When I first met Marc Chivers, the man who murdered my mother, I admit I found him charming. Mum’s new boyfriend seemed generous and confident.
He was physically unimposing: bespectacled; meagre. I did not for a second consider him threatening.
Mum was captivated. She had met him a couple of months earlier while walking her West Highland Terrier Lila. Chivers had approached her; soon they were chatting. Then a bouquet of roses arrived — and my beautiful mum was ensnared.
Chivers, like so many evil sociopaths, was accomplished at reeling in his victims. He seemed plausible and personable. But once he had trapped his prey his real character emerged.
Celia Peachy (pictured right with the Duchess of Cornwall) reflects on the death of her mother Maria, as she campaigns against domestic abuse
A few months after they began a relationship — which, I now know swiftly became violent and abusive — my mum was dead; strangled with Lila’s lead, her body dumped under a pile of coats in her cloakroom.
I first told this harrowing story to the Duchess of Cornwall four years ago. It moved her to tears and since that day, not only do I count her as a friend, but she has also joined me in supporting the domestic abuse charity, Safelives.
Last week I was at Clarence House, her London home, to celebrate the strength and resilience of thousands of survivors of domestic abuse as Safelives marks its 15th anniversary.
The Duchess was warm and empathetic: she told me the meeting had given her a deeper level of understanding and an ability to relate to abuse survivors. She, in turn, has helped lift the shroud of shame that surrounds the subject and given those who have endured abuse the courage to speak out.
When Chivers singled out my mum, Maria Stubbings, as a victim I suspect he detected her vulnerability. Single since her divorce from my step-father eight years earlier, she was living in her neat and orderly house in an Essex village with my then 15-year-old brother Richard.
He would have found her endearing — anyone would — because she was so unaware of her beauty and charisma. Her sweetness and openness would have made her susceptible to the hard luck story he spun. ‘He’s had a tough time,’ said my mum, without elaborating.
But it was not long before I saw the dark side to him. I phoned Mum on her mobile one day and she told me she and Chivers were in London, not far from my home. ‘Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?’ I asked, surprised — because she would usually have arranged to meet me.
She sounded guarded but agreed we should all have dinner together in the West End. However, when we met, she was nervous, restless and evasive. She was smoking, which she hadn’t done for years. I was very concerned.
Celia last saw her mother alive just before her 50th birthday, she said at the time Maria (pictured) looked like a shadow of her former self
Then Chivers compounded my worries by showing me an assortment of illegal drugs, including cannabis, he had bought. I did not hide my disgust and anger. I told him sharply not to involve my mum in his seedy habits. I was alarmed by his behaviour. One minute he was claiming to care for my mum; the next he was laughing about buying drugs.
I took Mum to one side and said she should sever links with him immediately. Actually, she agreed. But even then I suspected she was trapped; so fearful of him she couldn’t break away.
From that moment Chivers regarded me as the enemy and I sensed him controlling every conversation Mum had with me.
As the months passed my fears grew. I’d phone her and she would seem distant; unsure of herself. When she talked to me I felt as if he was behind her, like a malevolent shadow, directing her answers.
And it caused a rift between us. We’d been so close, but we spoke less and less because I could not understand why she was in thrall to him.
Then a few months later she rang to tell me the relationship was over. I felt utter relief.
I saw her just before her 50th birthday as I was due to go away to a retreat for ten days. I was glad our temporary estrangement had been healed before I left.
But when I saw Mum that day — how could I have known it would be the last time I’d see her alive? She looked a shadow of her former self; as small and frail as a hunted animal. She winced as she walked and told me she had slipped on some oil in the kitchen and hurt her side. Only later did I learn that Chivers had hit her with such force he had broken several ribs.
Maria met Marc Chivers (pictured) while walking her Terrier Lila, months later he strangled her using Lila’s dog lead
I did not stay long that day, but I promised Mum I’d buy her tea at the Ritz as a birthday treat. As she kissed me goodbye she said, ‘I love you Celia. I wish you were around more because I feel stronger when you’re with me,’ and she hugged me as if she didn’t want me to go.
I now know, looking back, that she was scared for her life.
