Stories
Forgiving a killer
As a grieving mum, would you do the same...?
Friendship meant everything to my daughter Ruth, 21. She’d always been the life and soul of the party, making more mates than I could keep track of.
When she was 17, she’d asked if she could throw a party at our house. I’d thought nothing of it – until I saw the sea of students flooding into our house!
‘Next time, you’re holding it in the garden,’ I’d told her the following morning. ‘Did you even know half those people?!’
‘Mum, I know all of them,’ she’d chuckled. I was baffled. How on earth did she find the time?
But then, that was Ruth. She could make friends anywhere, knew people from all walks of life. And her social circle had grown even more when she’d gone off to university to study sound and music technology.
Now, I was helping Ruth organise her annual barbecue.
‘We can order all the food and drink online,’ she told me, settling herself at the computer. ‘Oh, do you mind picking me up from the train station on Friday?’ she added, turning to face me. ‘I’m working in Salisbury in the morning, but I’ll come home with my mates Rachel and Pete in the evening.’
Ruth had got herself a catering job when she’d finished her degree, and moved back home. It took her all over the place, and I’d agreed to let a few of her friends who lived further away stay over the weekend of the party, too.
‘Course not,’ I smiled.
‘Chantelle’s getting the bus over and Spencer is driving. He’s picking up Phil and Sarah on the way,’ she gabbled on excitedly.
I tried to picture faces as she reeled off their names. I’d got to know most of Ruth’s mates over the years, but I couldn’t for the life of me remember all of them. ‘Wait, who’s Spencer again?’ I asked.
‘Oh Mum, he’s lovely,’ she smiled. ‘I met him at uni and we bumped into each other at work the other week, so I invited him along. You’ll like him, he’s a nice sensible lad, got a little baby.’
‘Well, I look forward to meeting him,’ I replied.
Just then, my hubby Neil
walked in. ‘You know I think it might rain,’ he joked, seeing Ruth organising her party. ‘You sure you want a big barbecue?’
Ruth poked her tongue out at him playfully. ‘Very funny, Dad,’ she grinned. ‘I’ve already checked the weather forecast, though, and it’s going to be bright and sunny.’
‘Hmm…’ he smiled. ‘Was worth a shot.’ Truth was, Neil and me loved meeting Ruth’s friends.
So did her brothers, Philip, 21, and George, 18.
The night before the party, I got ready to go and pick up Ruth and her mates from the station.
But before I left, she called me. ‘I’m getting a lift with Spencer, so I can give him directions,’ she said. ‘We’re just picking up my mates Phil and Sarah, so won’t be back until later.’
At 10.30pm, she called to say they were halfway home and Rachel and Pete were at the station. ‘No problem,’ I said. ‘I’ll get them, and see you when you get here.’
‘I’m taking everyone to the pub when we get in, so we won’t be under your feet,’ she told me excitedly. ‘See you soon, love you.’
Back at the house, I chatted with her mates as Neil was already in bed. But, by midnight, Ruth still wasn’t home.
I tried calling her mobile but it rang out. Had they got lost?
‘I’ll try Phil’s phone,’ Pete offered, dialling his number. As soon as his pal answered, though, Pete’s face fell. ‘What? Are you okay?’ he gasped.
I frowned, concerned as he listened intently.
‘Right, I’ll see you soon,’ he finished, snapping his phone shut.
‘There’s been an accident,’ Pete gulped. ‘Ruth’s in a bad way, she’s at the hospital.’
My heart lurched.
Grabbing my keys, me and my daughter’s mate headed out the door, leaving the others at the house.
Visions of her covered in cuts and bruises and broken bones, raced through my mind. I didn’t want to worry Neil though, so left him sleeping upstairs until I could find out exactly what had happened.
Maybe Ruth would have to call her party off after all.
At the hospital, we were shown to a family room while a doctor went to find where Ruth was.
When he came back, though, he looked grave. ‘The police need to speak to you,’ he told us, showing in two officers.
I stared, stunned.
‘Mrs Brereton,’ one officer started. ‘I’m so sorry, Ruth didn’t make it.’
For a second, I thought I was having some awful nightmare. But as he continued, reality hit.
‘The man who was driving the car went to overtake a lorry on a dangerous road,’ he explained. ‘But he lost control, and collided with another car. I’m afraid Ruth was in the front passenger seat and hit her head on the dashboard. There was nothing anyone could do for her.’
My breath came in short sharp gasps as I tried to take it in.
Not my Ruth, not my beautiful little girl…
I phoned Neil and told him to come with the boys to the hospital. When he arrived, we collapsed in each other’s arms. ‘I didn’t even say goodbye to her before she left for work this morning,’ he sobbed.
It wasn’t until an hour later that we were able to go along to identify Ruth’s body.
Her long, dark blonde hair was stained with blood, her eyes swollen and bruised. I couldn’t believe that my vibrant, kind daughter was gone.
It didn’t feel real. How had this happened?
I needed answers, so I quizzed Sarah and Phil, who’d been in the car, too. Spencer was still being treated for leg injuries.
‘Had Spencer been drinking? Was he speeding?’ I asked, trying to get my head around it.
‘No,’ Phil answered. ‘He was just overtaking and clipped the kerb.’
I felt torn. I know most parents would’ve wanted to take out their grief on the boy who’d caused the death of their daughter, but I didn’t. Every time I pictured Ruth’s smile when she’d spoken so fondly of Spencer, I knew it wasn’t what she’d have wanted. She loved her friends, would never see any harm come to them.
Right then I made a decision – I was inviting him to her funeral. He had a right to say goodbye, to celebrate her life.
On the day, Spencer showed up on crutches, looked pale and drawn. ‘I’m so sorry,’ he croaked, tears spilling over his cheeks. ‘I loved Ruth, I never meant…’
I put my hand on his shoulder.
‘I know,’ I whispered.
In January this year, 18 months after Ruth died, Spencer, 27, stood trial at Guildford Crown Court for causing her death by dangerous driving. His real name was Jonathan Craig, but his childhood nickname of Spencer had stuck.
I couldn’t help thinking of what Ruth had told me about him before she died, how he had a baby of his own, how sensible he usually was… She wouldn’t want him to go to prison.
So, I made a statement to the judge. ‘To me, prison is a place for people who shouldn’t be allowed in our society,’ I began. ‘I don’t blame him for what happened, it was an accident, a mistake – one he’ll punish himself for forever.’
Despite my forgiveness, the jury found him guilty, and he was sentenced to two years in prison.
I hope that when he gets out, he’ll be able to carry on his life without holding on to the guilt of Ruth’s death too tightly.
I know that Ruth’s already forgiven him, that’s the type of person she was.
And, although it wasn’t for long enough, I’m so proud to have been her mum.
Liz Brereton, 50, Addiscombe, Surrey
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