the ice with him, and that was it – we were fine after that.
It was time for Anjie to meet Danny, who was four, and Becky, who was not quite two. This was a different kettle of fish as both my kids loved her the second they set eyes on her. Danny immediately sat next to her and listened, all ears, as she read him a story, while Becky just gazed at her in awe. Anjie was a natural mother, through and through.
When Nathan first met Danny, he shyly invited him up to his room to play computer games. Danny was thrilled – he didn’t have anything like that at home. Suddenly, a boy eight years older than him was inviting him to play on the PlayStation with him. That was awesome! They remained locked up in that room for hours, and we barely heard a peep out of them. I think Danny had always wanted an older brother, and Nathan provided someone for him to look up to. From then on, Danny adjusted to life as the ‘middle child’ in our family, which suited him just fine.
Becky was too young to play with Danny and Nathan, so she mainly spent her time with Anjie and me. She was quite a demanding child, who would scream at the top of her lungs for hours on end for no reason that we could ever work out. I’d had her checked out with a doctor and there was nothing physically wrong. It seemed as though she was just staking her claim for attention in the household. When we started feeding her solids instead of milk, she would scream in between spoonfuls of baby food because we weren’t giving it to her fast enough. She was like a little monster sometimes – but I was still a doting dad and nothing was too much trouble.
At first, I would often take my kids out for one day every weekend to give Nathan time alone with his mum, because he seemed a little jealous when she was affectionate towards my two, particularly Becky. But Anjie was adamant that she wanted us to be a family and that we should do things together. When she said that, I gave her a huge hug. I would have done anything for my kids and I think they knew that. I wanted to give them a proper family life – the life I’d never really had – even if I could only do it at the weekends. Anjie wanted to give them a great home too, so that’s what we set about doing. For the next fifteen years, all of our energy was put into making sure the three kids had a stable upbringing with plenty of love. And there was so much love in our house it was unreal.
Eventually, the kids and I were seeing so much of Anjie and Nathan that it made sense for me to move in to Anjie’s house in Hillfields, which was just a few miles from where I had been living in Barton Hill. We then moved together to a new house in the St George’s area. In both houses, Nathan had a room of his own, while Danny and Becky shared a room. During the week, the house was quiet as it was just Anjie and me, but at weekends it was like living in a madhouse with three kids running around, winding each other up and playing games. But we didn’t want it any other way.
I still hadn’t bothered to get a DNA test because I knew in my heart of hearts that Becky was my daughter. Tanya hadn’t named me on the birth certificate, though, and I wanted things to be clear, so when Becky was two years old I decided to go ahead with the test. When the results eventually came back they proved that she was definitely my daughter. By then, I loved her so much I don’t think it changed anything, but it did feel good knowing for sure that she was mine. I knew then that I would never, ever be forced to let her go.
Chapter 2
The fight (#ub2c27f71-42a2-5555-b29e-03e7aad039b2)
SATURDAY, 28 FEBRUARY 2015
Scores join search for missing Becky: Police have ramped up the hunt for Bristol teenager Becky Watts after she mysteriously vanished a week ago. A forensics team has combed her home for possible clues, the police helicopter has twice scoured the surrounding area – including Troopers Hill Nature Reserve, which lies two miles away – and police divers have been carrying out specialist open-water searches at the pond in nearby St George’s Park. Neighbouring forces from South Wales, Wiltshire, Devon and Cornwall, and Gloucestershire have now joined the operation, and police said yesterday that Detective Superintendent Liz Tunks, head of the major crime investigation unit, had taken over as senior investigating officer. Thousands of posters and leaflets have been distributed across the city, and there have been several public appeals for help by Becky’s family, but so far to no avail. In a tremendous show of support and solidarity, scores of volunteers have this week joined family, friends and neighbours to sweep the city for any sign of the missing schoolgirl. As time passes, hopes of finding her alive are fading. Pleading desperately for the return of his daughter on radio station Jack FM, Becky’s father, Darren Galsworthy, said: ‘It’s been absolute hell on earth. Someone out there knows something. I just want my girl back.’
After a gruelling week at work, I always looked forward to spending the weekends with my family. The sixteen-hour days I was doing as a sheet metal engineer would leave me completely knackered by Friday evening, but there was nothing more satisfying than picking up my kids for the weekend – Nathan from his nan’s and Danny and Becky from Tanya’s house in Cadbury Heath. It was easily my favourite part of the week. I immediately felt that little bit lighter the moment I clapped eyes on them.
Anjie and I would plan all sorts of activities for the kids: bowling and Laser Quest (a kind of hi-tech hide and seek) for the boys, or just simple trips to the park or beach. I was happiest when we were all together; it didn’t really matter what we were doing.
Around the age of two, Becky became a proper toddler, prone to having loud tantrums. She’d never lost that powerful set of lungs she’d displayed in hospital, and she demonstrated them publicly on many occasions. When we went to a birds of prey show, she screamed so loudly she upset all the birds.
‘Will the family with the very loud toddler please leave, as you are interrupting the show?’ said an angry female voice over the tannoy.
Anjie and I were mortified, and I tried to hide my embarrassment. I picked Becky up and stomped out of the building then plonked her down on the pavement outside, where she continued to scream and screech at me. To Anjie’s horror, I sat myself down a few metres away and started making the same noises back to Becky. People didn’t know what to think as they watched us screeching away. It certainly shut her up! I can laugh about it now, but it was a waste of the ticket price – a whole £18 I was never going to see again.
When Becky was three, we took the kids on holiday to Exmouth. Danny, Nathan and I armed ourselves with little fishing nets and went searching for crabs and limpets when, all of a sudden, Becky decided it was time for a tantrum. She stood on the sand a few metres away from us and screamed her head off. No amount of coaxing from Anjie or me could make her calm down, so in the end I picked her up, put her on her lilo and paddled her into the sea.
‘If you don’t start behaving, I’m going to let go and you’ll end up over in France,’ I warned, pointing to show her the direction.
She looked at my face, trying to work out if I was serious, and when I stayed deadpan she decided to calm down.
Maybe some of Becky’s tantrums were about testing her own power, the way all toddlers do, but they were also a way of getting our attention because she was still not talking by then. She had been slow to walk and crawl, not finding her feet till well after her second birthday, and at two years old she wasn’t talking yet – she didn’t use recognisable words until she was well past her third birthday. I wasn’t unduly worried at first because I know all kids pick up these skills at their own pace, but the tantrums meant she could be a handful at times.
She might have been demanding, but she was also an extremely affectionate child. All she had to do was look up at me and smile and she would have me wrapped completely around her little finger. She was always reaching up for a cuddle. Her favourite place to be was cuddled up with Anjie or me, or hanging with her arms around Anjie’s neck. She was my princess and I adored her.
It always melted my heart when I spotted Danny and Becky peeping through the curtains at their mother’s house, waiting for my car to pull up outside on a Friday evening. The minute they saw us turning onto their street, Danny would fling open the front door, and, as soon as she could walk, Becky had a habit of rushing out to greet us. This might have been cute but it scared me silly, as I had to pull over quickly and jump out of the car to make sure she didn’t run straight into traffic.
As happy as the kids were to see me, Tanya was always less so. Communication between us as parents reached an all-time low after Anjie and Nathan came into my life. I tried to keep my cool and let things wash over me, but handovers remained incredibly tense, difficult times.
Becky and Danny would be very quiet when they first arrived at our place on Friday evenings. It was as if it took them a few hours to warm up and start enjoying themselves. I just assumed the pair of them were taking some time to get used to the new family unit, but Anjie had her doubts.
‘Have you noticed how Becky has starting sitting on the sofa all the time in just one spot?’ she said to me after we put them to bed one evening. ‘It comes across like she’s scared to move, like she’s been told off for it. I had to plead with her just to come and play on the floor with me and Danny.’
‘She’ll come around,’ I reassured her, but in the back of my mind I knew she had a point. Some weekends, the kids would be timid and jumpy, as if the slightest thing unnerved them. Once, when I went to pick them up, Danny was hiding underneath Tanya’s kitchen table.
I tried to talk to Tanya about their behaviour but, to be honest, communication between us was too difficult. She just shrugged when I brought it up.
