The Runaway Schoolgirl (11 page)

I
had promised that I would report back to Gemma as soon as I had any news, but I knew that this kind of information couldn't be relayed to her over the phone, so I waited to get home before I told her what had happened.

She burst into tears the moment she heard the word ‘trial'. Upset, angry and confused, she was adamant that she wouldn't go to court: ‘You can tell them now, I won't be doing anything.'

‘But, sweetheart,' I said, ‘you have to …' She ran upstairs to my room and slammed the door.

I knew that she needed space and time to get her head around what was happening so I left her alone. I didn't know what I was meant to do. I rang the police and asked for advice about how I should handle the situation, and they said that I should try not to panic because the trial was still a long way off. For all we knew, Forrest could yet change his plea and the trial might not happen anyway.

After an hour or so, I checked in with Gemma to see if she wanted anything to eat or drink. She was still in a real state and begged me to change what I'd said to the police. If I said I had actually given Forrest permission to take her away, she said, then he wouldn't have a case to answer to.

But that wasn't true. I would never have given Forrest permission to take Gemma out of the country.

She continued to plead with me to change my statement. I have to admit that I did consider it briefly, as I just couldn't face the heartache that the trial would bring. But it would have been a lie and I could have ended up in prison myself. Besides, I wanted justice. We just had to accept the inevitable: there would be a trial and the nightmare would continue.

Lee was concerned that he would be called as a witness, as he had seen Gemma from a distance walking to Louise's house with another friend on the night she had said goodbye to me. None of us knew yet who the Crown Prosecution Service would want to appear at the trial, and I tried to explain the situation as best I could to Lee and Maddie. I was determined to be as open with them as I could, and assured them that I would try to get answers for anything that was worrying them.

My poor mum was devastated when I told her that the case was going to go to trial. At sixty-seven, she was battling with various conditions, including arthritis, sciatica and an irregular heartbeat, and during this time her health really went downhill. Prior to Gemma going missing, the two of them had always had the most wonderful relationship, but it had all fallen apart.

Up until this point, I had spared Mum a lot of the details of the case as I knew she wouldn't have been able to handle it; it wouldn't have been fair to burden her with it. When she
would ring up, I would tell her that things were fine to stop her from worrying. Now, though, there was going to be a trial and there was no way we would be able to avoid her finding out what had happened.

We talked about how she used to spoil Gemma with her favourite meals and how unhappy she was that they didn't talk anymore. At one point, she remembered Gemma once telling her that her boyfriend had written a song about her that included the lyrics ‘You hit me like heroin'. She remembered remarking, ‘That's a bit strong for someone of your age, isn't it?' and the conversation had quickly tailed off after that. Gemma didn't mention him again and Mum had forgotten the conversation had ever taken place. They didn't really have heart to hearts any more after that.

It was such a shame – they used to have such a tight-knit relationship before this. Mum lived with my sister Charlotte and her husband and daughter, and Gemma would often go and stay with them. They had even talked about going on holiday to Disneyland Paris together. Funnily enough, this became significant when the police investigation got underway. Mum and Charlotte's laptops were seized after Gemma went missing as the police knew she would have used them when she stayed over with them and, lo and behold, they found internet searches for Paris on the browser history. We had to explain that they were just planning an innocent family trip to Disneyland Paris, not a secret runaway.

B
it by bit, the police were piecing together what had happened when Gemma went missing, and we began to get a sense of just how chillingly calculating Forrest had been when he abducted her.

On the day that Gemma had told Louise that she wasn’t feeling well and that she was going to go back home, she had instead gone to a shopping centre car park, where Forrest was waiting for her.

Gemma had left her wash bag at Louise’s. Apparently, when they went back to pick it up, Forrest was in tears and cried to Louise, ‘I’m sorry I’m doing this, but I have to.’ It was if he was trying to manipulate Louise into thinking he was making some sort of grand gesture by running away with Gemma and wanted the poor girl to feel sorry for him. I expect he thought the fact that a teacher was trusting her with private
information would make her more likely to keep the secret. He was a grown-up, after all, and Louise would have liked the fact he was confiding in her.