For the ten days after that I had no phone. When I turned on my mobile there were 40 messages.
The first was from the police. They said my mum had gone missing but I should not be alarmed. But already panic was rising. Then there was one from Mum’s best friend Jackie. She was distraught, crying. ‘Please call me,’ and I knew instantly something awful had happened. I imagined Mum was in hospital. I didn’t for a moment think she’d been murdered.
I wanted to be alone when I called Jackie, so my friends stopped the car. I walked into a field. And then there was Jackie’s voice on the end of the line sobbing.
‘Celia, I’m so, so sorry,’ she repeated and I said, ‘Tell me, tell me. What’s going on?’ and that was when she said, ‘Your mum’s dead. She’s been murdered.’
I remember screaming. I said, ‘Who did it? Who?’ and she said, ‘It’s him. Marc.’ I sank to my knees.
In the four-hour journey home I was a ball of neurotic, restless energy, my thoughts and heart racing. Then I got to my flat and the hard fact clicked into place. Mum had gone. I slumped against the wall and cried my heart out.
After her mother’s death, Celia (pictured) discovered that Chivers had already served 15 years in prison for murdering his girlfriend in Germany
I wanted answers. I wanted to know how she had died. The police said they couldn’t tell me. I was choked with anger. I thought: ‘I’m entitled to know.’
A few days later, on Christmas Eve 2008, my brother read in the paper that Mum had been strangled with Lila’s dog lead. It was horrendous to learn the details from a newspaper report. But this was only the start of an escalating nightmare. We later learned that Chivers was already a convicted killer when he met my mother in April 2008.
In 1993 he had strangled his then girlfriend in Germany and served 15 years in prison for her murder. Then he had been deported to Britain, where he had been allowed to live, unsupervised and unchecked. He had only been back in the UK for 11 months when he singled her out to be his next victim. What haunts me still is the fact that my mum would be alive if the police had not made a series of errors.
For I learned, too, that shortly after they met, Chivers had physically and sexually assaulted her, but she was so terrified of him she hadn’t dared tell me.
He spent four months in Chelmsford prison for the offence — in fact he served only half his sentence, which was astounding in view of his record — and Mum was given a panic alarm. This was deactivated after he was released — leaving Mum vulnerable — and although she broke off their relationship, he continued to terrorise her.
Had police made rudimentary checks on Chivers after his first assault on my mum they would have known how dangerous he was. Had they been trained to recognise the signs of domestic abuse they could have saved her.
At one point he broke into Mum’s home and stole a Cartier watch. She informed the police but they vacillated, and when they did call at her house Chivers himself answered the door. Although my mother’s car was on the drive, he convinced them Mum had gone on holiday with friends.
Celia (pictured) who supports Safelives, is campaigning to improve police training, to ensure that they recognise domestic violence
Officers chose to believe the word of a convicted killer as he stood on the doorstep of a woman whom he had assaulted. They did not search the house.In fact they went away, giving him licence to escape had he chosen to.
Meanwhile, my mum was already lying dead, just feet away from them, under a pile of coats in her cloakroom.
The catalogue of errors, negligence and misjudgements is nothing short of criminal. It was a day before the police searched the house and arrested Chivers. He is in prison for life now.
I consider myself a pioneer rather than a victim. I work with the charity Peaceful Solutions, promoting non-violent communication and healthy relationship education. My aim is to prevent others from suffering — and dying — needlessly as my mother did.
I do it because I feel we must elevate and empower one another so we do not fall prey to abusers. Prevention is the cure.
So I campaign to help improve police training; to ensure they recognise cases of domestic violence and deal with them. It also gives me an outlet for my grief.
I support Safelives because they have provided a light in a dark tunnel for me and many others.
More than 11 years after she was murdered, not a minute goes by when I don’t think of Mum. I still hear her laughter and it comforts me. I hear her voice, too, telling me she loves me.
I wake up each morning wanting to make a difference to people ensnared by violence and threats as she was. If, through my efforts, just one life is saved, my mum’s death will not have been in vain.
For support and information on domestic violence contact the National Domestic Abuse helpline on 0808 2000 247 or visit www.safelives.org.uk
As told to Frances Hardy