‘Maybe they don’t like being there with you and your new family,’ she suggested. I knew it wasn’t that because once they relaxed – usually by Saturday morning – they were giggling and laughing and having a great time.
Tanya and I often clashed over the state of the old clothes the kids were wearing when they came to us. Anjie and I went out and bought them new outfits, but the following week they would come back in the old clothes again. Once or twice, Becky didn’t even have any shoes on when she got into my car, and I couldn’t find a suitable pair for her in Tanya’s house. Every time I raised the issue with Tanya, she threatened to call the police to remove me from her home. Despite the fact that I was paying child maintenance every month, Anjie and I were having to buy the kids loads of essentials every time we saw them. In the end, we kept the clothes we bought for them at our house, so at least they always had something nice to wear when they were with us.
On Sunday nights, when we got into the car for me to drive them both home, Becky would cry her eyes out the whole way, and cling to me like a limpet as I carried her out of the car and up the front path.
‘Come on, sweetheart, it’s OK,’ I’d say as I tried to reassure her. ‘You’re going to see Mummy now and you’ll come back to Daddy’s house next weekend.’
No matter what I said, it was absolutely heartbreaking for me to leave her that upset. Danny never cried, but he would sigh and drag his feet.
I used to drive home to Anjie feeling terrible and trying desperately to understand what was going on. ‘I know they like spending time with us and we have lots of fun together, but it’s not just that. It’s as if they don’t want to go home,’ I said to her in bed one night. ‘Becky just didn’t want me to leave. Something’s wrong, Anjie.’
I didn’t want to seem like an ex complaining, but eventually I was so worried I phoned social services.
‘We’ll look into it,’ I was told, but as far as I could tell nothing happened. I called again and again, but I might as well have been hitting my head against a brick wall for all the good it did.
Then, in September 2001, when Becky was three and Danny was five, everything changed. I opened the door to a man who introduced himself as Dave and said he was a social worker. I invited him in and he wasted no time in telling us why he was paying us a visit.
‘I have an update about your children, Daniel and Rebecca,’ he said, and Anjie shot me a concerned glance. ‘I’m sorry to have to tell you this, Mr Galsworthy, but the pair of them have been taken into care.’
I stared at him in shock, and my stomach tightened into a knot.
‘Are the children OK?’ Anjie asked him. She sounded panicked. ‘Has something happened to them?’
‘The children are fine,’ Dave answered. ‘I didn’t mean to startle you. They are both fit and healthy, but we weren’t sure they were being properly cared for at home with their mother so we deemed it necessary to step in. They’ll be staying with a foster family until we decide what to do.’
I was horrified to think of children of mine being in care, being looked after by strangers. What had been happening to them at home?
‘I want my kids to come and live here with me,’ I said, and Dave nodded.
‘I imagine you do, Mr Galsworthy, but it’s now a case of reviewing their care and deciding on the best possible outcome. You’ll have the opportunity to apply for custody, and you’ll still have your regular access to them on weekends. It’s important that Daniel and Rebecca maintain that routine and still see a lot of you. Their mother, Miss Watts, will also have supervised access to them.’
I was relieved that they could still come and stay with Anjie and me at weekends. At least they would have an ounce of normality throughout the whole thing. I could tell that Anjie was thinking the same thing, as her shoulders relaxed a little.
‘So why can’t they come to us straight away?’ I asked. ‘We have enough room to have them here during the week, and they are always properly taken care of when they’re with us. Why can’t you just arrange for them to live here?’
‘It’s a little more complicated than that, I’m afraid,’ he answered. ‘There will be a few court hearings about their care, and you’ll be considered for custody. I imagine their mother, Miss Watts, will be applying too. Until a decision is made, Daniel and Rebecca will need to stay with a foster family during the week.’ It seemed part of the problem was that I hadn’t been named as Becky’s father on her birth certificate.
‘So what you’re telling me is, I now have to fight to get my kids?’ I asked him. I could feel a wave of anger wash over me but I tried not to show it.
Dave nodded again. ‘I’m afraid so.’
As soon as he left, Anjie and I looked at each other, still reeling from the news.
‘I suppose we should just be grateful that they’re safe,’ Anjie said, and I smiled. She could always look on the positive side of things. I knew they would be treated properly in foster care, but that they would inevitably be confused and scared by all the changes in their young lives. I was desperate to have them living permanently with me.
When I saw the kids the following Friday, they rushed into my arms.
‘Are you OK?’ I asked Danny. ‘Is it nice where you are staying?’
He just nodded and didn’t want to talk about it. I explained that I wanted them to come and live with us, but that mummy wanted them as well and the social workers were going to decide what was the best thing. Becky clung to me like her life depended on it. Although she hadn’t started talking yet, I knew she understood most of what was being said around her. ‘We’ll still see each other every weekend while they’re deciding,’ I reassured them. ‘Just like before.’
For the next three months, Anjie and I lived and breathed the fight to get my children out of care. It was the first thing I thought about as soon as I woke up in the morning, and the last thing that passed through my mind before I fell asleep – if I managed to get any sleep at all. The number of sleepless nights I had worrying about the fate of Danny and Becky was unreal.
We saw Dave, the social worker, a few times after that, and I grew to really like him. He talked us through the whole process and kept us up to date with what we had to do to apply for custody. A brilliant family solicitor called Greg Moss, one of the best in Bristol, agreed to take on the case on behalf of the children, and it was good to know he was on our side.
We got dressed up and went to several family court hearings, only to discover that they were going to be adjourned to another date. It was irritating, as I had to book a whole day off work every time. Eventually, I had used up all of my holiday allowance for the year just to be able to attend a string of meetings that lasted five minutes each.
The hearings were nerve-racking for Anjie and me. We both knew we were more than capable of taking care of Danny and Becky full-time, but we had to prove that to the family court. We were put under the spotlight as they queried everything about us. They wanted to know why Nathan lived with his nan during the week, and Anjie had to explain tearfully that it was a decision she had made in the past when she was involved in a troubled relationship and it had seemed best for him to have stability. After Anjie and I got together, we all decided it was best for him to stay at the same school, which meant staying with his nan. Then they asked Anjie to take a parenting class, and she did so well in it that she was later approached by Bristol City Council, who asked her if she wanted a job teaching the classes! We had a good laugh about that.
I was so lucky to have Anjie through that whole difficult period, as I told her on many occasions.
‘If it wasn’t for me and my family, you and Nathan could have a peaceful life,’ I said to her. ‘Are you sure you really want all of this? You didn’t sign up for it and I wouldn’t judge you if you wanted out.’
But Anjie simply smiled at me. ‘Your family is my family,’ she said, squeezing my hand. ‘I love you, and of course I’ll stick by you, no matter what happens.’
That was just another example of Anjie being Anjie – she was the kindest person in the world.
Someone must have told social services that I was a heavy drinker, because they made me do a breathalyser test on a few occasions when I went to pick up the kids. It was annoying. Like most lads I’d had drunken moments in my younger days, but I hardly ever drank in that period. Still, I did the tests willingly to keep the peace and to prove I was a responsible parent. They also quizzed me on my job, my relationship with Anjie and Tanya, and what my relationship was like with the kids. It was exhausting and upsetting, but, with the help of Greg Moss, I did my best to prove that I was a hard-working man who would do anything to support his family.
When the children stayed with us at the weekends, Anjie and I tried to make it as normal as possible for them, often taking them out for the day to take their minds off everything. I was desperate for them to know how wanted they were and how much they were a part of our family. They seemed in bright enough spirits, and the foster parents they were with seemed lovely, so I knew they were being well-treated when they weren’t with us. Their foster parents’ own children were in the sea cadets, and they took Becky and Danny along for some of the outdoor activities, which they enjoyed, but it wasn’t their home and Danny knew it.
‘Daddy, why can’t I live with you and Anjie?’ he asked as I dropped them back at their foster home one Sunday evening. He always looked confused whenever I had to leave without him, and he would hug me hard as I said goodbye. ‘I don’t want you to go, Daddy,’ he said, peering up at me.
It broke my heart, but I tried to reassure him. ‘Anjie and I are doing our best to get you and Becky home where you belong. Don’t you worry, son,’ I said. ‘In the meantime, you’re going to stay with this nice family and have lots of fun. I’ll see you soon, I promise.’
