Stabbed while pregnant!
Andrew Elson was jailed indefinitely.
Tuesday 7th October 2008
As I peered out the living room window, I put my hands protectively round my bump.
I was eight months pregnant and pretty big. Most of my time was spent thinking about my baby, but now, I had something else on my mind. Leaning against the bus stop opposite our house, staring in, was Andrew Elson, 23. My ex. As his dark eyes fixed on mine, I closed the curtains with a shudder. Just leave us alone, I prayed. But no matter how hard I willed it, I knew Andrew would never give up. He'd told me so himself.
I was just 17 when I'd first met him in July 2004. Three months later, I was pregnant.
'We'll cope together,' Andrew had promised. 'I'll never leave you.'
Back then, those words had made me feel so reassured and loved, but now, they'd come back to haunt me. After Courtney was born, in July 2005, we'd moved into a council flat.
But we hadn't been happy for long. In September 2005, Andrew had given me a black eye during a row. Stunned, I'd taken Courtney and run back to Mum and Dad's.
'I'll never go back to him,' I'd wept.
But when he'd turned up the next day, he'd been so remorseful and convincing, before I knew it, I was back in his arms. Of course from then on, whenever Andrew lost his temper, he'd fly into a rage and punch me. It doesn't happen much, I'd tell myself. And he's always sorry afterwards. But in April 2006, when I'd been three months pregnant with our second child, he'd gone too far.
'I'm just going out,' I'd told him.
Courtney was being looked after by my sister, Kelly, 27, so I'd decided to go see an old friend.
But Andrew had taken exception. Furious, he'd started shouting and smashing up the flat.
'You're not going anywhere!' he'd roared at me.
Before I could even run, he'd picked up the iron from the side and whacked it into my back.
As my spine throbbed in agony, something in my head had clicked. He's never going to stop, I'd realised. It's time to put an end to it. So I'd had him arrested, convicted of assault and sent to prison. I'd even taken out an injunction against him, so when he was released at the beginning of September 2006, he wouldn't be able to come anywhere near me. But it hadn't stopped him.
From the day he got out, he'd called and texted, saying sorry. I'd changed my mobile number, but he'd just started doing the same to my friends, telling them to pass on messages. Then, one day, I'd been pushing Courtney in her buggy, when something had stopped me in my tracks. Painted on a wall were foot-high words, I love Stacey Hooper.
Freaked out, I'd fled home.
'It's like he can get to me when he's not even around,' I'd said tearfully to my mum, Lyn, 49.
Worse, now he'd taken to lurking outside Mum and Dad's house, where I was now living. Even visiting a friend became a nightmare. I had to make sure someone was able to drop me off or pick me up again.
'Sorry to be such a pain,' I said to my dad, Paul, 52, when I asked him for yet another lift.
'The most important thing is keeping you safe,' Dad smiled.
It was 21 September, and Andrew had been out of prison for three weeks, when miraculously, I went a whole day without seeing or hearing from him.
'Maybe he's finally given up,' I said to my friend, Kirsty Harris, 23, when I popped around to see her and her boyfriend, Jessie Kaye, 19, that night. Even so, I'd arranged for Dad to come pick me up once his shift at an old people's home was finished. As he helped me strap Courtney into her seat and put her buggy in the boot, I looked around cautiously.
The street was empty.
'Let's go,' I said to Dad, as I got in the front seat.
But as he started the engine, the back door slammed. I turned round. It was Andrew.
His eyes bored into mine.Something told me that, this time, he wasn't going to be all apologies and 'I love yous'. My instincts were screaming: Run! Heart thundering, I fiddled frantically with the seat-belt clasp. As it sprang undone, I lunged for the door handle. But it was too late. Andrew's arm flew round my throat, pinning me to the headrest. Then, I felt metal against my skin.
'Drive or I'll slit her throat,' he ordered Dad.
'Don't go anywhere,' I rasped to Dad, as he dived between the gap
in the front seat, separating Courtney from her evil dad.
'Get off her!' Dad shouted, wrestling with Andrew as Courtney started screaming.
But it was too late.
I felt the knife drag across my throat and something warm and wet dripped down my chest. Blood. He'd slit my throat. Finally, Dad managed to push Andrew back against the seat, and
I jumped out of the car. Andrew scrabbled for the back door.
'No!' I panicked, and hurled my body against the door to trap him in.
Inside, Dad was desperately trying to pull Andrew away, but I knew we needed help.
'Kirsty!' I screamed as loud as
I could. 'Help me, please help me!'
My head was spinning and, just as my legs started to buckle, the car door flew open.
I had one choice left. Run!
Clutching my bump, I fled down the hill, running for my life. Home was just minutes away,
but the road ahead seemed to go on forever, and I could hear Andrew's heavy footsteps thundering behind me. Closer and closer. Then, suddenly, I felt his hand grip my shoulder and I was pulled back onto the ground. Within seconds, I was pinned against cold concrete, my bump the only thing between me and Andrew.Trembling with fear, I could hardly catch my breath.
'Please,' I sobbed. 'Watch the baby. Don't hurt our baby.'
As much as he hated me, surely Andrew wouldn't want to hurt our unborn child?
But with his left hand pinning me down, he lifted the knife in his right hand above his head.
Without a word, he brought the blade down, aiming straight for my bump.
'No!' I screamed, desperately trying to wriggle free.
Dad ran down and tried to pull Andrew off me. But he wouldn't be moved. He was too strong. The next thing I knew, he'd plunged the knife into my bump.