The first Gemma knew that they were going to France was when they were in the car on the way to Dover to catch the ferry. It was at this point that she first began to realise the magnitude of what she was doing. She had wanted to run away from home because she knew that she was going to be in trouble for lying about what had been going on with Forrest, but she had never factored in a trip abroad; she had just assumed they would go to Scotland or somewhere up north. She didn’t speak to Forrest for the rest of the journey. She was scared, but felt it was too late to go back.

Before the ferry crossing, Forrest got Gemma to send a text to her friend Ben, telling him that they were heading north. Again, I think he thought Ben would be thrilled to be included in their circle of trust, but he also wanted to make sure that he had left a false trail in case Ben later said anything to the police. He had it all sussed out.

He later chucked his phone in the sea and, knowing the police would likely be on their tail, dumped his car soon after driving to Paris – he knew they were in danger of being tracked through the toll roads. From Paris, they then caught a train to Bordeaux.

It was so disturbing to discover how much Forrest had planned before the trip. He even told Gemma that he had researched what his prison sentence could be for taking her. It made me feel sick. In France, the legal age of consent is fifteen – provided, that is, the adult isn’t in a position of responsibility, which of course he was.

Forrest wanted to blend in as Gemma’s boyfriend rather
than her teacher, to lay low in France until her sixteenth birthday and then resume their relationship back in the UK afterwards. Just because he was in France, though, didn’t mean he was invisible.

It transpired that he had created a fake CV using the name Jack Dean and had applied for a job working in a bar in Bordeaux. The manageress of the bar was British and had read about Gemma’s case online. She realised who Forrest was and, liaising with police, invited him back for a second interview.

He and Gemma were intercepted by plain-clothed policemen while on their way back to the bar. It was there that Gemma thought she was being kidnapped and so she started screaming and trying to claw free to get away. It wasn’t until Detective Inspector Andy Harbour called out to Gemma and started speaking to her in English that she started to calm down.

Alison, the woman who blew the whistle on them in Bordeaux, was interviewed after their discovery. ‘They seemed really nice and she seemed normal, no sign of distress, but I don’t feel their plan was thought through well enough,’ she said. ‘We might live in France, but we do follow what happens in our own country. As soon as I logged on to the internet, I recognised their photos.’

O
n Tuesday, 5 February 2013, two letters arrived in the post confirming that Gemma and I would have to attend court for the trial hearing. I decided to hide them – I just couldn’t face telling Gemma about them. Already she was in such a state thinking about the trial.

I told Sarah and we agreed that it would be best if I waited until nearer the time to tell her, when we would know for certain if the trial was going to be taking place. We agreed that Gemma didn’t need the additional worry and uncertainty.

A week later, another alarming letter arrived. This time it was from Kennedy High School, asking if Gemma would like to take up the offer of their post-sixteen courses after Year 11. I couldn’t believe they had the nerve to send me something like this. I thought about sarcastically replying with some suggestions about the kind of courses the school
could actually take itself – child safety, for example – but I resisted the temptation and just filed it for the time being.

In the meantime, with so many things happening that were beyond our control, we were getting much closer to finding the kind of house that we needed. I ordered a skip and looked forward to its arrival, knowing I could put all my energies into something positive for a change. It was ironic as I’d been in the process of ordering one on the day that Gemma disappeared, but back then it was an entirely different situation.

It was good to have a big clearout, as I could get rid of all the bad memories and get ready for a fresh start. But just our luck, yet again things didn’t go exactly to plan …

On the day that the skip was delivered, Paul suddenly called out from upstairs, ‘Is Milly in the kitchen with you?’ Milly was our Yorkshire Terrier and I’d had her for 12 years, since she was an eight-week-old puppy. She was given to me by my stepdad on the last day I ever saw him, so she was very special to me. Anyway, on the day the skip arrived, the back gate was left open and Milly escaped. She was a tiny little thing and had squeezed through impossibly small spaces before, but she had always previously come back home.

This time, however, she never did. We searched high and low for her – as did the neighbours who knew and loved her, too – but it was no use, she was gone. With yet another trauma to cope with, I was heartbroken. I didn’t feel I could go round the neighbours asking if they’d seen her when only recently I’d been asking if they’d seen my daughter. In the end my next-door neighbour Katrina went round for us, but it was all to no avail: Milly was gone.

