Jones April - April: a mother and fathers heart-breaking story of the daughter they loved and lost

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First published in Great Britain by Simon & Schuster UK Ltd, 2015
A CBS COMPANY

Copyright 2015 by Paul and Coral Jones

This book is copyright under the Berne convention.
No reproduction without permission.
All rights reserved.

The right of Paul and Coral Jones to be identified as the authors of this work has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.

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A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

Hardback: 978-1-47113-976-5
Trade paperback: 978-1-47114-921-4
Ebook ISBN: 978-1-47113-978-9

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For April

PROLOGUE

I n the middle of a leafy, quiet hamlet in mid-Wales, known as Ceinws, the small whitewashed cottage stood apart from the rest of the houses. It sat on a slight hill and smoke had often billowed from the two chimneys on its black, slated roof a sign that an inviting fire was burning inside. Behind it lay acres of lush green forest and dozens of trees dominated the horizon, their leaves changing colour as the seasons passed.

Once it had been a perfect snapshot of the idyllic life enjoyed by many in the beautiful Welsh countryside. Its name, Mount Pleasant, had always seemed apt.

As the house was five miles from the nearest town, it was remote but peaceful. Its last inhabitant had been a Londoner, an enigmatic man whod fled the city presumably to escape the ghosts of a past none of his neighbours knew much about.

But on this grey November day, as a sharp chill hung in the air, there was nothing inviting or peaceful about the little white cottage.

For a week it had been barely visible, obscured by the scaffolding that had been built around it, and the trees behind it were bare. The fire had not been lit since images of the cottage had been thrust onto the front of newspapers on that awful day two years previously. Now the chimneys were gone. The black, slated roof had been removed, and only the white walls remained.

The television crews and newspaper photographers had already gathered on the concrete road leading to the cottage when I arrived with my family. We clasped each others hands as we took our place behind the red barriers. There was a small crowd, some of whom were our friends, others strangers. No one said much, as a handful of workers in high-viz vests buzzed around, making final preparations.

In the front garden there was a yellow crane. As it eventually sprang into life, I could sense my wifes silent tears. Slowly but surely it chipped away at each of the four white walls. One by one they were reduced to rubble.

Less than two hours later it was no more. The house of hell was gone and another chapter in our agonising story was over.

It was comforting to know that no one would ever again have to cast their eyes over that terrible spot, where our lives as we knew them had come to the most horrific end. We still didnt know exactly what had happened on that fateful autumn night in 2012. We suspected that perhaps we never would. All we knew was that it would haunt us until our dying day.

Wed come to watch the demolition because we had to see the cottage razed to the ground, brick by brick, with our own eyes. It was only when we surveyed the debris on the ground that we allowed ourselves to hope that the spirit of our beautiful daughter, April, had at long last been set free.

F rom the moment she was conceived, our daughter April was desperate to live. My wife Coral and I had been trying for a new baby for some time, so when she fell pregnant at the end of the long, hot summer of 2006, we were over the moon.

Our other children, Jazmin, then eleven, and Harley, then five, were just as thrilled as we were and talked excitedly about the arrival of their younger brother or sister. Coral and I knew instinctively that the little life growing inside of her would make our family complete.

I cant wait to be a big brother! Harley said almost every day, as he planned the games hed play with his new brother or sister. When will the baby be here?

Coral and I could only laugh and tell him he had to be patient. Jazmin was more reserved, but we knew she too couldnt wait for the new arrival.

Looking back on our lives as they were then, its hard to believe how carefree and uncomplicated our existence was.

Coral and I had first met in 2000, when I was working in my familys hardware shop in the quiet, unassuming town of Machynlleth, where wed both settled. A sleepy former market dwelling in the shadow of the rolling hills of mid-Wales, it is home to little more than two thousand people. Yet its a fiercely close community, protective of its own and filled with people willing to go above and beyond for their neighbours. Save the odd Saturday night scrap outside the pub at closing time, crime is virtually unheard of. As we looked forward to Aprils arrival, it was inconceivable that she could ever come to any harm here.

Coral had grown up in the North Wales port of Holyhead, two hours drive away on the Isle of Anglesey. Born Coral Smith, she was the second of two children and enjoyed a strong bond with her brother, Ian, who was three years older than her. However, as her sixteenth birthday approached, she was desperate for a taste of independence and began applying for jobs in other parts of Wales. She was intrigued when she noticed a vacancy for a cook in a restaurant in a place called Machynlleth. Reasoning she had nothing to lose, she applied. She was delighted when her application was accepted and, in March 1988, she packed her bags and left her family home behind.

Coral warmed to Machynlleth almost immediately. She made lots of friends and soon she couldnt imagine leaving. Despite the distance, she remained close to her family, particularly her mum, Sue, who visited whenever she could, especially when Jazmin came along a few years later. Likewise, Coral loved her trips back to the picturesque coastal town where shed grown up. But no matter how fond she was of Holyhead, Machynlleth was now her home.

My journey to the town was somewhat shorter than Corals, although I arrived there ten years later. Id spent my childhood in the coastal town of Tywyn, which was just fourteen miles away. I had one younger brother, Philip, known as Fil, and my childhood had been happy. I developed a love of the outdoors as a young child and I was perfectly at home in the beautiful Welsh countryside. Save a brief spell in London as a young man, I could never bring myself to leave.

Like Coral, Id come to Machynlleth for work when my mum, Lyn, and my stepdad, Dai, had opened a hardware shop and, in 1998, I began to work for them. It was then that my path and Corals crossed for the first time. She would regularly pop into the shop with Jazmin, then a bright-eyed, sweet toddler, and I fell in love with both of them almost instantly. A feisty, vibrant woman unafraid of speaking her mind, Coral hid a warm, kind heart beneath her tough exterior. She had me captivated and, after a few months of stolen chats, I plucked up the courage to ask her out for a drink.

We had our first date at a local pub and, by the end of the evening, we both knew wed be together forever. We were soon inseparable and, within six weeks, Id moved into Corals home near Machynlleths iconic town clock. From that moment on I regarded Jazmin as my own.