Chapter Eight

       SELF-MEDICATION

      Fortunately, bodybuilders weren't the only friends I had. Back in 1997 when I was working for the electricity-generating company Norweb, I'd met a local businessman called Geoff Hadfield. Geoff had started out as a farmer, then branched out into skip-hire business and finally he'd launched a wood-recycling company. He phoned Norweb because he wanted to upgrade his electrical installations to supply more power. I was sent along to meet Geoff to talk about it, and right from the start we had a laugh together. He was a blunt, straight-talking guy, with a good sense of humour, and I felt comfortable chatting to him.

      We had several meetings to discuss what his company needed before I costed the project and gave him a quote of three-quarters of a million pounds.

      ‘All right, Stuart,’ he said. ‘That's the starting price. How are you going to save me money on that?’ He wasn't a top businessman for nothing. I suggested, ‘Why don't I get you a refurbished transformer rather than a brand new one? That would save you about a hundred and fifty grand.’

      His eyeballs shot out of their sockets. ‘That sounds a bit more like it.’

      We were both early risers and got into the habit of meeting for a coffee about six in the morning, when we would chat about business. I knew for sure he respected me the day he first offered me a job.

      ‘You'd be all right working for me,’ he said. ‘Come and see me if you ever want to make a move.’

      Geoff's wife Sue worked in the business as well, and I always stopped to have a chat and a joke with her on the way in. We just got on. They were both in their mid-forties, only twelve years older than me, but I remember thinking, ‘They'd be good parents. I wish I had parents like them.’ I was like a little kid looking for a father figure and right from the start I cast Geoff in that role.

      They invited me for dinner at their farmhouse – Lumb Farm – and I met the extended family: Grandad Geoff, who was about seventy-five, and their kids Geoff (again!) and Cherie, who were in their twenties. Everyone welcomed me with open arms and it was a very special feeling for me. I was the funny man who entertained everyone on those visits, and I always had a great time. I think they did too.

      Geoff knew nothing of my past so it must have been a huge shock to him when he opened a newspaper one morning in August 2000 to see that I'd been arrested for killing my stepfather. I could understand anyone not wanting anything more to do with me after the way the papers reported it at first: ‘Cold, calculating killer in a black BMW executes well-loved family man and outstanding council employee’ was the general message. But I wrote to Geoff and Sue from jail apologizing for the fact that I wouldn't be around for a while and telling them the bare bones of the story, and I got a lovely letter back.

      ‘Our hearts go out to you,’ they said. ‘We had no idea what you'd been through because all we saw was this happy-go-lucky jokey guy. As soon as we saw your car pull in at the farm, we'd start laughing.’

      I got lots of letters from former Norweb clients, all expressing support, but Geoff's was the one that meant the most to me.

      He asked if he could do anything at all to help. Now, in the early months I was in jail, Tracey began having trouble keeping up with her mortgage payments and I wasn't earning so I couldn't help her out. We decided that she should sell the house and rent somewhere until I got out of prison, then we'd be able to buy a place together as we'd been planning. However, her house needed some repairs before she could get a fair market price for it and Tracey didn't know any builders she could ask. I was worried she might get ripped off so I wrote to Geoff and asked if he would help her to find some reputable people, and he did what he could.

      Next, Geoff wrote to say that he and Sue wanted to visit me. This was around December 2000, four months after I'd gone in. I was a category A prisoner by then so they had to come right inside the jail. I was embarrassed for them to see me like that but Geoff made it clear where he stood straight away.

      ‘You shouldn't be in here,’ he said. ‘It's a piece of nonsense. I'd like to stand bail. I'll suggest that you come and stay with Sue and me at the farm until the trial and I'll vouch for your behaviour. After that, I've no doubt you'll be released. Any judge will be able to see you're a good man.’

      I was so emotional I couldn't speak. If I'd felt that he was a father figure before, now he was offering to do things for me that a real ‘dad’ would have done and I was incredibly moved. No one had ever taken care of me like that before.

      The bail application didn't work but he went through the whole rigmarole anyway. A team from the court went to Geoff's place to assess his suitability, then he appeared in front of a judge and offered £30,000 as bail. In court, he said that I would live and work with him, that it was obvious I wasn't a danger to society, but the judge refused his offer and I was taken back to my cell feeling totally dejected.

      Geoff didn't give up, though. He made a second bail application offering £50,000, but this was turned down as well. I was distraught. Each time I got my hopes up that maybe I would be walking free that day and going back to the farm; each time those hopes were dashed. I suppose the judge was reasoning that I'd been charged with the crime of murder, which was too serious for bail. I'll always be grateful to Sue and Geoff for trying at any rate.

      When I came out of Strangeways in September 2001, Geoff was on the phone straight away, urging me to come and work for him, but I didn't feel ready to take on any kind of responsibility. My head was shot to pieces and I had no confidence that I'd be any good any more. I worried that when I went to visit business clients they would be whispering behind my back: ‘He's the one I told you about; he's the murderer.’

      Geoff kept trying, though. He said, ‘I want you to be my business-development manager. I wouldn't offer if I didn't know for sure that you can do it. Besides, it will be good for you to get back to work.’

      I had my pride and I didn't want to accept what I saw as his charity but I started helping out just to keep myself occupied. I've always been a person who needs to be busy and I'm a perfectionist in everything I do. I wouldn't take a salary at first but I started popping into the office and making suggestions about ways he could increase turnover and attract new clients and Geoff seemed to like my ideas.

      By November, Tracey and I were able to move out of the pub and start renting a lovely little house in Ashton-under-Lyne. It was on a quiet, suburban street and I felt safe there. I felt we'd be able to nest and create a proper home for ourselves, just as soon as I could get over all my problems.

      But despite the support I was getting from Geoff, Sue and, of course, Tracey, my life was worse after I came out of prison than it had been before I went in. I couldn't cope with the reality of what was going on inside my head, and so before long I fell back into taking street drugs, just as I'd been doing around about the period when I killed my stepfather. Just as I'd been doing ever since I was five years old and hung around sniffing glue with some older kids in our neighbourhood.

      It was plain stupid. I hadn't touched a single drug in prison, despite the fact that they were widely available, but as soon as I was out I felt I needed something to numb me and make reality more bearable, and I had plenty of mates who could get me drugs at the drop of a hat. In my experience most bodybuilders have psychological problems and they take drugs to mask them, trying to change their state of mind and get happy again. In my case, I felt this