I love to surf the news on the Internet, sliding from one event to another, following stories and learning lots of useless information.  I was doing that the other day, bumping along, looking up people I knew from previous lives.  I didn’t realise that my lazy amble down memory lane would slam into a brick wall.

I’d spent three years living in Belize in Central America so, when I came across the Belize Channel 5 TV website and saw it had an archives section, I thought I’d look up our Belizean friends who had lived over the road from us.  We had been quite close and my husband had even become the godfather of their second child, their glorious son and heir.  We’d stayed in touch by Christmas card for the first few years after leaving, but after 1999 we’d lost touch.  We moved house and Christmas posting times are always so early, that we’d just let things drop.  We still planned to re-visit Belize and see our friends again one day, but it was always going to be “next year”.

I typed in “Ayuso”, their surname.  Lots of items came up but the second one jumped out at me “Two detained in Blake murder”. Blake had been our friend Therese’s maiden name.  In fact, Therese and her husband Libby had been living with her father, James Blake, when we knew them.  He was an ancient, infirm and demanding man who was reputedly a multimillionaire due to being fortunate enough to own most of a beautiful island off the coast of Belize; in fact it was Madonna’s “La Isla Bonita”.  It had been bought for next to nothing by Blake’s grandfather and had become prime real estate.  His wealth had made him unpopular so I was surprised but not shocked that someone had killed him.  He used to have poker games in his house to which the guests bought their guns!  Perhaps that’s what had happened.

I clicked on the link to read more…

It was not James Blake … but Therese who was dead. Not just dead, murdered.

I couldn’t breathe and could barely read what it said: “Police still have yet to make any arrests in the kidnapping and murder of Therese Blake Ayuso”.

Kidnapping and murder? What? How? Why? Not Therese, who had been annoying and fun at the same time. Not Therese, who I’d worried might disapprove of me when we went to Belize... tact was not one of her qualities - so you’re fat now, you’ve not had any children, you don’t own your own business!  Not Therese who had been so vulnerable when we rushed her new born baby into hospital when she feared he was stopping breathing! Not Therese, who had taken me to see a version of the Chippendales that came to town and had laughed as she stuck dollars in the male stripper’s pants! Not Therese, who was my memory of Belize and would always be there for when we returned!

I read article after article about what had happened.  Her father had died and so Therese had become the heiress to her father’s multimillion dollar fortune.  She’d been kidnapped with her young daughter when returning home one day. She was dragged back into her car that had been parked outside our old home.  The men had driven onto the main road outside the Pickwick Club when we had all gone swimming passed Lindberg’s Landing where we had danced the night away and drunk Rum and Coke whilst the torrential rain poured outside.  For some reason the car had crashed. Had the formidable Therese fought her attackers? I think so. Her instinct to protect her daughter would have been great and she would have fought for her life… and in this case, her death.  The men panicked and shot Therese in the chest killing her instantly. They fled and jumped into a white van and were gone. Therese’s young daughter was unharmed in the back of the car.

I searched through the articles to read more and more about the case, the men accused of kidnapping and murdering Therese, and their trial and release.  I looked at the date; this had happened in October 2000.  Therese had been dead for seven years and we hadn’t even realised.  All that had happened to us over those years and Therese’s life had stopped abruptly.  She had ceased to exist in her world, but had remained alive in ours.

I learned that in December 2001 the Supreme Court Justice declared a mis-trial.  The witness had not been able to identify the defendant in an initial identity parade. The police had allowed him to shave his head before the parade and so he had looked very different.  Maybe he did it and was helped, maybe he was innocent.  We will never know.  One of the accused was himself later murdered in a bar room brawl.  To this day, no-one has been punished for killing a mother, who did not deserve her life to be cut short.

These days I surf the Internet in trepidation. I look up old acquaintances with my breath held. I make an effort to stay in touch with friends knowing that I cannot rely on them just to be there for me forever.

I think about the life I have now, how I should value it, as you never know what is to come.