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"He gave me alcohol and tried to rape me," Boris Johnson's wife recounts nightmare with "Black Taxi Driver"

2026-05-16 20:16:26Kosova&Bota SHKRUAR NGA REDAKSIA VOX
"He gave me alcohol and tried to rape me," Boris Johnson's wife
Carrie Johnson

Carrie Johnson, the wife of former British Prime Minister Boris Johnson, has dared to tell her story of being attempted raped by a taxi driver at the age of 19, when she was attending university. She recounts the story and the great ups and downs that followed.

“I was a 19-year-old university student when I got into the taxi of John Worboys, the man now known as the black cab rapist. Nearly 20 years later, when so much has changed, I fear that the way the police deal with crimes such as sexual assault and rape is no better than it was then.

This is one of the reasons I agreed to help Jeff Pope, the writer of the new ITV series “Believe Me.” His dramatization of the fight for justice by the Worboys victims exposes the repeated police failures that allowed the rapist to attack women for many years after the first attack was reported.

When the drama began on Sunday, the Parole Board was considering whether to release Worboys after 17 years in prison. Informed of an impending announcement on Monday, his victims spent the following days in a state of anxiety, until we learned on Thursday that the Board had not issued any instructions for his release. For many of his victims, the decision comes as a great relief.

I met Worboys in 2007, after a night out in Chelsea. After saying goodbye to my friends, I waited alone at a bus stop for the night bus back to my mother's house in southwest London. Seeing me sitting alone, Worboys pulled up next to me in his taxi and rolled down the window. I told him I couldn't afford a taxi and that my bus would be here soon.

He looked worried. He said he didn't like seeing young women alone late at night. It could be dangerous, he warned. Oh, the irony. He asked me where I was going. Incidentally, he said he was going there himself, it was his last ticket of the night, and that he would only take the five pounds I had in my pocket.

I couldn’t believe my luck. I had only ridden in a black taxi once before. For a student with health problems, this seemed like an incredible luxury. We chatted during the car ride. Right from the start, he told me that he had won a lot of money at a casino that evening. He showed me the seat next to him where there was a plastic bag full of what looked like stacks of cash. I was really happy for him. What a result!

He asked me if I would celebrate with him. Sure, I thought, but what do you mean? What he meant was: Would I toast his winnings with a glass of champagne from a bottle he said he had also bought at the casino. I didn’t really want to drink, but not wanting to seem rude, I accepted the glass through the cab’s hatch.

I even felt a little sorry for him. Here was this man who had apparently won thousands of dollars in a casino all by himself and now, apparently without family or friends to celebrate with, wanted to share a drink with me.

His behavior was not at all threatening. On the contrary, he seemed strange, at times almost shy. Looking back now, I realize how manipulative he was. He was a professional con artist.

There is another important context. This was before date rape drugs were widely known. I had never heard of Rohypnol. The big campaigns warning us to be careful with our drinking came years later.

So, today it may seem strangely naive that I didn't suspect that some strong substance might have been added to the champagne. But I didn't. Fortunately, and oh God, I'm grateful, I didn't drink it. As we continued to talk, I slowly poured the champagne, little by little, onto the carpeted floor of the taxi, so that he wouldn't notice.

I had never had much to drink and was ready to go home and sleep. But I didn't want to disappoint him or seem rude. After all, he was doing me a favor.

His conversation quickly turned dirty. He asked me where I had been that evening and who I had been with. He told me that he had recently met a girl who had been at the same nightclub. According to him, she had admitted that, despite having a boyfriend, she had had sex with a man at the club after he had offered her £350.

Worboys asked me, in a joking tone, if that was the kind of thing that happened there and if I would ever do something like that. Embarrassed, I told him no, I was too young and innocent. He told me I was beautiful and asked if I had ever modeled. Maybe even a glamour model? Again, I laughed at him and told him it wasn't for me.

Then he said he had to stop quickly, as he was in a hurry to get a small ticket. “Is this normal?” I asked myself. But since I was traveling on such a reduced ticket, I didn’t feel able to object.

