Kidnap led to love!
Thursday 26th June 2008
We all do it, don't we? Take one look at someone and jump to conclusions. I certainly did, that's for sure.So, as I pulled into my driveway at 11pm one Friday in November 2001, and spotted a lad in a hoody hanging around, my heart pounded. Don't be daft, I told myself.
But as I climbed out of the car, someone grabbed me from behind. Terrified, I turned my head and caught a glimpse of a huge body towering over me, the hooded top shadowing his face. My body went tense with fear, then I felt him prod something sharp into my left side. Was it a knife?
My heart was beating so hard, I could feel the blood swooshing around in my ears Suddenly, the lad pushed me back into the driver's seat. Gasping for breath, I scrambled across the seats and out of the passenger door. But as I tried to run, he grabbed me from behind. I struggled to break free, clinging to the car roof by my nails, as he tried to push me back inside.
'You're making this worse for yourself,' he hissed.
What the hell did he want to do to me?
I had to get out of this. In desperation, I blurted out the first thing that came into my head.
'I've just had heart surgery,' I lied, grasping my chest. 'Just take the car and go.'
It must have worked, because next thing I knew, he'd wrenched the keys from my hand, pushed me to the ground and sped off in my Fiat Punto convertible. With my heart still pounding, I crawled behind a wall and hid there, sobbing, convinced he was going to come back...
After about 15 minutes, I ran to my nearest neighbour's flat.
'Help,' I sobbed, pounding on the door hysterically.
When the man appeared, I was crying so much, I couldn't explain what had happened, but he
phoned the police.
'Do you want me to ring anyone else?' he asked.
'Will you phone David?' I sobbed.
David Stevens, 44, was a friend I'd met four years earlier, at the music studio where
I worked. He was a keyboard player and I was a singer, and we'd started writing songs together.
David was larger than life. It was like having Del Boy from Only Fools And Horses around!
And in November 2000, when I'd split up with my husband of 18 years, Brian McPherson, then 39, David had been a shoulder to cry on.
He'd helped me find a place to rent with my son, Michael, 12, up the road from his flat in Ilford, Greater London, and he'd popped round every day to see how I was. So now, when David arrived at my neighbour's flat, I collapsed in his arms, sobbing.
'What happened?' he gasped.
'I–I…' My body shuddered as I heaved with sobs.
'It's OK,' he said, holding me.
Eventually, I calmed down enough to explain.
'My keys to the flat were on the bunch that were stolen,' I sniffed.
'I'll nip home and fetch my spares,' David said.
Soon, we were back at my flat, having a strong cuppa. The police arrived to take my statement, but when they left half-an-hour later, I was still scared stiff.
'That thug's got my keys,' I said, breaking down in tears. 'What if he comes back for me?'
'I'm sure he won't,' David reassured me.
I wasn't so sure.
'Please don't leave me alone,' I cried.
'I wouldn't dream of it,' he replied.
David phoned my older son, Terry, now 29, and the two of them sat up with me all night.
Next morning, he changed my locks, too. But I still couldn't bear to be on my own, so Michael went to stay with his dad, and in the weeks that followed, I spent some nights in David's spare room, and the rest with friends and family. I had counselling, but two months later, in January 2002, I woke up one morning and
had the shock of my life. Clumps of my shoulder-length blonde hair were covering my pillow. When I looked in the mirror, I saw a 50p-sized bald patch above my left ear.
As always, I rushed to David.
'Why's this happening to me?' I panicked.
'Let's get you to the doctor,' he said, calmly.
My GP said it was alopecia, caused by the shock of what had happened, and that it should grow back on its own.
In fact, the opposite happened. I lost more hair and had to wear a headband to cover the patches. I sunk into depression, but David was so sweet.
In March, he whisked me off to Marbella for a week's holiday, and as we sat in the hotel having dinner one night, he gave me a talking to.
'You can't go on like this,' he said.
'I know,' I said. 'But I can't cope on my own.'
'Then move in with me,' he said, taking my hand. 'I love you, Caz.'
I looked into those familiar blue eyes, and suddenly, my tummy was filled with butterflies. Stupid really. But it was only now, after all this time, that I realised I had feelings for him.
'I love you, too,' I smiled, as he leaned over and kissed me.
So as soon as we got home, David started viewing houses for us to buy. I still had bald patches, but David even had a solution to that.
'I've arranged for you to have hair extensions,' he smiled.
The next day, he whisked me off to Mr Smiths salon in Epping, and paid for my blonde extensions.
In May 2002, we moved into our new house in Loughton, and six months on, the police called.
'Your car's been found in Hackney, East London,' the officer explained. 'We found a fingerprint and we've arrested a man.'
My whole body sagged with relief. Arnold Bongwalanga, 19, was charged with attempted abduction and taking and driving away. In January 2003, David came with me to Snaresbrook Crown Court, to see Bongwalanga plead guilty to robbery. He was sentenced to six years Just seeing him, sitting smugly
in the dock, brought all the terrible memories flooding back. I blinked back the tears and clung to David's hand. With his support, I got through it.
Back at home, my hair started to grow back, and on 2 September 2004, David and I got married at Epping Forest Register Office. To be honest, even after the wedding, I was still a nervous wreck for months.
But thanks to David, I finally feel strong enough to talk about what happened. In some ways, it even makes
me smile. After all, if it hadn't been for that day, we might not be married now. I'm still trying to stop jumping to conclusions about people, because, as David taught me, you just never know what someone has up their sleeve.