But Danny simply looked up at me with his sad eyes. Walking away from that front door while waving goodbye to my kids felt impossible sometimes, and I had to force myself to put one foot in front of the other. It just made me all the more determined to get them home with me, where they belonged.
Nathan was fourteen at this time, old enough to understand, so Anjie explained to him what we were doing and how important it was to get Danny and Becky out of care. He got on well with Danny and didn’t seem to mind the idea of seeing more of him, but when we spoke about Becky coming to live with us he wrinkled his nose in disgust.
‘I don’t want her to live here with you, Mum,’ he moaned. ‘She’s so loud and annoying.’
‘She’s only a baby, Nathan,’ Anjie explained. ‘She’ll grow out of all that in time.’
We didn’t pay much attention to Nathan’s attitude to Becky at the time. There were eleven years between them and he was bound to be irritated by her demanding ways. He was also prone to getting jealous over his mother’s affections. Now and again, he would get annoyed if Becky grabbed Anjie’s hand, but we always reminded him that she was only little and needed more attention. We guessed that he would probably feel jealous about Becky and Danny coming to stay with his mother full-time, while he only stayed with us on the weekends, but we decided to cross that bridge when we came to it.
It was a long process, but in January 2002 the family court granted us an interim care order for Danny and Becky to stay with us full-time until the final hearing, and in March 2002 we were granted a residence order, meaning we were awarded full custody of them. When we opened the letter I threw my arms around Anjie in celebration. It was over, and we had won. My kids were staying with me. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so relieved in all my life. I vowed to enjoy every future minute I spent with them.
That night, when I put them to bed in our house, knowing that I wouldn’t have to drive them back to that foster home ever again, I spent longer than usual tucking them in and reading them a story. Becky was still too young to understand, but I explained things to Danny. ‘You’ll be living with Anjie and me now,’ I said. ‘You’ll be sleeping here every night. No more living in foster care. That’s all over.’
The relief on his face was obvious. He had taken it upon himself to look after his younger sister while they were in care – he was even given an award from social services at South Gloucestershire Council for being such a brilliant older brother. But that was far too much responsibility for a five-year-old to shoulder, so I think he was happy that, from that minute on, he could go back to being a kid again.
One Friday evening, not long after we were awarded custody, we drove Becky and Danny to pick up Nathan from his nan’s house. As we waited outside for him, Becky looked out the car window and saw him coming towards us. She opened her mouth and, as clear as day, said the word ‘Nathan’.
I swivelled around in shock, as did Anjie. It was the first distinct word she had ever uttered.
Nathan jumped in the car and looked round at us, puzzled by our stunned faces.
‘What’s the matter?’ he asked.
‘Becky just said your name,’ I told him.
‘Yeah, right!’ he sneered. ‘Becky doesn’t even talk yet. As if she said my name!’
‘Seriously, Nath, Becky said your name,’ Anjie said. ‘You should be flattered. She’s never said anything before.’
Nathan turned to look at Becky, sitting there in her car seat, and he was obviously surprised.
We spent the rest of the day trying to get her to say it again, but she wouldn’t.
Chapter 3
Happy families (#ub2c27f71-42a2-5555-b29e-03e7aad039b2)
TUESDAY, 3 MARCH 2015
Despair for Becky’s family follows discovery of dismembered body: Shockwaves were felt across Bristol today following the discovery of mutilated body parts thought to belong to missing schoolgirl Becky Watts. Police believe the teenager’s corpse, which was found at a house in Barton Court, Barton Hill, around a mile and a half from her home, had been cut up. Becky’s family are said to be ‘in hell’ and ‘completely broken’ after hearing the harrowing news, which ends any hopes they had of seeing her alive again. Becky’s dad, Darren Galsworthy, and stepmother, Anjie, described the latest development as ‘too much to bear’. The grisly find, which is understood to have followed a tip-off yesterday evening, comes 12 days after the 16-year-old first vanished. The body was driven away in a private ambulance before a team of forensic experts went into the mid-terrace property. As officers continue their investigations, police have put up a white tent outside the house, which is close to a number of other properties that have already been searched as part of the operation. They’ve also seized a black Vauxhall Zafira. Today, police were granted a further 24 hours to question a 28-year-old man and a 21-year-old woman arrested over the weekend in connection with Becky’s disappearance. Following the discovery of the body parts, they have arrested a further four people on suspicion of assisting an offender.
From the minute we knew Becky and Danny were permanently staying under our roof, I felt deliriously happy. I know it sounds corny, but I just loved seeing everybody together like that. On weekends I’d jump out of bed and rush downstairs to make us all a hearty breakfast, then we’d go out somewhere in the car.
As soon as we got our residence order for Danny and Becky, Anjie and I rushed out to buy them some new bunk beds and things for their room. I grabbed a few cuddly toys for Becky and some games for Danny – although I knew he would probably want to spend most of his time playing on the PlayStation with Nathan.
Becky had a few favourite toys, but she mainly enjoyed playing with her dolls and doing arts and crafts. She would often rush over to show me something she had made for me, perhaps a clay model or a drawing. She occasionally asked me to play dollies with her. I tried it once or twice, but I have to admit I was never very good at it, so we usually ended up playing basketball in the back garden. From an early age she also loved books. Her favourite bedtime story was ‘Little Red Riding Hood’, and she used to make me read it to her almost every night. Once she was staying with us, she began speaking more and more, until she was chatting so much that we forgot she’d ever been slow to start.
For Becky’s fourth birthday in June 2002, I spent the best part of a week making her her very own playhouse in the garden. I had to tell Becky I was building a shed, as she kept peeking around the back door to see what I was doing. I got some aluminium sheets from work and carefully created a miniature house, complete with windows and doors. It had a latch on the door, windowboxes full of flowers, and a velux window on the roof. Inside, I laid lino and arranged a little table and chairs, her dolls and a play cooker. I painted everything pink and purple, Becky’s favourite colours, and piled her presents inside for her to wake up to on her birthday morning.
When the day arrived, I carried her out to the back garden and pointed at the little house.
‘That’s yours,’ I said. ‘I made it for you.’
Becky furrowed her brow and looked at me suspiciously. ‘No, Daddy, you told me that was your new shed.’
‘I said that so it could be a surprise,’ I said, laughing. ‘It’s far too small for me – it’s your very own playhouse. This is your birthday present. Look – all your other gifts are inside!’
It took a moment for the penny to drop, and then Becky beamed with delight and squirmed out of my arms. She ran straight into the house and sat down to open the rest of her presents. Later that day, she dragged poor Danny in there to play ‘house’ for hours. He even had to eat his tea in there with her! He was less than impressed, but he could see it was worth it for the look of joy on Becky’s face.
That night, when I tucked her into bed, she smiled up at me in her adorable way.
‘Have you enjoyed your birthday, sweetheart?’ I asked.
She nodded sleepily before muttering, ‘I love you, Daddy,’ and nodding off. Those were the moments I lived for every day.
Our lives had been completely put on hold while we fought for Becky and Danny to live with us, so that summer I wanted us to have as much fun as possible. I pushed my overdraft right to its limit and I added quite a bit to my credit card bill too – but it didn’t matter, because finally we were all together. That July, the five of us went on a week-long holiday to Littlesea, Weymouth. I bought a second-hand caravan and we pitched up in a big green field and spent hours and hours of quality time together. During the days we played adventure golf and tennis, and I taught Becky and Danny to swim. In the evenings, we made a campfire and toasted marshmallows over it. Once the kids were asleep, Anjie and I had a drink under the stars.
One night, I looked across to see her smiling at me.
‘Well, that’s it now, love,’ I said. ‘It’s the five of us together from now on. Lots more memories to make.’
As she reached across and squeezed my hand, I couldn’t remember ever feeling happier.