Finally, on Saturday, 9 March we moved into our new home.
It ended up happening quite quickly. We knew as soon as we saw the house that it was the perfect place for us. What’s more, it was brand new, so there were no unhappy memories that could be attached to it.

Before we signed on the dotted line, I took the children round to see the house and showed Gemma the room that would be hers. I promised her a new bed, new bedroom furniture, new bedding – the whole lot. I wanted her to feel she had her own space again after so many months of sleeping on the sofa. She absolutely loved it. It was so lovely to see her happy again. ‘Finally,’ I thought, ‘we can get things back on track.’

Come the day we moved, we decided that we wouldn’t make a big deal about leaving. We agreed that we wouldn’t tell the neighbours where we were going as we were concerned someone might inadvertently mention it to the press later. I was sad that I couldn’t say goodbye properly to everyone. If I could have picked up all of the neighbours and relocated them to our new street, I would have done – they were such great people.

Excited as I was about moving to a new house, I felt sad, too. I had lived in our old house for 10 years and, apart from the traumatic last nine months or so, I had lots of happy memories of my time there. It was where Lee, Gemma and Maddie had grown up, and it was Alfie and Lilly’s first home, so it wasn’t all bad there.

The first night in the new house was fabulous. I actually slept that night, rather than just laying there hoping that at some point my body would shut down. Being able to wake up in the morning and knowing that no one knew we were ‘that family’ was an amazing feeling. Just being able to say good morning to our new neighbours like any other ordinary people was a
real joy. I didn’t feel the urge to have to introduce myself or explain that all the stuff about me online wasn’t true.

It was great to be anonymous and normal again.

T
he following month, April, I went back to work. The company I was working for had been incredibly supportive and allowed me to extend my maternity leave because of the Gemma situation, but I knew that I had to try and start earning money again.

Beforehand, Gavin, my line manager, did everything he could to prepare me for coming back to work and even organised some occupational therapy for me – to assess how my job might need to be adapted because of the change in my circumstances. Previously, I had regularly been required to work extended hours and sometimes had to stay away from home overnight. Clearly, given everything that was going on, I could no longer do this. It was agreed that I would initially work three days a week and we would then review the situation going forward.

My first day back coincided with a big department meeting up in Manchester and I decided that I was going to brave it head-on and attend. Paul was working for the same company at the time and was also going to the meeting, so we arranged for Maddie and Alfie to stay with Max, my ex-husband. Lee, meanwhile, was staying over at his girlfriend’s and Paul’s mum came over to stay to look after Gemma and Lilly.

So there I was at the meeting, all suited and booted and ready to go. The people there were all so caring and understanding, and the head of department kicked off proceedings by welcoming me back. Everything was kept really light-hearted. I had been with the company for 10 years and had lots of friends whom I had stayed in touch with while I was away, so there was no awkwardness with close colleagues. Of course, some people there didn’t know me well and didn’t really know what to say to me, but that was fine – I realised it wasn’t exactly an everyday situation to be in.

The meeting went well and I was all set to get back to work and looking forward to getting back to my usual routine. Luckily, my job involved working with teams of young people and I was always called by my first name, so my workmates would be unlikely to spot the link between me and Gemma’s case. The court order came in really handy in this respect because my name was no longer being used in the press coverage. Obviously the senior management team was aware of it, but those who knew what was happening were very respectful and didn’t mention anything.

My job required me to audit stock in stores all over the south of England. It involved quite a lot of travelling, as the company was revamping the stores and implementing a new system. I was working between a number of stores, managing
different teams in several areas, and I was looking forward to being able to step out of the chaos at home and be someone else for three days a week.

I knew it would be a real shock to the system to begin with, having to get up at 6.30am and getting the kids dressed, fed and off to nursery and school, but once I was sitting on the train for my commute into work, I would be able to breathe and step out of all of the stresses of Gemma’s situation. It was a great feeling to know I was going to be a working mum again.

