night of medicated, restless sleep. My eyes opened and I remembered what the day ahead would entail. After having a warm shower, brushing my teeth and giving myself a close shave, I walked downstairs into the kitchen where the rest of my family was eating breakfast. I couldn’t eat anything; I felt sick and on edge. My stomach was churning.
‘You need to eat something, Sim is picking us up in twenty minutes,’ said my dad. ‘Come on, twenty minutes, guys!’
I forced down a buttered slice of toast, trying hard not to bring up every mouthful. My mind was at a standstill. I just remember staring into space while chewing my toast, dreading the next sickening feeling I would get once I swallowed it.
For the majority of the journey to Horseferry Road I gazed out of the window of the cab and watched a grassy suburb change into a built-up, cosmopolitan city. I frequently sipped from a bottle of water in a failed attempt to calm the burning acid in my stomach.
When we arrived I could see Teresa, Lef and my uncle George with their families standing outside a café. Sim parked the cab and I stepped out to greet them all.
‘It’s all gonna be fine, just relax and go with the flow,’ said Lef.
While we were in the café, Denzil Hiles walked in. This was the first time that I had come face to face with a member of the victim’s family. I recognised Jonathan’s father from a picture in an article that I’d read online. He walked in and we made eye contact for a brief moment before he casually turned around and walked out. He thinks I might have killed his son . The thought passed through my mind and I felt an emotion-fuelled headache about to start. I managed to compose myself – I had to be strong because the truth was on my side.
We walked towards the Magistrates’ Court and saw what looked like hundreds of people standing in the road opposite the courts. Many were holding the placards that had been made for the protest: ‘GAGGING BRITISH JUSTICE’; ‘BRITISH ACCUSED, BRITISH VICTIM, BRITISH WITNESSES, BRITISH JUSTICE’; ‘NO TO EU EXTRADITION’; and ‘JUSTICE FOR ANDREW AND JONATHAN’.
I have had doubts as to whether putting Jonathan’s name on the placard was the right decision, as it was on my insistence at the time. But the statement was true – if the extradition was to be prevented and a real investigation was to be conducted instead, then his family would have had a chance to get justice for their son. My extradition to Greece would have brought justice for no one at all.
The nerves began to increase when I saw how many people had turned up. I genuinely thought that we would have been lucky if only half the number had come to support us! I couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw old friends from childhood, a huge group of university friends who had travelled miles and people I’dnot seen in years all there to support me. I began to feel myself burst with emotion – I can’t use any other words to describe the moment other than ‘surreal’ and ‘overwhelming’.
I saw Mr Hiles again walking to the court’s entrance. In the brief moment we made eye contact, I gave him a kind nod. I don’t really know why, but in that moment I felt I had to acknowledge the fact that he was living this too. As difficult as it had been for us, I knew that the situation was even more tragic and traumatic for him and his family. No matter what happened, they would never get their son back, and I sympathised greatly. There had been countless times since my arrest when I’d lain in bed for hours attempting to put myself in their position. I’d witnessed what losing Michael had done to his family, so being the person wrongly accused of taking Mr Hiles’s son from him devastated me. I had to do everything I could to prove my innocence, without having to suffer behind bars.
I looked up and saw that my best friends had arrived. They all wore suits and looked smart – I remember my friend Anthony had even decided to
‘You need to eat something, Sim is picking us up in twenty minutes,’ said my dad. ‘Come on, twenty minutes, guys!’
I forced down a buttered slice of toast, trying hard not to bring up every mouthful. My mind was at a standstill. I just remember staring into space while chewing my toast, dreading the next sickening feeling I would get once I swallowed it.
For the majority of the journey to Horseferry Road I gazed out of the window of the cab and watched a grassy suburb change into a built-up, cosmopolitan city. I frequently sipped from a bottle of water in a failed attempt to calm the burning acid in my stomach.
When we arrived I could see Teresa, Lef and my uncle George with their families standing outside a café. Sim parked the cab and I stepped out to greet them all.
‘It’s all gonna be fine, just relax and go with the flow,’ said Lef.
While we were in the café, Denzil Hiles walked in. This was the first time that I had come face to face with a member of the victim’s family. I recognised Jonathan’s father from a picture in an article that I’d read online. He walked in and we made eye contact for a brief moment before he casually turned around and walked out. He thinks I might have killed his son . The thought passed through my mind and I felt an emotion-fuelled headache about to start. I managed to compose myself – I had to be strong because the truth was on my side.
We walked towards the Magistrates’ Court and saw what looked like hundreds of people standing in the road opposite the courts. Many were holding the placards that had been made for the protest: ‘GAGGING BRITISH JUSTICE’; ‘BRITISH ACCUSED, BRITISH VICTIM, BRITISH WITNESSES, BRITISH JUSTICE’; ‘NO TO EU EXTRADITION’; and ‘JUSTICE FOR ANDREW AND JONATHAN’.
I have had doubts as to whether putting Jonathan’s name on the placard was the right decision, as it was on my insistence at the time. But the statement was true – if the extradition was to be prevented and a real investigation was to be conducted instead, then his family would have had a chance to get justice for their son. My extradition to Greece would have brought justice for no one at all.
The nerves began to increase when I saw how many people had turned up. I genuinely thought that we would have been lucky if only half the number had come to support us! I couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw old friends from childhood, a huge group of university friends who had travelled miles and people I’dnot seen in years all there to support me. I began to feel myself burst with emotion – I can’t use any other words to describe the moment other than ‘surreal’ and ‘overwhelming’.
I saw Mr Hiles again walking to the court’s entrance. In the brief moment we made eye contact, I gave him a kind nod. I don’t really know why, but in that moment I felt I had to acknowledge the fact that he was living this too. As difficult as it had been for us, I knew that the situation was even more tragic and traumatic for him and his family. No matter what happened, they would never get their son back, and I sympathised greatly. There had been countless times since my arrest when I’d lain in bed for hours attempting to put myself in their position. I’d witnessed what losing Michael had done to his family, so being the person wrongly accused of taking Mr Hiles’s son from him devastated me. I had to do everything I could to prove my innocence, without having to suffer behind bars.
I looked up and saw that my best friends had arrived. They all wore suits and looked smart – I remember my friend Anthony had even decided to
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