He stopped near Putney Common and got out. It was pitch black and completely breathless. He disappeared for what must have been nearly ten minutes, a very long time to pee quickly. So long, in fact, that I called my boyfriend to tell him about my strange taxi ride and to let him know I would be home soon.

It was only later that I would realize what Worboys was doing. He was waiting for the drugs in the champagne he believed I had drunk to take effect. Completely unaware of the danger I was in, I watched him return to the cab. But instead of getting back into the driver's seat, he opened the back door and climbed in next to me, bringing a bottle of vodka with him.

I told him I really had to go home. Mom is waiting for me, I told him, and she would be worried if I didn't get there quickly. He said he would be quick. He just wanted a drink to celebrate his winnings.

What should I have done then? Get angry? Ask him to take me home immediately? Jump out of the taxi and run away? I was miles from the bus route and I had no money left, he had the last 5 pounds I had left.

But more importantly, even though I felt uncomfortable, I still didn't realize I was in any real danger. I just felt a little bored right now and wanted to wrap things up and go home without causing a scene.

He pointed out that I must have a very high tolerance for alcohol. Quite the opposite. During my first year of university, I felt drunk after a Bacardi Breezer.

I realize now that he must have thought I had drunk the champagne with the chilli and was surprised to find me still sitting up straight and chatting. He convinced me to have a glass of vodka. I said I really would rather not, I was very tired and just wanted my bed.

“Go on. Just a quick one. I'll do the trip for free and give you £50 of my winnings,” he told me. “Then you'll take me straight home,” I asked. “Sure,” he promised.

So I did. It tasted disgusting. I told him once again that my mother would be waiting at the front door. Reluctantly, he got back into the driver’s seat and started driving. There was no more friendly conversation during the second half of the trip. I was tired and remember very little of it. The “poisoned” vodka must have started to take effect.

But I was still so worried that just before I got out of the taxi, he asked me to write down his phone number, which I did. He said that if I ever got stuck for a taxi again, I should call him. I had no intention of doing that. I didn't know how useful that number would be later.

When I walked out the front door, the situation was completely different. Suddenly the room started spinning. My mother later said I looked like a “rag doll.” I was vomiting and slurring my words, almost completely unintelligible.

"I want to die," I told my mother.

Edhe atëherë, nuk mendoja se pija ime ishte vetëm me alkool. Nuk isha mësuar të pija pije alkoolike dhe supozova se ajo sasi e vogël vodke thjesht më kishte sëmurë, veçanërisht kur e kisha konsumuar me ilaçet e ADHD-së, të cilat më kishin këshilluar t’i shmangja me alkool. Nuk arrita kurrë të shtrihesha në shtrat. Në vend të kësaj, rashë në të fikët në banjo, e shtrirë në vaskën bosh, plotësisht e veshur.

Të nesërmen u zgjova me një dhimbje koke të fortë dhe e thirra shoqen time. I tregova për udhëtimin tim të çuditshëm me taksi me burrin e çuditshëm që kishte fituar shumë para në bixhoz dhe më ofroi shampanjë dhe një udhëtim falas, por pas kësaj, asnjëri prej nesh nuk mendoi shumë për këtë.

Pastaj, disa muaj më vonë, e njëjta shoqe më telefonoi pikërisht kur po bëhesha gati të ulesha në teatër. Ajo kishte lexuar një artikull në gazetë për një shofer taksie të zezë të akuzuar për përdhunimin e grave duke i droguar me shampanjë, pasi pretendonte se kishte fituar shumë në një kazino. E kuptova menjëherë. Kisha qenë në taksinë e tij. Mënyra e veprimit ishte identike.

Telefonova menjëherë policinë. Arrita ta identifikoja në një rresht dhe t’i jepja numrin e celularit që më kishte dhënë. Më shumë se 100 gra më në fund dolën hapur për të thënë se kishin qenë edhe ato në taksinë e Worboys.