There were always going to be some teething troubles, bringing together three kids with such a big age gap between them, but on the whole it wasn’t too bad. Danny and Nathan got on fine from the start, but Becky continued to get on Nathan’s nerves sometimes. One of his hobbies was painting Warhammer fantasy models. He used to sit at the coffee table in the living room for hours on end, carefully painting these miniature fighters from make-believe worlds with paintbrushes that were so well-used they only had two or three bristles left. He was brilliant at it, and I was always impressed by his patience – much more than I’ve ever had! Sometimes he would try to get us all involved, and Anjie, Danny and I would do our best, squinting down at the little figurines and trying to keep a steady hand. However, little four-year-old Becky wasn’t so careful. Once, she toddled over to see what we were doing, grabbed a model, dunked it in a pot of paint and held it out to Nathan, smiling proudly. Of course, she had ruined the model completely and Nathan was furious, but her eagerness to please him from an early age was there. Becky clearly adored him.
As time went on, Becky grew more and more attached to Anjie, and one day, when she was five, we realised she didn’t entirely understand the relationships in our ‘blended family’. I’d been on the phone to Tanya and I’m afraid the conversation had got a bit heated. After I hung up, Danny looked across at me from where he was sitting on the sofa.
‘Who was that?’ he asked.
‘Oh, just your mother,’ I answered.
‘Do you have to speak to her like that?’ he asked. Danny always protected his mother. I think he just wished we would all get on with each other, which is only natural.
‘She’s playing silly buggers yet again,’ I said. ‘You should have heard the way she spoke to me.’
Becky – who was lying across Anjie’s lap – grinned at Danny. ‘My mum’s better than your mum! My mum’s better than your mum!’ she sang, trying to tease him.
Danny looked at her, incredulous. ‘My mum is your mum!’ he shouted. ‘Oh Becky, you are stupid. She’s your mum too, you idiot.’
Poor Becky looked crestfallen. She looked at me first, uncertainty in her eyes, and then up at Anjie. ‘He’s lying, isn’t he?’ she asked.
Anjie glanced at me, a worried look on her face. We’d always known the moment would come, but we’d never really sat down and talked about how we were going to handle it.
‘You’re my mum, aren’t you?’ Becky continued to Anjie, desperate for it to be true. ‘Did it really hurt when I came out of your tummy?’
I knew we had to tell her the truth, so I decided to grab the bull by the horns. I crouched down next to Becky while Anjie wrapped her arms around her. Becky sat, listening silently as I explained that Tanya was her mum, not Anjie.
‘You never actually came out of Anjie’s tummy, darling,’ I said soothingly. ‘Danny’s right, you’ve both got the same mum.’
Suddenly, Becky let out an ear-piercing scream. She burst into tears, looking utterly devastated. Anjie tried to console her, but she squirmed away and bolted up the stairs to her bedroom.
As soon as the door slammed behind her, Anjie burst into tears too. ‘I wish she was mine,’ she sobbed. ‘She feels like she’s mine.’
‘I know, love,’ I said, giving her a hug. ‘She’ll be OK, I promise.’ I hated seeing Anjie upset almost as much as I hated seeing any of my kids upset.
But Anjie knew how to handle it. She went upstairs and gently knocked on Becky’s door. I heard Becky let her in – and that’s where they stayed for the rest of the day. They cuddled up together, talking, reading and watching television. I brought them their dinner on a tray that evening, and then at night Anjie slept in Becky’s bed with her. That seemed to do the trick because the next morning she was right as rain.
She came bouncing down the stairs and beamed up at me the way she always had. ‘I’ve got both a mum and an Anjie,’ she chirped. ‘And I love my Anjie.’
Sometimes, she’d come out with stuff like that – things that completely melted my heart. From then on, she drew pictures of the whole family together, and when she was finished she held them up proudly to show Anjie and me.
‘Look, Daddy,’ she said. ‘I’ve got two mums, two brothers and a dad.’
‘Yes, you have,’ I said, ruffling her hair. ‘Aren’t you the luckiest girl around?’
Her relationship with Anjie went from strength to strength after that. They spent a lot of time together, baking, shopping, and sewing – all the things that mothers and daughters normally do. Anjie had always wanted a daughter, and now it seemed that at last she had one.
In 2003, Becky started at Summerhill Primary School, where Danny was already a pupil. It was just a few streets away from where we lived, and we hoped that she would settle in quickly and enjoy her time there. Instead, she screamed her head off when Anjie tried to leave her there, with the upshot that she had to hang around and help the teachers, just to make Becky stay. At home she had always been fearless, but at school we were surprised to find that she seemed to struggle to bond with most other kids. She had one close friend, called Hope, and she also became close to her cousin, Brooke, Anjie’s sister’s daughter, who was three years older than her. She might only have had two friends, but Becky was fiercely loyal to them from the start, something she shared with her old man.
When the summer holidays arrived it was always the start of a chaotic but fun-filled time in our house. We didn’t have a lot of money, so we never went abroad, but we always went off in the caravan for a week or two. We’d start by picking Nathan up, complete with his massive rucksack, then get on the motorway to our destination of choice, usually Brean Sands, Weymouth or Minehead.
As soon as we got there, Danny and Nathan would be off, getting up to mischief as all boys do, and Becky would beg to go to the swimming pool. She was a proper water baby. She adored swimming, and by the time she was five she was incredibly confident in the water. She could happily spend all day in the pool at our campsite, and it was always a nightmare getting her out again. She loved it so much I built a 25-foot-long and 12-foot-wide pool in our back garden for her to splash about in. Her feet couldn’t touch the bottom but she was absolutely thrilled, and every day when it was warm enough she’d strip off straight after school, tug on her swimming costume and jump in.
Becky’s favourite place to go on holiday was definitely Butlin’s. She loved it there, because there were so many things for kids to do that they never got bored. It was great for Anjie and me too, as the kids could entertain themselves, leaving us with some valuable adult time.
By the time Becky was five, Nathan was sixteen and old enough to babysit her and Danny while we went for a drink. He liked to earn some pocket money and show us how grown up he was. I was proud of the effort he made with his siblings on these occasions. He even volunteered to take Becky into the ball pit a few times to thrash around in the colourful plastic balls, and he often took Danny on the water slides. I remember one occasion in particular that always makes me chuckle. Anjie and I were in the pool with Becky, waiting for the boys to come down the slide, and we noticed that they were taking an awfully long time.
‘What on earth is the hold-up?’ I muttered to Anjie. Then I noticed that Nathan was laughing – holding onto his sides with laughter, in fact – while six-year-old Danny had a face like thunder. After a while, they came back down the steps, with Danny looking like he might burst into tears.
‘What’s the matter, boy?’ I asked, thinking some kid had picked on him. ‘Why didn’t you come down the slide?’
‘Some fat woman got stuck.’ Nathan howled with laughter. ‘They sent everyone back down the steps. They’ve had to call for help to get her down.’
We all watched with amusement as they tried to drag this poor woman down the slide by her feet. Danny was upset to miss his turn on the slide, but he saw the funny side in the end and he had another go later. I know it sounds odd, but that is one of my favourite memories of us on holiday as a family: all five of us standing there, laughing at something silly.
One of the best things about Bristol is that there are loads of family friendly events held all year round. One of our favourites was the Bristol Balloon Fiesta. Becky loved watching the hot-air balloons take off and fill the sky, and all three kids adored the fairground. Nathan always took Becky and Danny on the rides for me because I was far too petrified to get on them myself. As an engineer, I could see everything that could possibly go wrong with the mechanics of a ride. It would make me feel sick just watching, but I couldn’t bear to spoil their fun by banning them from going on.
‘I’ll just wait here, Bex. Nath will take you,’ I’d call, waving them off. I usually stood, rigid with fear, for the whole three minutes while they whizzed around, screaming their heads off with delight.
Of course, life with children isn’t always about treating them – I had to do a great deal of teaching and coaching too. When Becky was six years old I taught her to ride a bike by slyly removing her stabiliser wheels before she climbed on. I gave her a shove and was thrilled when she sailed off down the path without them. Of course, as soon as she realised they were missing she fell over with a look of surprise and confusion on her face.
‘My wheels have fallen off, Daddy!’ she shouted, but she soon got up and tried again. She was always a very determined character.
When she started learning her times tables at school, I would test her while she was on her trampoline in the back garden. She would bounce up and down while I sat on the step and shouted out: ‘Five times three? Six times four?’ That was our unique way of doing homework!
