Alison now works to raise the awareness of stalking so that others don’t have to suffer the ordeals she did. Her book Stalked, published by Pan Macmillan, gives an extraordinary insight into how the terror of stalking can silently creep up on even the most astute and intelligent people until it explodes with such force as to rip apart their every sense of wellbeing. Her support and blessing for the inclusion of this story shows her resolve to highlight the evil some can inflict on others in the name of love.
Somehow, knowing what they know, living what they lived with, Alison and her family suspect that rather than this closing the book on their evil stalker, his imprisonment is merely the end of a chapter. As Grace explained regarding Bryce Laurent, ‘he might not be in jail forever. He still might get out one day, and Red knows that.’ So too does Alison.
All she can do is rebuild her life, learn to trust again and hope.
17: The Beautiful Game
Brighton and Hove Albion Football Club has attracted thousands of long-suffering, die-hard nomadic fans for over a century.
Since 1997, it has had no fewer than four homes. Until that year the club had occupied the Victorian-built Goldstone Ground where 36,000 fans would cram onto its windswept terraces. When that was sold they had to lodge with Gillingham FC 70 miles away in Kent. Two years later they returned to the city to occupy a hurriedly converted athletics stadium in Withdean. It was not until 2011 that they finally settled in the long-awaited American Express Community Stadium built, amid much controversy, at Falmer next to Brighton and Sussex Universities. The Albion’s loyal supporters have followed them to each and celebrated and agonized over their highs and lows, including almost winning the coveted FA Cup in 1983 and narrowly avoiding the oblivion of demotion from the Football League in both 1997 and 1998.
Wherever the Albion — nicknamed the Seagulls — called home, Sussex Police were central to the safety of fans and the prevention of hooliganism. Or crushing it should it occur.
Football supporters are tribal by nature. Some express that through sheer naked but peaceful passion, others through violence. The trick is differentiating between the two and stopping the latter ruining the game for the former. Some clubs attract a troublesome reputation, sometimes deserved, but occasionally poor policing can turn noisy fervent fans into a rampaging mob.
When the Albion moved to the Amex Stadium, Sussex Police agreed with the club that we would surprise the fans by jointly adopting an amicable customer service model on match days. Our philosophy was that if we treated people like human beings, chances are they would behave as such.
Gone were the days of routinely herding home and away fans from the railway station to the ground. No more locking the away fans in after the match until the home fans had gone and there was no drinking ban in the stadium.
The Albion warmly welcomed visiting fans on arrival at the stadium. They beamed images of their heroes around the bars adjacent to the away stands and provided local ales, specially shipped in, for their delight before and after the game.
Grace visits the stadium in Dead Man’s Time to flush out Lucas Daly. The state-of-the-art control room he visits, together with the excellent co-operation he witnesses between club and police, are both factors why disorder has plummeted since the Albion moved to the Amex. The added bonus is, as Grace found to his advantage, the zoning of groups of like-minded people together also allows the positive traits of one group to modify the potentially extreme behaviour of another. For example, the family area is next to the away fans, to remind them that football is a game for all.
This was a deliberate strategy. At their previous ground, the club was able to identify the rowdy fans, those who wanted just to sit and watch and those who preferred a family atmosphere. Unlike clubs in old stadiums, before the first season at the new Amex Stadium the Albion could sell season tickets in specific areas to specific groups. Rather like designing the layout of a new kitchen, they had a blank canvas on which to put sections of fans where they wanted them. Once supporters had their seat allocation, being creatures of habit, they simply re-bought the same ones each year. That, and the CCTV that was so highly calibrated it could read the time on your watch, allowed troublemakers to be spotted and their movements tracked in an instant.
On match days, our cheery Football Liaison Officer, PC Darren Balkham, would meet and greet the opposition supporters, help them find the city’s highlights, advise them on transport and even get snapped in a few selfies. Over the previous week he would have been speaking with and welcoming them through Twitter.
Darren polices Albion games up and down the country week in and week out. He is Brighton and Hove’s ambassador in whichever police force area the club happens to be playing. His knowledge and authority on all matters football is second to none and few senior officers are brave or stupid enough to ignore his wisdom.
On one occasion, while I was taking part in filming the documentary with Russell Brand, Darren and I allowed my co-star to single-handedly take on fifty rowdy Birmingham City FC supporters in a chanting competition in front of hundreds of day-trippers by Brighton Pier. Given the language involved, I was relieved the cameras were not rolling at that moment.
While most fans responded to this lighter-touch policing — their websites often commented on what a joy it was to meet Sussex Police — others still wanted to fight.
The rivalry between the Albion and South London club Crystal Palace was as ferocious as it was irrational. A real hatred had built up over the years, the origins of which were mysterious. Some will trace it back to a minor episode of crowd baiting in the 1970s by Albion’s then manager, Alan Mullery, but most simply don’t know. In a deliberate attempt to infuriate Palace, the Albion even called themselves the Seagulls as a variation of their rival’s nickname, the Eagles. Whatever spawned it, the violence it gives rise to is sickening.
By 2011 it had been nearly six years since the two clubs had met. Promotions and relegations had kept them apart and cup competition draws had been kind to Brighton and Hove Police. However, all good things must come to an end and in September battle was set to recommence.
Preparations for this match started way back in June when the fixtures were published, as we knew the simmering loathing between both sets of fans was ready to boil over. Six years is a long time to bear a grudge, but hold on to it they had.
We worked tirelessly with both football clubs, the train and bus companies, the pubs and shops, as well as our colleagues in the Metropolitan and British Transport Police. Plans were written, rehearsed and rewritten. Volumes of ‘what-ifs’ were worked through. We knew that we would only have one chance to get the policing of this match right and, as the Gold commander, I wasn’t going to allow failure on my watch.
Once the day of the match arrived, there were early signs that this was not going to be an ordinary mid-week evening fixture. Most 7.45 p.m. kick-offs force spectators to rush home from work, throw some dinner down their throats and dash to the stadium in the nick of time.
This was eerily different. Groups of fans had started to assemble in pubs across the county from lunchtime. All within a short travelling distance of the city centre, they had arranged to meet up out of town to drink, plot and prepare for war.
This was clearly just the first phase; the tribal gatherings were allowing the warriors to get reacquainted, rousing each other for the long-awaited showdown with the enemy. It was just words at this stage, but we knew exactly what was to come.