Ben never came home

A day that began so sweetly for Cathy O’Connell, 47, ended with the worst pain imaginable. She explains how her family has coped

- MISHAAL KHAN

Lying in bed one Thursday morning in July 2019, I was surprised to see my 14-year-old son, Ben, climb in beside me. ‘Hi, Mum,’ he smiled, pulling the duvet around him. My husband, Mark, 50, was in the shower, and it was unusually early, at 6.45am, for Ben to be awake, let alone want a cuddle with his mum. Ben was a typical teenager who we usually dragged from bed for school every morning, so I was secretly chuffed.

I remember every moment of that morning. Ben chatted excitedly about an assault course his class was going on that day to mark the end of term. Then, after breakfast, Mark took our youngest, Scarlett, then 11, to school on the way to his insurance-broker job. I run my own dog-grooming business, so a little later, I dropped off Ben. ‘See you tonight, Mum,’ he called, dashing out of the car when he saw his friends, catching his rucksack in the footwell in his rush.

In hospital

That afternoon, during appointments, I thought about Ben, wondered if he was having fun. Only, at 3pm, Mark called. ‘Ben’s in hospital. He collapsed,’ he said.

‘What happened?’ I gasped. Mark didn’t know anything else, but he sounded calm and said he was driving to East Surrey Hospital. I thought maybe Ben had heat exhaustion after running around in the sun.

I hurriedly collected Scarlett from school, calling Mark for an update on the way to hospital, but this time there was an edge to his voice. He’d been trying to get more information, but no one would tell him anything over the phone.

‘I’ve got a bad feeling,’ he said, and my worry turned to sickening dread. ‘Please be OK,’ I whispered over and over, trying to hide my panic from Scarlett, who had heard everything on speakerphone.