Becky was never happier than when she was outside, and she and I loved going for long country walks. Although Bristol is a busy city, it is blessed with lots of countryside around about and some fantastic public parks. One of our favourite places for a stroll was St George’s Park, which wasn’t far from our house. Becky would pull on her wellies and trot along by my side, her little hand in mine, but she did insist on stopping every five minutes to examine any flowers or bugs she could find. She loved climbing trees or fishing for tadpoles in the pond with her fishing net. We would collect them in jam jars and watch as they turned into frogs – something my father used to do with me.
Becky wasn’t the type of girl who was afraid of insects. When she caught head lice at school – an ongoing battle for Anjie and me, as she was always coming home with a new crop of them – she’d ask me to show her the little critters I combed out of her hair. She was fascinated by them, examining them under her microscope and even labelling them as ‘my little friends’. It made me shudder with disgust, I have to say.
As she got older, her personality just got stronger – complete with an attitude on occasion! Once, when she was six years old, she finished her dinner and waited expectantly at the table for dessert. I realised that I didn’t have anything else to give her, as I hadn’t done the food shopping yet. I was hoping that she would get bored and play with her toys, as Nathan and Danny had done, but she stayed at the table, staring at me.
‘Daddy, where’s my pudding?’ she asked sweetly.
‘Sorry, Bex, no pudding tonight,’ I said. ‘Daddy hasn’t been to the supermarket yet.’
The dismay on her face was almost comical. ‘No pudding?’ she exclaimed. ‘But I ate all my dinner!’
‘You can have extra pudding tomorrow for being a good girl,’ I said, chuckling.
I didn’t expect her to react so violently, but she threw herself dramatically from her seat and ran out of the room, returning a few seconds later with the phone.
‘This is child abuse,’ she announced. ‘I’m phoning Childline.’
I couldn’t help bursting out laughing, which only infuriated Becky more.
‘I’ll do it, Daddy!’ she shouted, waving the phone in the air. ‘I’ll call them and tell them you wouldn’t give me any pudding.’
That just set me off even more, of course.
Becky couldn’t stop herself cracking a smile, and soon she was in stitches too – that’s just how it was with us. Even when one of us started out genuinely annoyed about something, in the end we’d both be falling about in hysterics.
Becky enjoyed trying to push me to the limit, as all kids do. In particular, she liked to set me ‘challenges’, something she started when she was as young as four. We were both very stubborn, and the father–daughter rivalry between us was hilarious to witness. Becky would set me at least one ‘challenge’ a week and, not wanting to be beaten, I would try my best to complete her mission before setting her a challenge too. Anjie would just roll her eyes and leave us to it.
Becky’s challenges included making me do cartwheels, backflips and handstands. Now, I was 14 stone at the time and had quite a large belly, so the sight of me trying to spin myself around and land on my feet again was not pretty. Becky would howl with laughter at my failures then gracefully demonstrate the move herself.
Much later, my challenges to her included eating an entire blazing hot curry without pausing for breath (she was in her teens by this time, I hasten to add!). I labelled this the ‘Atomic Curry Challenge’, and Becky was so keen to win she even ate a whole red chilli to top it off. Afterwards, she had to drink about a gallon of milk to cool her mouth. I recorded that particular challenge on my phone while shaking with laughter, and that video has come to mean so much to me.
Becky absolutely loved animals, and we spent many family days out at Bristol Zoo and various wildlife parks. No matter what animal it was, she adored them all. By the time she was thirteen she had so many little animals living in her room it was like something from a Disney film. She had a terrapin, a rabbit called Buster, two white rats, two Siberian dwarf hamsters and three regular hamsters.
Becky designed a three-storey mansion for Buster to live in, which took me a week to build. It had a room for his food, a sitting area, a bedroom and another level on top with a glass window. It also had stairs to the ground floor so he could run around outside in his very own little garden. Never did any rabbit live in such luxury! Despite this, Becky then decided that Buster should come inside to stay with her and the other animals in her bedroom. It was ridiculous in the end – the smell from the cages became overpowering and we had to shout at her to move Buster outside again. Of course, she had promised at the outset that she would look after the animals and clean out the cages, but guess who ended up doing it? That’s right, Anjie and me.
Eventually, Becky asked us for what she called a ‘real’ pet, and we took her to Bristol dogs’ home. Surprisingly, there was a litter of kittens there and she ended up staring at one kitten for so long that we let her have him. He was jet black except for four white paws and a white chin, and she called him Marley.
In the dogs’ home, Marley appeared sweet and innocent-looking, but as soon as he came in the front door of our house he started causing absolute mayhem. We soon realised he was a complete psycho cat. He would climb the walls and curtains and claw his way around the furniture. Of course, Becky thought this was hilarious. One of his favourite games was to hide until I walked past, then he would jump out and land on my back, his sharp claws digging into my flesh. He would hang on for dear life while I ran around trying to shake him off. It was almost as if Becky had trained him to do this, because she would roll about in fits of laughter while I grappled with him.
Marley was very much Becky’s cat. He never showed the rest of us any affection whatsoever, but he would purr and gaze up at Becky lovingly. He liked his freedom during the day but would always go into Becky’s room for a cuddle in the evenings, probably terrorising the hamsters who were huddled behind the bars of their cages.
During my childhood, Christmas was always a disappointment, so I made a huge effort for my own children. Anjie and I would pull out all the stops to decorate the house and make it as festive as possible. She would bake lots of treats and, every Christmas Eve, I would dress up as Santa. I’d put on a padded red-and-white costume, complete with little spectacles and a big white beard, making Anjie and Nathan giggle. I would wait until Danny and Becky were drifting off to sleep before sneaking into their rooms with their stockings, which were bursting with treats. If they were already asleep, I’d quietly sing Christmas songs and jiggle about in order to get them to stir. I’d watch them breathing fast in their excitement and trying to stay as still as possible when they realised ‘Santa’ was there.
After the presents were opened on Christmas morning, we’d visit my nan, May, who had more treats for everyone, then return home so I could cook our Christmas dinner. The children would spend the afternoon playing with their new toys, and Anjie and I would have a drink and toast another good year.
We discussed having children of our own many times, but Anjie had previously suffered an ectopic pregnancy, which left her with only one fallopian tube, and it just didn’t happen. We paid for fertility tests and considered having IVF, but the cost was so high that we eventually decided against it. That’s why it was so lovely that Becky became like the daughter Anjie never had. It was a huge part of why they were so close. The way we saw it, we had three healthy children between us, so we just counted our blessings. We were happy and that was the main thing. I felt like the richest man in the world.
Chapter 4
My boy (#ub2c27f71-42a2-5555-b29e-03e7aad039b2)
WEDNESDAY, 4 MARCH 2015
Schoolgirl Becky Watts’s stepbrother charged with her murder: The stepbrother of Bristol schoolgirl Becky Watts – whose mutilated body parts were discovered earlier this week – has been charged with her murder. Nathan Matthews, 28, lived with his girlfriend, 21-year-old Shauna Hoare, not far from a house in the Barton Hill area where the teenager’s remains were found by police on Tuesday, almost a fortnight after her disappearance. The couple, both of Cotton Mill Lane, were first arrested in connection with the case four days ago before being re-arrested on Monday on suspicion of murder. Yesterday afternoon, detectives were given a further 24 hours to interview them, before charges were brought against Mr Matthews this afternoon. Mr Matthews is Anjie Galsworthy’s son from a previous relationship. Miss Hoare, who goes by the name Phillips on social media, was charged at the same time. A photo of the pair wearing fancy dress emerged today and has been spreading quickly on social media. Both were remanded in custody overnight and are due to appear at Bristol Magistrates’ Court tomorrow morning. Police have also been given more time to question another three men and a woman arrested on suspicion of assisting an offender.
As time went on, my relationship with Nathan blossomed and we became much more like father and son. Nathan didn’t ever see his biological father, so he began to look up to me for advice and support as he hit his teenage years. I knew this was a huge responsibility, so I vowed to try my hardest to instil a sense of right and wrong and to teach him the importance of hard work.
