James’s story:

A black Mercedes screeched to an abrupt halt just feet away from my fiancee Steph.
It was 2am on a cold November morning and we were heading home after a night out in Wakefield.
We’d gone to the taxi rank but the queue was huge, so we decided to walk. “We might flag a taxi down on the way,” Steph said, shivering in her vest top and skirt.
We were making our way along the pavement when headlights shone behind us.
“It’s a taxi,” Steph smiled, sticking out her arm.
She opened the rear passenger door and got in as I followed.
But in a split second the car sped off with Steph’s leg still hanging out the door. “Steph!” I screamed as the realisation of what was happening hit me - that was no taxi.
I’ll never forget the sound of panic in her voice as she screamed my name. I stood on the pavement shaking, not knowing what to do.
Then, at that moment, a police van pulled up. “Please find her,” I begged.
The police drove me to our house to check if Steph had gone home, but no-one was there. Then, the police radio crackled. “Please let her be okay,” I prayed.
Somebody had been found lying in the road two miles away. The police took me to the police station to wait.
I was 15 and Steph was 13 when we first met at school. When a friend of hers told me she liked me, I asked her out and we soon became a couple.
But six months later I went to study IT at college while Steph stayed at school and we lost touch.
Two years on, I was out with friends when we bumped into each other. As we chatted, it felt like we’d never been apart. Steph was now a travel agent and loved her job. She was bubby and outgoing - exactly how I remembered her. At the end of the night, we kissed - it felt so right and we began dating again.
Life was great and, eventually, we decided to get our own place together. We enjoyed clubbing and that Friday evening - 29 November 2003 - had started like any other. At 8pm, we arrived at the first bar in town and ordered a drink. “Fancy a dance?” Steph giggled a few hours later as we headed to a club. At 2am, we went to a takeaway and were munching on our burgers when we made the fateful turn past the taxi rank.
But now, as I paced the floor of the police station waiting room, I longed to turn back the clock. If only we’d waited in the taxi queue, this would never have happened.
An hour later, I listened numbly as the officer said: “I’m afraid Steph is dead.” I screamed so hard I was physically sick. I just couldn’t take it in. An officer told me she’d somehow ended up in the middle of a road and was hit by another car which killed her instantly.
At 7am the next day, I left the station, but I couldn’t bring myself to go home, so I went to stay with my sister Emma instead.
The thought of seeing Steph’s clothes in the wardrobe was too painful.
The following days and weeks passed in a blur. I couldn’t face going to work so I shut myself away at Emma’s. I hardly ate and replayed what happened in my mind, tormenting myself over why I didn’t save her.
Soon, my grief turned to anger and I was desperate to find who was responsible for Steph’s death.
A week later, I appeared on TV to appeal for witnesses.
“Please help us find justice for Steph,” I pleaded, fighting back tears.
I finally found the courage to go home for the first time six months later. It was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. I cried and cried when I saw all of Steph’s things.
I managed to go back to work in IT six months later but it was so hard. Life had become meaningless.
Finally, in October this year, Ioannis Revenikiotis, a Greek engineer posing as a taxi driver, was charged with Steph’s kidnap and manslaughter. They found him on the run in Greece.
Sheffield Crown Court heard how he’d picked Steph up that night and after either falling or escaping from the car, she’d been hit by another vehicle.
Hate is a powerful word, but it doesn’t come anywhere close to describing how I felt when I saw Revenikiotis in the dock.
After three days, he was found guilty, and jailed for 11 years.
Although I’ve been told the punishment fitted the crime, it sickens me to think Revenikiotis will be living a normal life in less that a decade.
The driver of the car that hit Steph, Mohammed Ashiq, was given a 200-hour community punishment order and banned from driving for 18 months for failing to stop after an accident. It brought me some closure knowing we’d got justice for Steph.
It’s four years last month since she died and I still think about her every day. A few years ago, I couldn’t see any future, but I now feel it’s time to move on. But however my life pans out, Steph will be in my heart wherever I go.

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