Katie Amess and Brendan Cox are talking about how Katie’s dad, David – the son of a dressmaker – ended up in Parliament. “The story is that he was on a bus one day in London with my grandma, and said ‘what’s that building’?” the 40-year-old actress says. “My grandma said, ‘That’s the House of Commons where they make all the laws’. And dad said, ‘I'm going to work there one day’.”
Brendan, 47, a campaigner and activist, smiles. “I remember for Jo, it was her coming back in tears from bumping into somebody in Batley who hadn’t seen anybody for a week. And she just thought what kind of society are we building where old people don't have anyone to talk to? That motivated her to want to go into politics.”
Katie’s dad David went on to become the Conservative MP for Basildon and later for Southend West. Brendan’s wife, Jo, became the Labour MP for Batley and Spen. The two MPs sat on opposite sides of the House, and only crossed over in Parliament by a year, but their loved ones are united by terrible, violent, public loss.
To mark the 10th anniversary of Jo’s murder, Brendan and Katie are meeting for the first time to share their experiences – as Belfast burns and Southampton mourns, in divided times.
Jo was killed by a Neo-nazi because of her belief in a Britain of different faiths, where people share more in common. David was killed by an Islamic State fanatic because of how he voted over military action in Syria. Both families called on people not to politicise their loved ones deaths.
“After what happened to my dad, the Muslim community was completely broken,” Katie says. “We had so many letters saying ‘please, we do not believe in this. Your dad was a wonderful man’. At the church where it happened, there was a huge blue balloon that said, ‘Thank you for all you did for the Muslim community’.”
Jo and David may have voted differently on that Syria vote in December 2015 on extending airstrikes, but they also had much in common. “I think probably one of the things that made David and Jo vulnerable is that they were very open to people and took their constituency duty incredibly seriously,” Brendan says.
Katie smiles. “My dad was people first, party second,” she says. “One of my favourite stories is a voter saying ‘I'm not voting Conservative. I'm voting for David Amess’.”
Brendan says: “I think Jo and David would have disagreed on lots of things, but not on decency in politics and seeing your opponent not as the enemy but as somebody that you need to discuss and debate things with.”
Katie nods. “It's okay to have different views. That's what politics is.”
Both remarried widower and bereaved daughter also worry about the safety of others in public life. “It’s ten years since Jo, and nearly five years since my dad, and I don't think politicians are any safer,” says Katie, who lives in Los Angeles because of her acting career. “I'm still fighting for a full inquiry into what happened to my dad. It's definitely going to happen again. It's just a matter of time.
“During the trial, somebody came to what they thought was my house with a weapon, demanding that I come out. My mum had to leave the family home. It's very, very dangerous.”
Brendan says: “I got, I think, five or six death threats yesterday, all via social media. We've got social media platforms that enable this, facilitate it, hide the identities of the people doing it, it's madness.”
Katie says: “And the abuse I've received, calling me ugly and pathetic and shut my mouth… I just block them but I shouldn't have to.”
While Brendan carries on Jo’s More In Common work, Katie has taken up her dad’s passion for animal rights, and is joined on the call by her two rescued Chihuahuas. “My dad was obsessed with animals,” she says. “His office at Parliament was like a zoo. After what happened to him, loads of other MPs came forward to re-home the animals, which was lovely.”
Brendan says his kids are desperate for a dog, and Katie asks how old the children were when Jo was murdered. “Five and three,” Brendan says, and Katie’s eyes fill with tears.
“Your poor children,” she says. “At least I had 36 years with my dad. I was planning my wedding when it happened to my dad, and he was going to walk me down the aisle… and then he never got to do that and he'll never meet my children.”
She wipes away tears. “Your kids are going to hear so much wonderful stuff about their mum. And Jo lives on in them. I remember I used to get so sad and think, what if I forget my dad? What if I forget what he looked like and what he smelled like and what he sounded like? But then I realised, well, no, because I'm part of my dad. So, he is still here.”
Brendan says: “The thing I find hardest is thinking about what Jo will miss out on. The weddings and the grandkids – I find that incredibly hard.
“But also you are your dad's legacy. One of the things I say to the kids is that the first three years of your life are where your brain gets wired and both of them had that with Jo. Jo is in their heads and in their hearts and in their memories – but actually even if they didn't remember anything about her, she made them who they are. And that for me is so powerful.”
Katie is still tearful. “Yeah. I used to think, what if I don't remember what his hands look like? But then I looked at my hands and my hands look exactly the same. And I notice I sound more and more like him.
Brendan smiles. “Yeah, Jo comes through in the kids in lots of weird ways, like the way that Lejla runs. You realise little things are deeply embedded… I also think your dad would be incredibly proud of your campaign for justice, as well as on animal rights.”
On Jo’s anniversary, Brendan is at pains to remember his funny, brilliant, energetic Jo as she was. “She had a brilliant giggle,” he says. “I remember in our wedding speech I said that Jo is one of the funniest people I know, and sometimes on purpose… because she was always forgetting things or mixing idioms.”
Katie says the Catholic faith she shared with her father – as well as his sense of humour – has helped her face his murder. “There’s a story about when he accidentally got the pope to bless a boiled sweet,” she says. “He thought it was a rosary, and he reached into his pocket as the pope came up, and he held it out and then the pope blessed it and he was like, ‘Oh my god, it was a boiled sweet’.
“My dad gave me the rosary and said that the pope had blessed it. And I only found out the truth after he died.”
As the call finishes, Brendan thanks Katie for “your kindness and your empathy”, and the two agree to meet up next time Katie is in London.
“I wish I'd got to meet Jo,” Katie tells Brendan, “because I think I would have really liked her. Jo and my dad were just such amazing examples of people who put humanity first, and the needs of the people they served.”
On 10th Jo’s anniversary, and David’s fifth anniversary later this year, Brendan and Katie know they share a unique type of grief. “I think we are the only people in England that really understand what each other feels like,” Katie says. “Nobody deserves to die for their beliefs.”