Nathan’s main interest was computers. He was brilliant with technology, and I was always amazed at how fast he was with a keyboard. He was forever sorting out things for his mum and me on the computer, and he knew all about the latest gadgets and computer games, much to Danny’s delight. Despite the eight-year age difference between them, Danny and Nathan were thick as thieves. They would spend almost every weekend in Nathan’s room, playing on the PlayStation and generally larking about. Occasionally, they invited me in to play with them as I passed the bedroom door. I quickly learned, however, that they only got me involved so they could laugh at how terrible I was. I would get really wound up trying to play the car-racing games, and the pair of them would crease up in hysterics whenever I crashed. Even Anjie would get in on the act, standing by the door and commenting on how rubbish I was. Nathan was very competitive and liked to try to beat me at everything. On the rare occasions when I actually won a game against him, he would sulk for hours afterwards. He could be a bit of a sore loser!
As well as trying to beat me at computer games, Nathan would enjoy trying to outwit me in other ways. He was always trying to get one up on me and would tease me mercilessly, but I would give as good as I got. It was all friendly banter. Nathan had a good sense of humour and enjoyed having me as a sparring partner. As time went on, he would try to get Danny and Becky to join in, and then the three of them would gang up on me. He particularly used to enjoy writing messages on my car when it was dirty. I often found things like ‘Watch out, blind old fart driving’ on my back window, while Danny, Becky and Nathan rolled around laughing.
Nathan wasn’t always so cocky, though. Now and again he still needed his parents. Once, when he was twelve years old, he caught the bus to Kingswood – about a mile from where we lived – to spend his birthday money on a computer game. After buying the game, he forgot which bus to catch home and burst into tears. I received a frantic call from his mother and raced from work to pick him up. He looked a little sheepish when he saw me, but he was very relieved.
When they weren’t cooped up in their room, Nathan and Danny liked to go out on their bikes, so when Becky was old enough to keep up, the whole family often went for long rides on the Bristol and Bath Railway Path, which is specially for walkers and cyclists. Although Nathan wasn’t into team sports, he was interested in shooting and archery. I had a couple of air rifles and an archery kit, and the two of us used to spend hours in the back garden together, messing about with them. We challenged each other to hit various targets and competed to get the best score. When he was thirteen I bought him his very own air rifle for his birthday, and I’ve never seen him so happy. He wanted to go out and shoot with it immediately, and soon grew to be pretty good at it.
Much like Becky, Nathan was a bit of a loner at school. Despite being quite a confident kid, he didn’t make friends easily, so when he was fourteen I enlisted him in the Army cadets. I had done this myself at his age and thoroughly enjoyed it. It taught me a lot of self-discipline and gave me a sense of pride, and I thought it would do the same for Nathan. Of course, he already had an interest in guns, so he was thrilled when I suggested the idea. I think he was hoping he would make some friends there too – which he did. Being in the cadets gave Nathan a good sense of being a part of the community, as they were always out and about fundraising and doing charity work, such as packing bags for customers in supermarkets.
After a few months he got the opportunity to go away to camp with the squadron on Salisbury Plain, a military training ground. He was thrilled and couldn’t wait to go, so I agreed to give him a lift there.
‘Thanks for the lift. See you soon, Dar,’ he said, jumping out of the car with his heavy rucksack on his back.
I chuckled as I waved him off because I knew from experience what he would have to endure in the week ahead. He had 5.30 a.m. starts, 10-mile treks and lots of drill-training to look forward to. But I also knew that he would have a great time with his new friends; it would do him a world of good.
When I picked him up at the end of the week, he looked absolutely knackered. He slumped into the passenger seat of the car, unable to raise the energy to speak.
‘You look wiped out, son,’ I commented. He simply nodded in reply, and went straight to bed when we got in. After a few days of recovery, he was full of beans again, and I overheard him telling Danny how much he had enjoyed it.
‘It was amazing,’ he said, as they sat on his bed. ‘We got to shoot with real guns and everything.’
‘Wow!’ Danny said, hanging on his every word. Danny really looked up to his older brother, and I felt a little surge of pride that Nathan had enjoyed doing something I had loved when I was a kid. He stayed in the cadets for three years and then joined the Reserves for another two years after that.
At school, Nathan was quite average, never academically brilliant. He was probably best known among his fellow pupils for his wheeling and dealing – buying computer games and sweets and selling them on at a profit. When he was coming to the end of his time at his secondary school, The Grange in Warmley, his grades started to slip. Anjie and I grew concerned about his GCSEs, so we paid for a private tutor for six weeks to give him some extra help. It worked – Nathan’s marks improved dramatically and he managed to pass six of his exams.
As a reward for the turnaround in his grades, the school gave him three tickets to watch a Bristol Rovers match. As a family we weren’t really into football, but Nathan, Danny and I went to watch the game together and, surprisingly, we had a blast.
‘Now look, boys,’ I said as we stood in the family section of the stadium waiting for the game to begin. ‘That man over there is the referee and he will constantly make the wrong decision. We don’t like him.’
‘No, we don’t,’ Nathan agreed.
The three of us spent the whole game shouting colourful abuse at the referee. It was hilarious but, looking back, it’s a complete wonder that we didn’t get thrown out.
During the months leading up to Nathan’s sixteenth birthday, he nagged Anjie and me for a moped, so finally we agreed to pay for him to do his compulsory basic training (CBT). Beforehand, I took him to buy some leathers and a helmet. I had owned multiple motorbikes in my lifetime, and was keen to impress on him that safety comes first.
‘You will get a bike one day,’ I told him as he tried it all on. ‘But let’s start with the protective kit, shall we?’
On his birthday I drove him to take his training and his CBT test. It was a viciously cold day in January, and as I dropped him off I wished him luck. While he was doing it, I waited in the car. It took hours and hours, but I didn’t want to drive home just in case he needed me.
At last, he appeared and started to walk towards my car looking really ill. He was pale as a sheet and I could tell he was frozen to the bone. The intense training followed by the test had completely exhausted him.
I held my breath as he got into the car sighing. I was worried that he hadn’t got through it but he turned to me with a huge grin on his face.
‘I passed!’ he shouted, and I punched the air in delight.
‘Well done, son!’ I said. ‘Yes! Now let’s get you home to warm up. You look like you’ve got hypothermia.’
The pride I felt at that moment was so immense, it couldn’t have been any greater if he was my biological son. I was just delighted for him. As a surprise, I had secretly spent around £2,000 on a moped, which was waiting for him at home. I quickly phoned Anjie and told her the good news. She knew that her job was to wheel the bike out of the shed and into the garden for Nathan to see when we got back. It was all wrapped up and ready, in the hope that he would pass that day.
When we jumped out of the car, Anjie and I grinned at each other, waiting for Nathan to see his bike. To our disappointment, he walked straight past it.
‘Hot cup of tea please, Mum,’ he muttered to Anjie. He didn’t even look at the moped.
‘Here’s your bike, Nath,’ I called. ‘It’s all legal. You’re free to ride it now if you want.’
He turned and looked at the moped for a few moments before answering. ‘Nah, I’ll go out on it tomorrow. Thanks Dar, thanks Mum.’
The poor sod was too frozen to think about anything other than getting warm again. I didn’t blame him, to be honest. Once indoors, he sat in front of the gas fire for the rest of the evening, trying to get the feeling back in his hands and feet.
The next day, however, he woke up and immediately got dressed in his leathers, ready to jump on his new moped. He asked Anjie to take pictures of him posing next to it, and he was beaming as he zipped off down the road. He looked so happy and confident. I felt really proud of him that day, and I could tell Angie did too.
After that, Nathan rode his bike all over Bristol, and he made some new friends as he met other moped owners. I used to laugh as I saw them all riding past the house together, as if they were in a pack.
When he left school, Nathan trained as an electrician at City of Bristol College, and owning the moped helped him to get an evening job as a delivery boy for Domino’s Pizza. He also worked at Sainsbury’s on weekends. At that point, he was showing all the qualities I had wanted so much to give him. He was hardworking, dedicated, and he was earning his own money.
‘He’s like a mini-me,’ I bragged to Anjie as we watched him ride off to work one day. She couldn’t have been prouder of her son, and I was chuffed to bits with the man he was becoming.
A few months later, Anjie called me in a blind panic while I was at work. She was such a blubbering mess that at first it was hard to make sense of what she was saying.
