How seeing my husband's killers laughing in court inspired a speech that changed my life: Concluding our heart-wrenching series by the widow of a man murdered for standing up to yobs It was a crime that horrified Britain: a loving husband and father, Garry Newlove, kicked to death outside his own home after challenging a group of youths who were vandalising his wife's car. On Saturday, his widow Helen told the harrowing story of the attack and its shattering impact on her family's life. Here, in a second extract from her deeply moving new book, she takes up the story of the killers" trial, and her determination to see justice done. Innocent: Despite their young looks, the defendants laughed as they were in the docks. Pictured, Paul Sorton What they'd done to my husband was almost indescribable. His face was swollen and bloody and there was a footprint clearly stamped into his forehead. His hands were bruised from where he had tried to protect himself against the blows. He had suffered 14 kicks to the head and more than 40 internal injuries. How could anyone have inflicted so much cruelty on one person in such a short space of time? I swung from hope to despair and back again as I sat with my husband in his hospital room that terrible night. "You beat cancer, Garry," I whispered. And the odds were against you then, too. I know you can survive this. The girls need you, Garry. Come on, wake up, love. You're scaring me. But he didn't wake up. Not that night, nor the next. Around 36 hours after the attack, I was called in to see the consultant. "All the tests show that Garry isn't responding," the doctor told me. The next stage is for independent brain tests to be carried out. If they tell us there is no brain activity, then I'm afraid we have to inform the coroner. The coroner? How do you mean? I gasped. What's the coroner got to do with any of it? My husband isn't dead yet, for God's sake! The chaplain was sent for. When he arrived, he took one look at Garry and walked straight out again. Then he came back in and apologised. "I'm sorry," he said. But when I saw how badly beaten that poor man was I was so angry I had to walk out. And that from a man of the cloth. It was clear, even at this terrible moment, that what had happened would touch many, many people very deeply. As the doctors had feared, the tests showed that there was no reflex at all, and that Garry was being kept alive by a life-support machine only. It would be my decision, and mine alone, to take the next step - agreeing that it should be switched off. Attackers: Jordan Cunliffe, 16 (left) and Adam Swellings, 19 (right) were given life sentences for Garry Newlove's murder The sick feeling in the pit of my stomach as I wrestled with that decision will stay with me for ever. Questions kept racing through my mind. Had they got it wrong? If we left him, might he just wake up? How could I do this to him? The medical team sat with me and explained, as gently as they could, that there was nothing to suggest that Garry would pull through. Severe haemorrhaging had made it impossible. All hope was gone. The family took turns to say goodbye to Garry. When it was my turn, I told him I loved him dearly and that he was the best husband, father and friend that anyone could wish for. I told him I would make him proud of our three daughters. "I wish you peace, my darling," I said. You have suffered enough. Now I'm going to let you go. I lay over Garry's body, wrapping my arms tightly around his chest. "Are you ready, Helen?" someone asked. Then the click. Garry's chest rose and fell once more, and for the last time. Then he lay silent. I screamed and screamed, clinging to him like a drowning man clings to a rock. Oh God, oh God, please . . . no! Please don't take him away! Please! It took several hands to peel me off Garry's body. He'd gone. My lovely funny, warm-hearted, generous Garry had gone. Outside his room, police officers were talking to one another, their faces taut and serious. Garry was wheeled out in a metal box. My husband was no longer my husband. He was no longer the girls" father. He was now Man A, the victim of a murder investigation. I didn't know it at the time, but the police had already arrested nine people, and were planning to charge five of them. Several youths had been picked up on the night of the attack, and more the next day. The trial began at Chester Crown Court on November 14, 2007, and I was determined to attend every day of it. Desperate as I felt, I wouldn't be intimidated by the five accused or their families. I wanted to go in with my head held high to show them that they would never get to me. As the defendants arrived in the dock, I felt sick and light-headed. It was the first time I'd clapped eyes on them, and the pain that surged through me was as raw and searing as it had been on the night of the attack. All were of slight build and looked to me not much more than children: one of them was just 15 years old, another 16, two were 17 and the eldest 19. They seemed subdued and sat there just staring into the distance. It was hard to believe that they were capable of the terrible crime that they were charged with. But as the case unfolded, I would learn for the first time the full horror of what had happened that dreadful night. Back home after that first day of the trial, I sat down in the kitchen trying to put the defendants" faces out of my mind. Beside me was a table with a pot standing on it containing Garry's ashes. I hadn't decided what to do with them, but for the moment I wanted them near me. They were somehow comforting. "Oh Garry," I said. What's happening? I wish you were here. Torment: Helen attended every day of the trial. She would also sit at home with her husband ashes near here - it was comforting I looked over to the cupboard where I kept various bottles of sleeping tablets and painkillers. There were enough pills in there to ease my pain for ever. A half-empty bottle of wine stood nearby. What is the point of going on? I asked myself. What is it all about? I sat down again. The people who would find me the following morning would be the ones I'd least want to hurt in the world. Could I really do that to my children? I wouldn't condemn anyone who, confronted with that choice, chose death. At that moment, such a release was all I wanted. But I just couldn't do it to my daughters. I lay down on a sofa and began to cry: a flood of tears for Garry wrapped up in guilty ones for the thoughts I was having. The trial did nothing to dispel my bleak frame of mind. As it unfolded over the following weeks the defendants" innocent facade started to crack. "Oh my God, look at them," I whispered to my sister one day. They're laughing at us. They're laughing at the whole thing. The boys were shuffling, sniggering, grinning at their relatives and looking generally relaxed and carefree. The five of them