Justice for Colette: My daughter was murdered - I never gave up hope of her killer being found. He was finally caught after 26 years. Jacqui Kirby
did as I was told and drank a gin and orange. It was the most disgusting thing that I had ever tasted. Needless to say, I haven’t touched a drop of gin since.
But his mother wasn’t finished with me. Sipping at her own gin and orange, she sniffed and – in her best posh accent – said, ‘If you hadn’t been the type of girl that we wanted for our Tony, then we’d have done our best to make life as uncomfortable as possible for you.’
I wasn’t quite sure how to reply.
‘As it is,’ she continued, prodding her bony finger against my shoulder, ‘you were scrutinised long before you got in the car that day.’
It turned out she’d been asking lots of people questions about me as soon as she found out I was dating her son. She wanted to know if I was a suitable candidate. I looked back at her in astonishment. I’d only met her son twice. Who was to say that our relationship would last any longer? I knew from that moment on that Iris was a tough cookie and that if I wanted to be with her son then I had my work cut out.
Tony also owned a motorbike, and, one evening, he rode over on it to pick me up from work. It was a bitterly cold night, so cold that everything from grass to pavement was covered in a hard silvery glaze of frost. I was due to stay at Tony’s house for the weekend but I wasn’t dressed for the weather. I was wearing a thin coat, top, skirt and sheer tights. The wind cut through me like a knife as we scooted along the icy roads and back to Tony’s house. By the time we arrived, I was so cold that I couldn’t climb off – my legs were literally frozen against the seat – still bent at the knee. Tony was laughing as I tried to get off but it took me several minutes just to straighten up!
When we finally walked into his house, Iris was waiting for us and she was furious that Tony had been out on his bike in such bad conditions.
‘What’s she doing here?’ she demanded, pointing at me. ‘I’ve told you a million times before about risking your life for other people.’
I loved Tony’s mum in many ways, but whatever I did she always saw me as the woman who would steal away her son, the apple of her eye, the centre of her universe. If I’d been a saint, I still wouldn’t have been good enough for her boy.
Tony and I had been dating for just over a year. One Saturday afternoon, we were walking past a jeweller’s shop when I felt a tug against my arm. Tony grabbed my hand in his and led me towards the large shop window.
‘Here, Jacqui,’ he said, ‘I want to show you something.’
My eyes darted across the rows and rows of gold rings. Jewels of every size and description glinted in the bright sunlight. Tony pointed through the glass towards a modern-style ring with a huge solitaire diamond set on a square base. The precious stone was nestled on a raised golden shoulder studded with little diamond chippings. It looked expensive.
‘Do you like that one?’ asked Tony.
‘It’s lovely,’ I said, not quite catching the tone of his voice or realising what he was inferring.
‘Let’s go in and try it on,’ he suggested.
My heart beat in my chest as Tony led me inside. I’d never been in a jeweller’s shop as posh as this one and I was worried that my nerves would reveal my inexperience and tender age. But, as soon as I slipped the ring on my finger, everything felt perfect.
‘You really like it?’ Tony asked me.
‘I love it,’ I smiled.
‘Well, I’m going to buy that ring for you and then perhaps we could get married.’
With that, he took out the wallet from his inside jacket pocket and began to pay.
I stood there dumbfounded. Was that a marriage proposal?
As I watched Tony count out more than a month’s salary on to the counter in front of me, I knew that it certainly was.
The male shop assistant smiled knowingly as Tony told him to put it in a box. It would be packed away for later until he could summon up enough courage to tell his mother. All the way home from town in his car, Tony fretted about what to say. How would he tell Iris that he was about to leave home and become a married man? Meanwhile, I was worried how she would react towards me.
When we arrived back at Tony’s, Iris was sitting in her usual chair by the fireplace. We began to make small talk about the weather, then suddenly Tony stood up and cleared his throat. I watched as he nervously took the ring box out of his jacket pocket and then I noticed that his hands were shaking slightly.
‘I’ve got something to show you, Mum,’ he said, turning towards her with the open box in the palm of his hand. ‘I’ve asked Jacqui to be my wife.’
The room fell into a deep silence. No one spoke as the words hung in the air between the three of us. His mother’s face was a picture – she was struck dumb by the news. But there was very little she could do about it other than smile. After all, she had guessed that her son had already spent a month’s wages on my ring.
‘Ooh, that’s nice,’ she said, trying to muster up some enthusiasm. She cast her beady eyes over the expensive ring, which was still perched in its box.
‘Mind you,’ she said, turning her attentions to me, ‘you can’t have it yet because it wouldn’t be proper, not until you’ve formally announced your engagement.’
So we did. We became officially engaged on 16 May – it was the day of my 17th birthday and the day that I got to wear my ring for the very first time.
Eventually, Iris warmed to the idea of having me as a daughter-in-law and gave us her blessing. The wedding date was set for 27 April 1963. My dream had finally come true.
It was a beautiful crisp spring day when I walked into St Mary’s parish church, in Bulwell, Nottingham, to become Tony’s wife. It was one of the happiest days of my life.
As my parents were divorced and I hardly ever saw my father, it was decided that my grandfather George would give me away. Proudly, he guided me down the aisle towards my husband. Even though my mother was a single parent, she gave me the best wedding day a bride could wish for. She had bought my wedding dress from a designer she worked with. It was white brocade with a double skirt leading to a long train. It had long white sleeves that led to a neat little point over the back of my hands. They fastened around the wrist with tiny looped brocade-covered buttons. The same buttons ran down the length of the dress at the back. It was simply beautiful.
It was all I’d ever wanted – to be married, go on to have a family of my own and be a good mother to my children. But Iris couldn’t help herself – she had to get in just one more dig.
As we left the wedding reception full of excitement and about to embark on our new life together, I heard a lone voice start up at the back. It was Iris – she was singing. Everyone turned to look in astonishment as her voice carried loud and clear across the function room.
‘Oh! Oh! Antonio,
‘He’s gone away,
‘Left me alone-ee-o,
‘All on my own-ee-o.’
She wailed the chorus again and again in her loudest voice. My mother was mortified and later gave her a piece of her mind. Meanwhile, I wondered what my new life had in store for me.
Tony’s dad Bernard was the manager of a chain of mini-market shops. He had heard through the grapevine that a flat above one of the shops was coming up to let. It was small and cramped, with only one bedroom, but it was perfect for a newlywed couple looking for a starter home.
A few months later, we were thrilled to discover I was pregnant with our first child. I sailed through the pregnancy and, as if to perfect the dream, on our first wedding anniversary our beautiful son was born. We named him Mark Anthony Aram.
He was two weeks over his due date