‘Nathan’s been in an accident,’ she said, sobbing down the phone. ‘Someone drove out of a junction and straight into him.’
‘Is he all right?’ I asked, my heart missing a beat.
‘Yes, but he’s in hospital,’ she said. ‘He was taken from the scene by an ambulance, but his bike is still by the side of the road. Can you go out and find it?’
‘Right, OK, love,’ I said. ‘Try not to panic.’
Nathan had been riding through Kingswood at about 35 mph when some idiot drove straight into him. He was thrown over the bonnet of the car on impact and ended up crumpled on the road, screaming in pain. His handlebars had smashed into his stomach and he had snapped his wrist as he landed but, other than that, he was OK. I silently thanked our lucky stars that I had made clear to him the importance of wearing appropriate protection while out riding. His helmet and leathers probably saved his life that day.
I left work immediately. My friend Andy Collins drove me in his van to search for the moped, which we discovered on the side of the road. I was horrified because it was completely folded in half. I felt sick as I loaded it into the back of the van, thinking about how much worse the accident could have been.
Later that day, we went to collect Nathan from hospital. He was in pain and feeling very sorry for himself.
‘Come on, boy,’ I said putting my arm around his shoulder. ‘Let’s get you home. You’ve had enough excitement for one day.’
‘I thought he was going to have a go at me about the state of the bike,’ he told his mother, who laughed.
‘You are far more important to him than any bike,’ she replied. ‘Darren cares about you – he doesn’t give a damn about the bike. That can be replaced – you can’t.’
‘Oh.’ Nathan replied. ‘All right, then.’
I think he needed reassurance every now and again that, as far as I was concerned, he was my son. He gave me a little more respect for a while after that, before we reverted to our normal relationship, which involved lots of banter and teasing of each other.
When Nathan turned seventeen, he asked if he could learn to drive a car. I was fully behind this, because Anjie and I had been shaken up pretty badly by the moped incident. I figured that he would be a lot safer in a car. We paid for lessons with a driving instructor because I knew I would never have the patience to teach anyone. Many moons ago, I did once try to give Anjie a driving lesson, and the hour I spent in the car with her scarred us both for life!
Nathan was so keen, he took to driving like a duck to water. He had absolutely no problems at all. When it came to his practical test, I drove him to the test centre and waited for him, and once again he walked out of there grinning like a Cheshire cat.
‘Let me guess – you passed?’ I asked.
He nodded in reply.
‘Well done, son,’ I said, starting the engine. ‘I’m proud of you. You’re doing really well – but you’re still not driving my car!’
Nathan always underplayed his successes and would never let on that he was pleased I was proud of him, but you could see it on his face. He couldn’t stop smiling all the way home. Within a few weeks, he rushed out and bought his first car – a sporty-looking white Renault Clio – with the money he was earning from his three jobs. I was less than impressed with this purchase, as when I gave it a test drive I could tell it was falling apart. The gearbox was on its way out, the clutch only engaged when my foot was a couple of inches off the floor, and there was rainwater leaking in, causing the electrics to fail.
‘This car is junk,’ I told Nathan, but he just crossed his arms and huffed at me.
‘I like it; it looks cool,’ he replied. It turned out to be one of those things I needed to let him find out for himself. After a few days he started moaning his head off about the car not running properly.
‘That’s what happens if you don’t listen to your old man,’ I told him, making things ten times worse.
Nathan had a few cars after that. His pride and joy was a black Vauxhall Astra, which cost him £6,000. He was completely in love with it. He would spend hours polishing and tinkering with it in front of our house. And then, one blazing hot day, when he had only had it for two months, I accidentally did something I’m not proud of.
The pollen count was unusually high so my hayfever was really bad. I was driving home after doing some errands when I was suddenly blinded by a strong burst of sunshine and had a sneezing fit, both at the same time. I tried to pull onto my driveway, but instead of hitting the brake, I slammed my foot on the accelerator and smashed straight into the front of Nathan’s new car. I was mortified.
Nathan managed to get it fixed thanks to his insurance, but I wasn’t his favourite person for a while after that, and I can’t say I blamed him.
Working on cars ultimately proved a bonding experience for us, though. Nathan had been completely obsessed with them from the very first moment he got behind the wheel. I knew quite a lot about motorbike engines so I was able to get to grips with a car engine pretty quickly, and we spent a lot of time tinkering with our respective cars on Sundays. It wasn’t uncommon for us to be working on a car all day long, while Anjie brought out drinks and snacks for us. It’s those Sundays that I really cherished with Nathan. As he approached eighteen we got a lot closer. In many ways I had more in common with him than I did with Danny. Danny was such an easy kid that you never knew he was there, but he preferred hanging out with his friends to his dad. As he matured, Nathan still remained pals with Danny, and he started to make more of an effort with Becky. When I watched him, I often thought that Anjie, his nan and I had all done a good job of raising him. I looked forward to seeing what he would make of his life.
The day he turned eighteen, I knocked on his bedroom door in the morning to give him a card.
‘Happy birthday, son. I’m taking you out for a pint tonight,’ I told him.
Nathan had never drunk or done drugs as a teenager – none of our kids did, as we wouldn’t tolerate that sort of behaviour – so he looked genuinely excited to go out for his first pint.
Our first stop was The Pied Horse, my regular haunt, and as soon as we got there I ordered a pint and put it in front of him.
‘Big moment, this – your first legal drink.’ I winked at him while he took a sip. ‘Happy birthday, boy.’
We spent the next few hours playing darts and pool, just him and me. I took him to three more local pubs before we went home and he enjoyed himself immensely, but he proved to be a bit out of his depth. After about eight pints, he was completely hammered and staggering as we headed home together. We tried to keep quiet as we got in, but we almost woke the whole house as we crashed through the front door.
When I got into bed, Anjie sat up and whispered, ‘What have you done to my son, Darren?’
I laughed. ‘He did it to himself, Anj. He’ll be suffering in the morning.’
And, sure enough, I was right. I woke up bright and early and started cooking the family a fry-up, when a bleary-eyed Nathan walked down the stairs.
‘All right, boy?’ I asked him, chuckling. ‘Bit worse for wear, are we?’
‘I’m dying, Dar,’ he croaked as he slumped on the sofa.
‘I’ve got just the thing for you. This will sort you right out,’ I said, handing him a plate loaded with food.
Nathan took one look at the greasy fry-up in front of him and turned green. He looked at me in alarm, handed back the plate and bolted up the stairs to be sick. I was laughing so hard I almost dropped his breakfast on the floor. It took him three days to recover fully, and it was something I brought up during our banter for years after. I hadn’t set out to make him ill, but as far as I was concerned it was a valuable lesson for him to learn.
Even though he was officially an adult, Nathan still occasionally needed his old man to help get him out of scrapes. A few months after his eighteenth, I was driving over to pick him up in Warmley when I spotted him standing outside one of the shops, waiting for me. I was just about to toot my horn to get his attention when I saw a six-foot-tall guy suddenly grab him by the throat and push him against a nearby wall. I didn’t have to think twice: I swerved the car into the kerb and turned off the engine before sprinting across the road.
There was a girl standing nearby, screaming, ‘That’s not him! Get off him!’
‘What the hell do you think you’re doing to my son?’ I bellowed, before using all my strength to yank the guy off him and punch him hard in the jaw. He dropped to the ground and I turned to Nathan.
‘Get in the car,’ I yelled, and we legged it. The guy was bigger than both of us put together, and I didn’t want to risk finding out what he might do when he got back up again.
Once I had driven away, I turned my attention to Nathan. He was visibly shaken.
‘You all right, son?’ I asked. ‘What was all that about?’
‘No idea,’ he replied. ‘I don’t even know the guy.’
I was fuming that anyone would dare touch him when all he was doing was standing innocently in the street. As we drove back, Nathan turned to me.
‘Thanks, Dar,’ he mumbled.
‘You don’t have to thank me,’ I answered. ‘I was only defending my boy.’
That’s exactly what Nathan was to me – my boy. To him, I was the only father figure he had ever known. We’d had our ups and downs, but on the whole I thought we had a good father–son relationship. Our blended family showed time and time again that DNA meant nothing. We supported and looked out for each other no matter what.