Shërbimi i Prokurorisë së Kurorës zgjodhi 12 prej nesh për të shkuar në gjykatë. Duke qenë se nuk isha përdhunuar, u habita që isha midis atyre të zgjedhurve, por supozova se kjo ishte për shkak se kisha një kujtesë më të qartë se shumica, duke mos pirë as gotën e parë të shampanjës. Na siguruan se, me kaq shumë prej nesh që jepnim dëshmi, gjykata nuk do të kishte zgjidhje tjetër veçse të jepte dënimin më të gjatë të mundshëm. Kjo doli të ishte e gabuar.

Worboys u shpall fajtor për 19 vepra penale në lidhje me sulmet ndaj 12 grave. Atij iu dha ajo që atëherë njihej si një dënim IPP (Burgim për Mbrojtje Publike), pa një tarifë të caktuar për sa i përket viteve për të vuajtur. Përsëri na siguruan se, në terma praktikë, kjo do të thoshte burgim të përjetshëm. Edhe kjo ishte e gabuar.

Pas gjyqit, Shërbimi i Policisë Metropolitane më pyeti nëse do të merrja në konsideratë heqjen dorë nga e drejta ime e anonimitetit me qëllim që të rrisja ndërgjegjësimin për rastin dhe të inkurajoja viktimat e tjera të paraqiteshin. Ngurrova, por ndjeva fuqimisht se nëse kjo mund të ndihmonte gratë e tjera që kishin shumë frikë të flisnin publikisht, atëherë ishte gjëja e duhur për të bërë. Isha gjithashtu e qartë se nuk ndieja turp për atë që më kishte ndodhur. Kështu që pranova të bëja disa intervista.

Kaluan shtatë vjet.

Në atë kohë isha 29 vjeç dhe punoja si Drejtoreshë e Komunikimit në Selinë Qendrore të Fushatës Konservatore. Një mbrëmje, ndërsa po kthehesha në shtëpi nga puna dhe po dëgjoja radion, dëgjova diçka që më ndali në vend. John Worboys do të lirohej nga burgu. Burri që kishte droguar dhe sulmuar kaq shumë gra ishte gati të lirohej?

As the details emerged, my shock only deepened. The decision was made by the Parole Board for England and Wales after a private hearing, in which the victims were not allowed to attend. We were not told what evidence had been considered. We were not even allowed to know what reasoning was behind the decision. In fact, it was a secret process.

I contacted one of the other victims, we'll call her 'Sarah' (the name she was given in the ITV drama 'Believe Me'). Her reaction was the same: shock, fear and anger. There was no way this man wasn't a danger to women. Sarah and I knew we had to do something. We had to fight to keep him behind bars.

We were advised that the only way to challenge the decision would be through a judicial review. Even then, the grounds were narrow. It would not be enough to argue that the decision was wrong. We would have to show that it was unreasonable or procedurally unfair.

I suddenly found myself reading legal documents late into the night, talking to reporters, lawyers, and pastors, trying to understand the system, while thinking of ways to generate useful press coverage.

It was completely exhausting, but as we got more media attention, the public reaction was immediate and overwhelming. People were just as outraged as we were. This newspaper in particular gave the case a lot of attention, calling for the decision to release Worboys to be overturned. And most importantly of all, more of Worboys' victims came to light.

But what was arguably more important is that we helped change the system forever. As a result, the Parole Board's decisions are now more transparent. When they decide to release someone, they have to give a summary explaining why. After the whole war, he remained in prison.

This has already made a real difference, especially for the victims whose lives have been put on hold. What worries me is that the police culture that led to Worboys not being caught as quickly as he should have been has not changed.

Two of my closest friends have been raped in the last eight years. Both went to the police and were treated with no empathy, no respect, and their cases were never properly pursued. I bet every woman has a similar sad story about a friend.

It takes incredible courage for women to speak out. They need to know that when they do, they will be treated seriously and that every effort will be made to ensure justice is served. I hope that “Believe Me” will now serve as the wake-up call we need.


Në përputhje me standarded JTI

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