SEVEN YEARS AGO
Sudden unexpected death. That’s what the police and medical ambulance crew called Noah’s passing. Pretty much summed it up. A post-mortem had to be carried out and, much as it broke my heart to think of it happening to my boy, my need for an explanation helped avert my mind from the medical procedure and kept me focused on the answers coming my way. Had he been ill and not told us? Did he have some sort of medical condition we hadn’t been aware of?
When the phone call came through from the coroner, Dr Coates, I put it on speaker and placed my phone between Flynn and me on the sofa.
‘Heart failure?’ I said, glancing at Flynn beside me who looked equally surprised. ‘That can’t be right.’
Eighteen-year-olds who exercised and ate well didn’t just drop down dead of a heart attack. Unless it was congenital.
‘Was there something wrong with his heart?’ Flynn asked, his voice husky.
‘No. In this case, your son’s heart failure was the result of amphetamines.’
Beside me, Flynn did a sharp intake of breath but I hadn’t quite taken in what the coroner had said.
‘Amphetamines?’ I repeated, the word sounding alien to me. ‘You mean drugs?’
‘Yes.’
‘But Noah doesn’t do drugs.’
Silence.
‘He doesn’t!’ I insisted. ‘He’s really anti-drugs. Tell him, Flynn.’
‘Could there be a mistake in the report?’ Flynn asked.
‘No mistake. I’m sorry.’
Dr Coates finished running through his findings and I felt numb as I disconnected the call and sank back on the sofa. Amphetamines? Speed? It made no sense. Noah was a good kid with nice friends. He’d had a few drunken nights out, like most kids his age, but drugs? He just wouldn’t.
‘Drugs?’ I murmured, staring questioningly at Flynn, but he shook his head slowly, confusion clear on his face.
Feeling restless, I wandered into the kitchen and boiled the kettle on autopilot, a stream of questions in my head. Why had he taken drugs? How didn’t we know about it? Had it been his first time or was this a regular thing? Where’d he got them from? Who’d done this to my son? I took two mugs of coffee through to the lounge but Flynn wasn’t there. I called his name but there was no answer. There was no sign of him downstairs but I could hear faint noises upstairs.
‘Flynn?’
The noises were coming from Noah’s bedroom and my stomach clenched. I’d only been in there once since the day I found him and I’d had to rush out and slam the door behind me because all I could picture was my beloved son on the floor, slumped against the side of the bed, lifeless. But now my husband was in there and he needed me. Swallowing back my fear, I edged nearer Noah’s room on shaky legs, desperately trying to push that terrifying final vision from my mind and focus instead on Flynn.
He was sitting on our son’s bed, head bowed, the small red teddy bear Noah had loved as a baby clutched between his hands. His shoulders shook as he sobbed, his anguished cries echoing round the room. I ran to him and knelt in front of him, cradling my hands in his.
‘Drugs?’ he whispered, his eyes red as he looked into mine. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘I don’t either,’ I whispered back and, at that moment, the red mist came down. Somebody had given drugs to my innocent young boy. They’d killed him and they needed to pay for it.
‘But I’m going to find out,’ I said, my voice strong and determined as I squeezed Flynn’s hands and rose to my feet.
‘How?’
But I didn’t respond because I’d just put two pieces of the puzzle together. I hadn’t realised it until now but Noah’s girlfriend Jessie hadn’t been round to see us. Helen and Guy had but not her and was it any wonder? She’d been at the New Year’s Eve party with Noah so she clearly knew something and couldn’t face us because of it.
I shot out of the house and ran over to The Byre, anger fuelling me to bang on the door knocker way more times than was necessary.
Helen answered the door, frowning. ‘Mel? What’s going?—’
But I didn’t let her finish the sentence, stepping into the large entrance foyer. ‘Where is she?’
‘Who?’
