Free April by Paul and Coral Jones Page A

between
Coral and me.
    That night, reporters on television reminded viewers that if Mark Bridger had not been charged by 5 p.m. the next day, officers would have no choice but to let him walk free. To Coral and me,
this was nothing short of unthinkable.
    ‘They need to speed things up,’ I said to Dave. I was trying to keep my cool, but anger had now started to set in and I was powerless to stop the rage that was mounting against the
animal who had taken my precious girl. The idea of him walking away without so much as a slap on the wrists made me feel physically sick. ‘They can’t just let him go!’
    After spending hours in the pressure cooker that had become our home, you could have forgiven Dave if he’d lost his temper from time to time, but even on this most testing of days he
remained as calm as ever, no matter how anxious he was inside.
    ‘Paul, that won’t happen,’ he told me firmly. ‘Let me tell you, he’s going nowhere.’
    I didn’t know what to believe and I was barely aware of darkness falling. I’m not sure if either Coral or I slept at all, but when we got up the next morning all we could think about
was the 5 p.m. deadline and the prospect of the man who appeared to have taken April being released. A long day of agony stretched out ahead of us as we waited to hear his fate.
    Fortunately Dave recognised how distressing this was for us and decided that he and Hayley should take us out for the afternoon.
    ‘Why don’t we go down and have a look at the pink bows?’ he suggested.
    The idea of going anywhere or doing anything that wasn’t essential seemed ridiculous, but Coral and I were beginning to feel suffocated in the confines of the house. Everywhere we looked
there was some reminder of April and, although we were grateful for all of the support we’d received, the living room and kitchen were constantly packed with people. We barely had room to
collect our thoughts.
    I felt a lump spring up in my throat when we were driven down the main street in Machynlleth: there wasn’t a window or a fence post which didn’t have something pink on display. As
well as bows, people had put out teddy bears and balloons in April’s favourite colour. These were such simple gestures but they gave us an idea of just how many hearts had been broken by our
personal tragedy. Machynlleth had been rocked to its core and would never be the same again.
    While we were driving, Dave noticed some members of the mountain rescue team who had been out searching in the town and pointed them out to us.
    ‘I’d love to shake their hands,’ I said.
    Dave immediately pulled over. ‘Do you want to shake their hands?’ he asked.
    I looked at Coral and we both nodded our heads. ‘Yes,’ we said, in unison. We hadn’t realised this was a possibility but we were desperate to say thanks to the people
who’d braved the elements to search for April round the clock.
    ‘Well, why don’t we?’ Dave said.
    Hayley then got out of the car and stopped the searchers in their tracks.
    ‘Mr and Mrs Jones would like to speak to you,’ she said.
    We couldn’t express our gratitude in words, so we simply grabbed hold of their hands and said a simple ‘Thank you.’ All of them had tears in their eyes.
    By coincidence, Dave and Hayley met two members of the team the following evening, as they were staying in the same hotel, a few miles outside of Machynlleth. They later told us that there were
more tears as they recounted the meeting and Dave joked that the searchers were speaking as if they’d met the Pope. It took us just a few minutes to thank them for their work, but I
don’t think we’ll ever truly know how much it meant to them.
    The police promised us that we’d be the first to know of any developments. Dave and Hayley knew we’d been glued to our television for the past few days and the last
thing they wanted was for us to hear it on the news. We’d initially been told Andy wanted to meet us at noon, so