'My baby!' I cried, hysterical. 'You've killed my baby!'
But Andrew hadn't finished with me yet, and lifted the knife above his head again.
Somehow, I managed to free my arms and bat away the blows, but my hands were shredded.
Blood was pouring from my neck and the wound in my stomach. I tried to fight back, but I was feeling weak and my vision became blurred.
You can't let him kill you, I thought. Fight for Courtney.
So using my last scrap of strength, I grabbed the blade, oblivious to the pain, and bent it out of shape. Then, Kirsty's boyfriend, Jessie, appeared over Andrew's shoulder.
'Get off her!' he roared, grasping the back of Andrew's coat and hauling him to his feet.
Even then Andrew refused to let go of me and, grabbing me by the shoulders, he pulled me up, too.
He took one look at me, blood gushing from the slash in my neck and my stomach, before turning and fleeing to Dad's car.Once inside, he roared off down the road, out of sight.
I stumbled to a nearby patch of grass and collapsed.Dad came rushing over and pressed a T-shirt against my throat to stem the blood.
'The ambulance is coming,' he said, trying to reassure me.
Kirsty was there, too, and held my bloody hand.
'Courtney's with a neighbour,' she said. 'She's safe.'
More than could be said for my poor unborn child.
'He killed our baby,' I sobbed, over and over, as the ambulance arrived and the paramedics hurried me into the back.
The only pain I could feel was the agony of loss, and I screamed and screamed.
'You have to calm down,' the paramedic told me. 'It's making you lose more blood.'
She was right. Every time I made a sound, blood would shoot like a fountain from the cut in my neck. We raced to Bristol Royal Infirmary, and while I was prepped for surgery, a doctor scanned my bloody bump. The world was fading in and out, but I fought and fought against unconsciousness, desperate to make out what the doctors were saying.
'The baby has a heartbeat,' someone said. 'We need to get her into surgery right now.'
My baby was alive? Had I heard right? Had I imagined it? Was it wishful thinking?
As I went under the anaesthetic, all I could feel was relief.
Coming round hours later, the first thing I saw was Mum talking to a police officer. Reality came crashing around me. Andrew. The attack. My baby. Just as I begin to panic, Mum walked over and took my hand.
'You've had your daughter,' she said, as a nurse handed me a photo.
My baby, so tiny, with spindly legs and skinny fingers. But alive, and so beautiful.
'She's only 3lb 15oz,' a nurse said. 'She's in the special care baby unit, but she's fine.'
I broke down in tears. Waves of shock and relief poured over me.
'My Chloe survived,' I wept.
I'd chosen the name already.
'You lost five litres of blood because Andrew cut your jugular vein when he slit your throat,' one of the doctors said. 'But you're going to be OK.'
'What about Chloe?' I asked.
'The blade must have missed her by centimetres,' she said. 'The wound was so deep, I could put my fingers in it and actually feel her.'
It was a miracle.
But the attack had meant that the placenta had come away from the wall of the uterus, and doctors had performed an emergency Caesarean.
'Thank you so much,' I wept.
I was desperate to see my new daughter, but with stitches in my neck and across my stomach from the Caesarean, I had to stay put.
'Will she be safe?' I asked.
'Don't worry,' Mum said. 'Andrew's been arrested and he's in custody.'
Relieved, I was able to rest, and the next morning, they pushed my bed down to the special care baby unit. Tears streamed down my face as a nurse lifted up Chloe and lay her on my chest.
'I love you so much,' I whispered.
I spent all my time with her. Even when I was allowed home a week later, I spent my days at Chloe's bedside, watching her getting bigger and stronger. I took Courtney up and held her against the side of the incubator.
'That's your baby sister,' I told her.
Tears filled my eyes as she reached in and stroked Chloe's cheek.
How could Andrew have tried to destroy this perfect little family? After three weeks, Chloe was allowed home and the three of us shared my old room at Mum and Dad's.
It was a bit of a squeeze, but that's how I liked it. I never wanted to let the girls out of my sight.
It was hard to get on with life with Andrew's court case hanging over us, especially because he was pleading not guilty to attempted murder and attempted child destruction, meaning I'd have to give evidence. Every time I closed my eyes, I could see his face looming over me.
'I can't face him,' I told the police. So in May 2007, they arranged for me to give evidence from behind a screen at Bristol Crown Court.
'When he stabbed me, I thought Chloe was dead,' I said, my heart aching at the memory.
After an hour-and-a-half on the stand, I left the courtroom in a state and decided not to go to
the rest of the trial.
After a week, the jury was dismissed and took just two hours to come to a decision. A lady from Victim Support called me with the good news.
'He was found guilty on both charges,' she said.
Andrew had already pleaded guilty to assaulting Dad, aggravated vehicle taking and dangerous driving. In September 2007, he was jailed indefinitely, with the recommendation he serve a minimum of eight years before being considered for parole. Reports showed he was neither mentally ill nor suffering from a personality disorder when he carried out the attack. The judge said Andrew posed a significant threat to the public. Too right.
It's been two years now since the attack. A year since Andrew was jailed. I haven't had a boyfriend in that time, and I still find myself peering round corners and checking the back seat of the car when I get in. But I'm getting my confidence back for the sake of my girls.
Courtney was only 1, so I hope she won't remember the day her dad tried to kill Chloe and me, but one day, I'll have to tell them. And one day, the girls will have to know what kind of a man their father really is.