Prologue
Patricia Mullner – Then
Wednesday, 11 September 1998
I held my beautiful baby in my hands as I shook with worry and fear. This lovely little boy had been born without any complications, and now I could take him home. Every inch of his small body was perfectly formed; this fresh new life needing to be nurtured, to be shaped by our love.
Labour had been a traumatic ten hours of intense stress. The pain, both emotionally and physically, for such a length of time had my heartbeat pounding like crazy. Every minute that passed felt like time was slowing down. The nerves and the anxiety were all too much of a strain for me. I was so worried about the first time I would meet my baby, but, in the end, it was all so much easier than I’d thought. The minute I held his head against my racing heartbeat, it was worth it. I’d go through it all again.
It was a shame that my handsome fiancé wasn’t able to be here for the birth, but I had carefully planned the events of today. Despite all the planning, nothing could have prepared me for the rush of emotion when I saw my baby’s face for the first time. I cried tears of joy, not only from seeing him, but because the stress, tension and intensity of the last ten hours of labour was over.
I was in a hurry to get home; I needed to rest as the strain of the last nine months had now come to a gorgeous end. I was still exhausted, but I needed to be in my own home. I needed my own surroundings; while my healthy baby boy could rest and feel safe at home with me – his mother.
My little boy was here; I couldn’t believe it had finally happened.
I left the hospital with him tucked in with a blanket, carefully strapped into a car seat that I clutched with both of my hands. At just six pounds, two ounces, he was small and vulnerable. I needed to get him back safely in the warm so I could look after him: he was due a feed soon. I had my fears, but I knew that it was natural. He was barely two days old. I was thankful that he was sleeping while I rushed around to find a taxi. I had to get out of that hospital because I wanted to be in my own home and shut the world away.
I was shaking with excitement that my boy had finally arrived. Nine whole months of constant planning, adapting and preparing for this joyous moment had taken over our lives. This small bundle was here in the world. My little boy, who had turned us into a real family, was looking at me. All I had ever dreamed of was a family of my own. I promised him that I would love him and care for him my whole life.
My baby, my beautiful son.
I had never experienced such a rush of love as the moment when I first saw his little face looking up at mine. I felt complete. He was perfect in every way, but I wanted to get out of that hospital to be back home. I wanted to take care of him on my own without everyone looking at me or giving me their advice.
I knew what my little boy needed.
Andrew was mine, and no one would ever separate us.
One
Patricia Mullner – Now
Sunday, 9 September 2018
Every time I close my eyes, I can see his face.
I remember the look in his eyes – he was staring back at me as he closed the door behind him. Andrew had looked lost, or maybe it was my mind playing tricks on me? Every time I relive those last few seconds; I conjure up different emotions to assure myself that he did not appear depressed. His short mousey hair, the whisper of stubble on his chin that was barely a beard yet needed a shave; all five feet seven inches of him etched in my mind. Now gone for what feels like an eternity. One cruel moment that changed our lives forever.
I can picture every fine detail of his smile that distracted from the look he was giving me with his eyes; maybe I’m over-analysing him. I wish I could stop torturing myself with the mental images. At times I visualise him leaving the house with a happy smile, although other times I am sure he was giving me an evil look with a glaring stare. The seventeen years that he was part of our lives have been ruined due to that one day. I’m not even sure I would recognise him now if he passed me in the street, but I hope and pray that he remembers above all else that we love him. Thomas and I are his parents, and I would never forgive myself if he had left home because of me.
The last good memory I have of my son on his birthday was four years ago, when he turned sixteen. I watched him unwrap the gaming console he so desperately wanted. I never knew how to operate modern technology like he did because in my younger years we occupied ourselves by sneaking outside to get drunk on cider or hang around bus stops trying to flirt with the local boys.
I was always envious of the girls at school because I spent most of my time alone in my bedroom. I used to practise my makeup and dream about the day I would be happy with a boy of my own. Communicating back then could only be face to face even to initiate getting someone’s phone number because social media didn’t exist. Mobile phones didn’t even have cameras attached, but we made our own fun in ways that kids would now deem old-fashioned. I wish I had been more outgoing.
I remember the hug Andrew gave me in appreciation for his console. I will never forget how happy he was. He wasn’t one for showing much affection towards me, but I told myself that boys are like that; however, that hug was warm and loving. I was proud that I had made my son happy on his special day. I can close my eyes and relive the memory; the smile on his face lit the room while that look in his eyes cemented our bond. Although now I wonder whether that very console connected him online to someone who could have manipulated him.
I don’t trust the internet.
Aside from checking my emails or looking up my medical symptoms on the internet, I have no other use for an online presence; social media confuses me. It amazes me now that so many people rely on their mobile phones. I have one, but I barely use it for anything other than calling Thomas when I need him. He’s been my rock throughout this ordeal.
Andrew did show me how his gaming console worked, even though there are days I regret shouting at him for skiving off college to play online all day. We argued a lot, but he was a teenager. All teenage sons argue with their mothers, don’t they? It was a typical adolescent insolence. My role as his mother is to provide for him, keep him safe and guide him in the right direction in life – even if he did disagree with me at times. I know he never liked to be disciplined, but if there is anything that I learnt from my mother it was to keep trying harder and harder to be good at what I wanted to be.
‘You’ll regret playing on that thing all day if you fail your coursework, Andrew,’ I remember saying while he tried to have a conversation with me about the competitiveness in online gaming.
‘It’s all about the kill streak, Mum, because it’s a double-points day. Give me a break will you. College isn’t all that important you know. I will still have to find a job somehow when it’s all over.’
‘Just remember those words when you end up working in charity shops like your mother,’ I said. ‘I only want what’s best for you. I know how hard it is to study because I used to want to be a midwife. Putting in all that effort revising for exams and having no life while my friends were out partying. Well, what friends I had back then. Look at your father: he has to work all the hours under the sun in his taxi to pay our bills.’
I miss him; I love him. I hope he is safe. I would give anything to have him back here looking entranced by the war game he seemed addicted to playing with the volume on full blast. It’s still in his bedroom, lying on the floor in the position he left it. Everything has been left untouched except for his bed, which is freshly made for when he comes home. I still believe that he will walk in one day as if he had never left. When he does, I will make him his favourite dinner – a nice chicken with roast potatoes. My Andrew loves his roast potatoes.