in that dock could have been on a school trip, so unconcerned did they seem. I had to turn my head away in disgust and try to concentrate on the legal arguments and evidence. How I wished with all my heart that everyone who had been there that night could have been in the dock, facing the same charge. The court heard that there had been more than 15 youths surrounding Garry at one point as he lay on the ground, punching, kicking and egging one another on. One of our neighbours who'd seen what happened described to the jury how the gang had dived on Garry "like a pack of animals." A month later it was the defendants" turn to give evidence, often blaming each other for the events of that night, like the cowards they are. The jury went out to consider their verdict on January 2, and so began the longest wait of my life. I couldn't bear the thought that we might not get justice for Garry. To me it was an open-and-shut case, but the police were increasingly worried about the length of time the verdicts were taking. It was more than a fortnight later when we were finally called back to be told the result: guilty of murder in the case of three of the boys, not guilty for two other juveniles. I burst into tears - a mixture of relief that three had been convicted, and anger and frustration that two hadn't. I felt as if I would have a heart attack with all the emotions that were swirling round the court room that day. But I had to keep calm, as there was one thing I was determined to do, and that I'd been planning for a while. There was to be a police press conference at Chester racecourse the following day, during which I would read a statement about the impact of Garry's murder on my family and me. I knew this would be my only chance to speak up for Garry, so over the course of a few evenings had managed to put something together. I wrote it and rewrote it before sending it off to Cheshire Police for consideration. Is it all right? I asked the press officer nervously. "It's more than all right, Helen," she replied. It's amazing. Little did I know the impact that statement would go on to make. In front of a packed room, I described everything I felt about Garry before and after his death. "The light has gone out of our lives," I said. A piece of our jigsaw has been lost for ever. Garry was a caring, loving, funny and most of all a family man. We did everything together for 26 years. I can honestly say that if it weren't for my three girls, I do not want to live without Garry. It's too hard. My soulmate has gone. To have to turn off his life support machine because of this needless and senseless act, I find hard to comprehend. Parents should take responsibility for their children. Garry and I have brought up three girls together to respect other people and to be at home, not walking the streets causing damage and intimidating other people by drinking and abusive language. What these people need to understand is that it could be their parents or parents that it happens to. Something changed that day. I was still a victim, yes. But one who had a voice. And I felt as though I was speaking up for the many people who have been through a judicial process that is, I believe, weighted heavily in favour of defendants. At last, I felt we had a voice, and one that would not be so easily silenced from now on. Letters began to pour in from men and women all over the country. "Your husband was a hero," read one. He challenged the troublemakers of our society. Nowadays, few people are bothered to confront the culprits. I am glad to know you are going to campaign to improve our society, and I would like to give my full support for this cause. Campaign? I hadn't envisaged any campaigning. All I'd done was highlight some of the problems caused by antisocial behaviour, and how people had been let down by the system. But so many letters on a similar theme couldn't be ignored. Had I struck a deep chord and, if I had, what, if anything could I do to follow it up? A few weeks later the three guilty men were handed jail terms of 17, 15 and 12 years. As far as I could see, they showed no remorse. After the convictions I made a comment that Britain ought to think about reintroducing the death penalty. And I stated that I would be happy to witness my husband's killers" execution. I don't apologise for the remarks I made then. If people can't understand the emotion and devastation that caused me to make them, that's their problem. I only hope for their sakes they never find themselves in a similar situation to mine. Not long after the end of the trial, I received a long email which congratulated me on my statement and claimed to support a lot of what I'd said. It was very articulate and thoughtful, and promised to help me in any way. It was signed "David Cameron." "Yeah," I thought, "and I'm the Queen." But a quick call to Cheshire police confirmed it was genuine. So I went to London to see Mr Cameron, then the leader of the Opposition, and we hit it off immediately. I have always been a Conservative voter, but I've never been very political. Like most people, I just want what I feel is right for my family and society in general. Two years later, David Cameron, by then Prime Minister, invited me to join the House of Lords as his Victims Commissioner, speaking up for the victims of crime and helping to tackle the antisocial behaviour that is such a blight on British life. I could hardly believe what I was hearing. Wasn't the Lords full of posh people who made the rules for the rest of us to follow? How would I fit in there? The day I became the Baroness Newlove of Warrington was a very emotional one, especially as it would have been mine and Garry's 24th wedding anniversary, but one of the proudest moments of my life, too. A real "pinch me, am I dreaming?" experience. When I made my maiden speech, I thanked Garry as I sat down for watching over me as I spoke. Did I do you proud, hon? I asked silently. I prayed I had. I never thought I would find another love like Garry. But the best laid plans, as they say . . . A little while on, I met Paul, a lovely man who taught me to laugh again. He is patient, kind and understanding, and is generous and big-hearted enough not to feel threatened and jealous of the work I am so passionate about. In July 2012, in front of those who love us most, quietly and with little fuss, we became man and wife. Zoe, my eldest, was matron of honour and her sisters Danielle and Amy were my bridesmaids. When Garry died, a part of me died, too. But what was left behind has become far stronger, and something to be reckoned with. If Garry bequeathed a lasting legacy, that is it. Extracted from It Could Happen To You by Helen Newlove, to be published by Mainstream on August 22 at £11.99. © 2013 Helen Newlove. To order a copy for £10 (incl p&p) call 0844 472 4157. All proceeds will go to a victims" charity.