Scarlett Jenkinson’s mum may want to hide – but she doesn’t have to, writes a mother from her village. We just want her to be OK after her daughter was sentenced for Brianna Ghey’s murder

When I read the statement from Scarlett Jenkinson’s family in the aftermath of her conviction for the murder of fellow teenager Brianna Ghey, I felt a terrible pang of sadness.

Therein lay an apology for the suffering that Scarlett’s wickedness had caused their community.

“All our thoughts go out to Brianna and her family,” it said. “The last twelve months have put our worst nightmares behind us as we have come to realize the brutal truth of Scarlett’s actions. We agree with the jury’s verdict, the judge’s verdict and the decision to name the perpetrators.

“To all of Brianna’s family and friends, our community and everyone else affected by this horror, we are truly sorry.”

As someone who lives in Culcheth, the quiet, leafy Cheshire village now forever linked to a horrific crime, that message spoke directly to me, my friends and my neighbours. And for the umpteenth time since we realized Brianna Ghey’s killer had grown up next to our own children, my heart ached for Scarlett’s mother.

Much has been said about the dignity of Brianna’s mother, Esther, who has shown a level of empathy toward the parents of her child’s killers that is almost unbelievable.

This is a woman living with the knowledge that her beloved daughter was stabbed 28 times with a hunting knife after being lured to a park by Scarlett and fellow killer Eddie Ratcliffe, both now 16.

Despite everything, Esther contacted Scarlett’s mother to say that if she wants to talk, she is there for her. It was an extremely sympathetic response.

And yet there is a similarly surprising level of compassion for Scarlett’s mother here too.

I don’t know her personally, but I have heard from others that she is a very decent woman. As a friend said to me in the very early days of the investigation, three mothers lost their children that weekend.

The first I knew something truly terrible had happened that afternoon in February last year was as I was driving home from the big weekend shopping in Sainsbury’s village. Out of nowhere, one police car after another appeared past me on the quiet country road leading to Culcheth Linear Park, lights flashing and sirens blaring.

As I put away my groceries, my phone started pinging with messages from friends who knew I regularly walked my dog ​​there. They all said the same thing: they heard a woman had been stabbed and that I should text back ASAP to confirm it wasn’t me.

Meanwhile, Scarlett’s brother texted her – his little sister – urging her to stay away from the park, just a five-minute walk from the family home, because the attacker had not been caught.

It was hard to wind down that evening as my husband and I wondered what would have happened if I had walked my dog ​​that afternoon instead of in the morning. Or if one of our two children had taken it to enjoy the park on an unusually mild and sunny late winter day.

Culcheth is a quiet, rural, middle-class village surrounding a large village green. It has a children’s play area, a selection of small independent shops, bars and restaurants – the only branded store is Sainsbury’s. Police cars zooming through are unusual to say the least.

That night, however, the constant sound of police helicopters circling overhead made it impossible to sleep. A neighbor texted that it felt like the village was under siege.

Scarlett’s mother, unaware of what had actually happened, would probably have felt just as scared. We learned that it wasn’t a woman, but a teenage girl who had died – and that two teenagers had been arrested on suspicion of murder.

By the time the kids got home from class on Monday afternoon – almost all the kids in the village go to the same school Scarlett and Eddie went to, Culcheth High School – the arrested teenagers were all they could talk about.

While the rest of the country waited almost another year for these children to be exposed, we already knew exactly what evil looked like. When a child does something wrong, society is terribly quick to blame his or her upbringing. Not in this case. No one, especially not locally, blamed Scarlett’s family: two loving parents and three older brothers.

Instead, people talked about Scarlett coming from a decent family – her mother Emma was a teacher; her father Brian worked as a trader, they had a dog – and how this, by terrifying logic, suggested that any of us could end up in the same miserable position as one of our own children.

And so our collective hearts broke for the woman who lived among us and whose pain we simply could not imagine.

Of course, at that point the true darkness of the crime had not yet come to light. We mothers, especially those of us with children at Scarlett and Eddie’s school, desperately tried to come up with a story about what had happened that we could somehow relate to. We chose a version where the three children were arguing about something – probably a boy – and a knife was produced.

We heard frightening rumors about Satanism and that Scarlett had dark obsessions, but we blamed them on the local children with overactive imaginations.

But during the trial, the truth turned out to be more terrible than anything anyone – adult or child – could have imagined. The murder list Scarlett made with the names of five children on it.

The truly horrible parts of the dark web that she would regularly visit. The handwritten murder plan and the earlier attempt on Brianna’s life that she made by giving her ibuprofen tablets.

And again we imagined the horror and shame of Scarlett’s mother. After all, we felt strangely connected to her – the way you do when you shop at the same supermarket and walk your dog in the same park.

Most disturbing of all was the fact that our children went to the same school. Scarlett had been temporarily at another school, but would return to Culcheth High after Christmas. Now the chilling question remained: ‘What if Scarlett had chosen my child?’

Ultimately, I know I will let go of these dark thoughts, but I can’t imagine poor Scarlett’s mother ever knowing peace again. She hasn’t opened her curtains since her daughter was arrested.

Linear Park has changed forever – teenagers no longer hang out in the trees. I pass the crate where it happened most days with my dog. At first it was hard not to cry. Now I feel bewildered more than anything.

I also wonder if Scarlett’s mother will ever walk her dog through the park that runs through our village again.

Maybe one day. But for now, I wish she would open her curtains and crack a window to let in air and light. She may want to hide, but she doesn’t have to. Honestly, we just want her to be okay.