Although we generally got on well during Nathan’s teenage years, we also locked horns sometimes. All teenagers tend to behave appallingly from time to time, and Nathan was no exception. One of these incidents occurred when his nan Margaret and granddad Christopher went away for a few days. Unbeknown to us, Nathan decided to have a huge party in their house, inviting all his friends.
Anjie received a frantic phone call from him the next day.
‘Don’t be mad, Mum, but I had a party last night and it got out of hand,’ he blurted out. ‘You have to help me put it right.’
Anjie hung up the phone and looked at me, shaking her head in despair. ‘We’re going over to my mum’s house,’ she said. ‘Grab some bin bags.’
When we got there, I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. It was a complete bombsite. The inside doors were completely ripped off their hinges, the sofas were slashed, there were picture frames smashed on the floor and fag butts stomped into the carpet. There was the telltale stink of spilled alcohol and pools of vomit everywhere. I felt sick just looking at it. The worst thing was, Nathan’s nan was due to get home that evening.
‘We haven’t got enough time to clean all this up!’ I shouted. ‘What the hell were you thinking?’
‘Please,’ he pleaded in desperation. ‘I have to fix it. Please help me.’
It was obvious that Nathan was completely bricking it, so I started to feel sorry for him and we agreed to help. Luckily, I had my toolkit in the car, so I managed to fix a few of the doors while Anjie and Nathan got to work cleaning up. We spent a whopping nine hours in that house trying to sort it all out. I smuggled away dozens of bags of damaged items and rubbish in the boot of my car. We did a pretty good job, but Nathan still had to face the music when his grandparents got home. There were too many broken items to pretend it never happened.
‘Sorry, boy, but you have to face them on your own,’ I said when we had done all we could. ‘The rest is down to you now.’
Needless to say, Nathan had an almighty tongue-lashing from his grandparents when they returned. Strangely enough, after that Anjie and I never accepted his offers to look after our house while we were away!
Nathan was eighteen when he started seeing his first girlfriend, but it only lasted a few months. He often complained to us that all her friends were male rather than female. Despite his confidence around his family and close friends, I think he was quite insecure when it came to girls. He certainly seemed to get jealous very easily.
When he and his girlfriend broke up, Nathan started to act very oddly. He insisted that she owed him money, and he used to hang around outside her house in his car. Anjie and I were horrified when we heard he had been moved on by the police.
‘Will you stop stalking her, boy?’ I said angrily when he got home. ‘You’re being creepy. Just walk away, Nathan. Sort yourself out.’
‘She owes me £400, Dar,’ he mumbled.
To be honest, I think the money was just an excuse. I think he would have hung around stalking her anyway. It ended up with Margaret, his nan, having to go and talk to her mum about it, as his former girlfriend was starting to feel afraid of the way Nathan was acting. We were worried about his behaviour too, although we just thought it was a phase he would grow out of.
For the most part, he did seem to grow out of being weird around girls, but none of his girlfriends seemed to last very long. I don’t think that’s at all unusual for guys in their late teens, but there was another incident when Nathan was nineteen that both annoyed and worried me at the same time.
I was working on my car in the driveway one day when he pulled up outside the house. I glanced into his car and saw four very young girls sitting inside. At a glance I could tell they were no older than around twelve. They were all giggling.
‘Who the hell are they?’ I asked Nathan, thinking this was a prank and he was trying to wind me up.
He looked at me blankly. ‘Oh, just some girls who wanted to go for a drive.’
I couldn’t believe that he had picked up some random young girls off the street and driven off with them.
‘What are you playing at, boy?’ I demanded. ‘I don’t know what’s going on here, but this is odd. They’re children. Get in the car and take them back to wherever you found them. Take them back to their parents.’
My reaction made Nathan laugh at first, but when he realised I wasn’t joking he shrugged, got back in the car and drove off. I assume he took the girls home, but we didn’t see him for a few days after that, as he was back at his nan’s and he refused to talk about it afterwards.
I couldn’t get my head around why he’d thought it would be a good idea to take some young girls out in his car, and I eventually decided that he had done it to wind me up. A niggling little doubt was planted, all the same. Did he have some weird ideas about girls? Eventually, I decided he was just a normal teenager trying to find his way in the tricky world of relationships with the opposite sex.
Chapter 5
Becky’s teenage years (#ub2c27f71-42a2-5555-b29e-03e7aad039b2)
FRIDAY, 17 APRIL 2015
Hundreds gather to say goodbye to the ‘Angel of Bristol’, Becky Watts: Hundreds turned out this morning for the funeral of Bristol teenager Becky Watts. Almost two months after the schoolgirl’s disappearance and brutal death horrified the city, people came together to celebrate the ‘shy but big-hearted’ teenager’s young life with a fitting send-off – thanks in part to £11,000 of donations towards the service from far and wide. Mourners and supporters – some wearing T-shirts featuring a photo of the 16-year-old – lined the streets outside St Ambrose Church, showering the horse-drawn carriage bearing her coffin with pink roses as it passed. With the church packed to the rafters, scores more watched proceedings on a big screen outside as a moving service included stories of Becky’s younger days and her great kindness. Her father, Darren Galsworthy, paid an emotional tribute to his daughter, through the Reverend David James. He said: ‘As you look down from heaven, just look at what your short life has achieved – not bad for a shy girl. You will forever be in our hearts and thoughts. Rest in peace, Angel of Bristol.’ Following the service, people cried and clapped as Mr Galsworthy released a dove into the skies above her coffin, before the family left for a private burial at Avonview Cemetery.
Becky had a hard time starting secondary school. Hope, her only friend from Summerhill Primary School, went to a different secondary, and she struggled to make any new friends. She was confident at home, but painfully shy around other kids. Even when we were away on holiday and there were lots of other children running around, Becky wouldn’t mix with them. She was never very good at introducing herself into friendship groups and reading other children’s body language, so as a result she was often left out their games. She’d just spend a lot of time on her own, or with her family.
Anjie and I hadn’t been particularly worried about this when she was at primary school because she had Hope, and she was also close to her cousin, Brooke, but from the minute she started secondary school, Becky found herself the subject of teasing by several different groups of girls. I suppose her lack of self-confidence made her an easy target.
I didn’t know anything about it until a few months into the new term. When she came home from school one afternoon, Becky threw her bag on the sofa and plonked herself down next to Anjie, as she always did.
‘Hello, love,’ I ventured. ‘Had a good day?’
She shrugged in response.
‘Why don’t you ever bring any of your new friends to the house?’ I asked, and to my surprise Becky burst into tears.
Anjie and I looked at each other warily. ‘Oh no,’ she said, putting her arm round Becky. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘I don’t have any friends,’ Becky sobbed. ‘Nobody likes me.’
I was gutted for her. I had been hoping that after years of being a bit of an outcast at the primary school, she would come out of her shell a little when she got to secondary school. It seemed it wasn’t going to be that easy. We talked to her for ages that evening, trying to boost her confidence, telling her that she was a lovely girl and it wouldn’t be long before everyone else realised it.
Danny was in the same school so I secretly asked him if he and his friends would keep an eye out for any trouble if they saw her in the corridors, and we crossed our fingers and hoped it would get better in time.
But it didn’t. One evening, I came home to find Anjie and Becky cuddled on the sofa again, Becky’s eyes red from crying.
‘What’s happened?’ I demanded, horrified, and Anjie shot me a worried glance.
‘We’ll talk about it later,’ she said firmly.
I nodded and left them to it. Anjie was always much better at handling stuff like that than I was. Once she had calmed down, Becky went up to her room and Anjie came into the kitchen to have a chat with me.
‘Becky’s still being bullied,’ she said. ‘They are picking on her looks, her weight, everything. She had her brand-new jacket ripped off her back today.’
‘I’ll take the day off work tomorrow and go to the school,’ I said. Frankly, I felt like finding the culprits and giving them a piece of my mind, but Anjie shook her head.
‘I’ll go and speak to the school,’ she said. ‘And if that doesn’t work, I’ll send you in later.’
That’s how it worked with us. Anjie was the calm, collected parent while I tended to be more like a bull in a china shop. I must admit, her approach often worked better than mine, but I couldn’t stand the idea of anyone treating Becky like that. It made me feel sick to my stomach.
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