I took pride in the way I dressed – I think it’s important to look professional for work – and it felt good to have to wear dresses and make-up again. I’d lived in loose, comfy clothes after Lilly was born, but now I was back being me. Working in all sorts of different locations meant I would have plenty of time on the train to get my thoughts together, to process what was going on at home and face the challenges ahead.

But my dream of getting life back on an even keel didn’t last long.

When I returned from Manchester with Paul, everything seemed fine at home. Paul’s mum said that she and Gemma had had a really nice time together with no dramas. Then Gemma took one look at me and snapped. I snapped back: ‘Don’t talk to me like that!’ With that, she said, ‘I’m sick to death of this, I’m sick to death of you!’, and stormed upstairs.

She then came downstairs with her bags packed, saying she was going to stay with Max. She claimed I wasn’t telling her everything and complained that I was siding with the police and the social workers. I knew she was in a very bad place, but I’d always tried so hard to tell her everything I knew about the case. I had given her a list of numbers of
everyone involved and had told her that they would be only too happy to go through any details with her, but she never once called anyone.

I just wasn’t telling her what she wanted to hear – she wanted me to tell her that everything would turn out alright and that she would soon be back with Forrest – and she hated me for it. She knew, too, that I hated the parasites who were trying to befriend her, but as far as she was concerned, they were the only ones on her side. The way she saw it, I was just against her the whole time.

She called Max and he came and picked her up. He shrugged – he knew that I’d tried my hardest to make things work with her, but he wanted to be a good dad for her, too.

When I called Max later that night to check everything was OK, he told me that he thought she just needed some space away from the constant phone calls and appointments with the police, support workers and various other people involved with the case. I could understand that, but I was worried she might run away again. I was also concerned that she had become unhealthily close to that woman in Hertfordshire. After all, that awful woman had been to see Forrest in prison, and I am sure that she would have been only too happy to offer Gemma a place to stay.

For the time being, though, she was staying put at Max’s and I was getting regular reports back that things were OK. Max and I have differing views on parenting at times. He wanted to allow Gemma more space, but I was concerned about how she had been affected by everything that had happened over the past few months. I thought she was broken and needed much closer attention. I wouldn’t have been surprised in the slightest had she decided to head up to
Hertfordshire on the spur of the moment, or turned up on the doorstep of Forrest’s parents.

In the past, when we had previously had typical parent–child disagreements, Gemma and I always stayed in touch by text – the odd word such as ‘You OK?’ or ‘Goodnight’, things like that. We both hated falling out with each other and those texts were very important to us both because we knew, underneath it all, that we still loved each other very much. I know it seems odd to some people that we can be not speaking to each other and yet still texting one another, but that’s just the way we are. So when the texts from Gemma totally stopped I was heartbroken. She didn’t want anything to do with me. I wrote her a long email, telling her how much I loved her, and I continued to send her ‘I love you’ texts, but I got no reply.

I tried nice texts, loving texts and then, finally, an angry text. The second I sent it I regretted it. I immediately sent an apology text, but heard nothing back.

After a few days, I thought that’s it, she’s not coming back. I remember sitting watching the ABBA film,
Mamma Mia!,
and hearing the song, ‘Slipping Through My Fingers’, about a young girl growing up and leaving home. Tears started to stream down my face – I knew my darling Gemma had slipped through my fingers, too.

Every line of that song was so poignant – ‘That feeling that I’m losing her forever. I let precious time go by. Then when she’s gone, there’s that odd melancholy feeling, and a sense of guilt I can’t deny. Each time I think I’m close to knowing, she keeps on growing, slipping through my fingers all the time …’

I had lost her and there was nothing I could do about it.

In desperation, I spoke to Sarah and she said that I should
try writing all of my feelings in a letter to Gemma, so I did, scanning pictures of her when she was a little girl and sharing the memories I had of her. I wanted her to remember how much we’d been through together and I was in floods of tears as I wrote to her. I lost count of how many times I started the letter, but finally I finished it and posted it off to her.

But still I heard nothing back from her.

I didn’t know it at the time, of course, but she was to stay at her dad’s until after the trial. I missed her so much and blamed myself for driving her away.