in my life
that I love enough to guide me swiftly out of depression. Show me a woman who
wouldn’t be beside herself to have her son taken away from her, and then I’ll
show you a bad mother.”
Chapter 12
After Gerald left, I lay on the living room floor staring up
at the ceiling. It drifted in and out of focus as tears came and went. The room
itself felt like an illusion – I was somewhere else, in the chilling depths of
torment. I recognised this place – it was that dark, faraway pit that
depression took me to. Only this time, I wasn’t depressed. This wasn’t the
temporary effect of a chemical imbalance – this was real pain of the foulest
kind. I’d had my baby taken away from me. It was the only experience that had
ever even rivalled clinical depression, and now I found myself bartering with
the universe – please, I’d rather be ill than going through this.
How long I was there, lying on the floor, I cannot tell you.
Eventually, somehow, I managed to collect the shards of my shattered core and
regain awareness of the world around me. I moved my body into a sitting
position. I caught sight of one of Joseph’s little boots on the sofa. Suddenly,
I felt energised. I couldn’t waste a second here on the carpet. I had to get
moving. I had to get Joseph back.
Hurriedly, I kicked on my shoes, grabbed my phone and
hurried out the front door.
I took long, purposeful strides towards the bus stop,
spluttering the facts to the emergency services as I went. “My baby son has
been kidnapped by his grandparents! Well, I asked them to look after him but I
didn’t know they’d do this ! They’re saying I can’t have him back! Emma.
Emma Hatcher. He’s only eighteen days old. Yes, but he’s in Antarctica. Simon.
Yes, his name is on the birth certificate, I can’t reach him. He’s in
Antarctica! ”
The bus arrived and I leapt on without even thinking to pay.
“I’m going around there now. Fourteen, St Luke’s Street. Yes. No, I can’t! How
can I wait at home when they have taken my baby? Gerald and Judy Moran. No, you
listen …”
“Madam?” called the driver.
“Why do you need my date of … I’m going to have to
go. But look, I gave you the address. Tell the police I’ll see them there.”
“Madam?”
“I really have to go. I’ve told you everything you need to
know!”
“Madam?”
“Yes!” I threw some coins at the driver. God knows how many
there were, but they seemed to cover the cost of the ticket, because he stopped
shouting at me.
I sat on the bus in a state of shock. My mind was a cauldron
of slush. Nothing really made sense any more. I just knew I had to get to that
house, and any other thoughts were just slurry.
Finally, I stumbled off the bus and began ploughing down the
street. I threw a foot out in front of me, and then another. I literally ran
faster than my legs could carry me; I stumbled and crumbled as I ran. I thought
of Simon and the very different races we were running.
Last night he would have flown from Chile, by private jet,
to the Union Glacier, ready for the big race tonight – a race he would complete
with style and control. Here I was, flinging my legs forward in a desperate,
haphazard fashion, willing myself to find stamina I didn’t have.
He had trained for the occasion – practising for months. Is
there any experience in the world that could prepare a woman for a journey like
this?
Simon would be wearing a specialised running outfit,
designed for the task and climate. I was still wearing the turquoise dress I’d
chosen to welcome my son home in. It didn’t look elegant now, the skirt
flailing around as I scuttled forward.
I knew there would be no reasoning with Gerald, but I may
have been able to talk some sense into Judy. She was a mother herself. She must
know how it feels to be separated from a son – presumably not as viciously as
this, but she must surely understand a mother’s bond with her child.
Perhaps the police would be there
that I love enough to guide me swiftly out of depression. Show me a woman who
wouldn’t be beside herself to have her son taken away from her, and then I’ll
show you a bad mother.”
Chapter 12
After Gerald left, I lay on the living room floor staring up
at the ceiling. It drifted in and out of focus as tears came and went. The room
itself felt like an illusion – I was somewhere else, in the chilling depths of
torment. I recognised this place – it was that dark, faraway pit that
depression took me to. Only this time, I wasn’t depressed. This wasn’t the
temporary effect of a chemical imbalance – this was real pain of the foulest
kind. I’d had my baby taken away from me. It was the only experience that had
ever even rivalled clinical depression, and now I found myself bartering with
the universe – please, I’d rather be ill than going through this.
How long I was there, lying on the floor, I cannot tell you.
Eventually, somehow, I managed to collect the shards of my shattered core and
regain awareness of the world around me. I moved my body into a sitting
position. I caught sight of one of Joseph’s little boots on the sofa. Suddenly,
I felt energised. I couldn’t waste a second here on the carpet. I had to get
moving. I had to get Joseph back.
Hurriedly, I kicked on my shoes, grabbed my phone and
hurried out the front door.
I took long, purposeful strides towards the bus stop,
spluttering the facts to the emergency services as I went. “My baby son has
been kidnapped by his grandparents! Well, I asked them to look after him but I
didn’t know they’d do this ! They’re saying I can’t have him back! Emma.
Emma Hatcher. He’s only eighteen days old. Yes, but he’s in Antarctica. Simon.
Yes, his name is on the birth certificate, I can’t reach him. He’s in
Antarctica! ”
The bus arrived and I leapt on without even thinking to pay.
“I’m going around there now. Fourteen, St Luke’s Street. Yes. No, I can’t! How
can I wait at home when they have taken my baby? Gerald and Judy Moran. No, you
listen …”
“Madam?” called the driver.
“Why do you need my date of … I’m going to have to
go. But look, I gave you the address. Tell the police I’ll see them there.”
“Madam?”
“I really have to go. I’ve told you everything you need to
know!”
“Madam?”
“Yes!” I threw some coins at the driver. God knows how many
there were, but they seemed to cover the cost of the ticket, because he stopped
shouting at me.
I sat on the bus in a state of shock. My mind was a cauldron
of slush. Nothing really made sense any more. I just knew I had to get to that
house, and any other thoughts were just slurry.
Finally, I stumbled off the bus and began ploughing down the
street. I threw a foot out in front of me, and then another. I literally ran
faster than my legs could carry me; I stumbled and crumbled as I ran. I thought
of Simon and the very different races we were running.
Last night he would have flown from Chile, by private jet,
to the Union Glacier, ready for the big race tonight – a race he would complete
with style and control. Here I was, flinging my legs forward in a desperate,
haphazard fashion, willing myself to find stamina I didn’t have.
He had trained for the occasion – practising for months. Is
there any experience in the world that could prepare a woman for a journey like
this?
Simon would be wearing a specialised running outfit,
designed for the task and climate. I was still wearing the turquoise dress I’d
chosen to welcome my son home in. It didn’t look elegant now, the skirt
flailing around as I scuttled forward.
I knew there would be no reasoning with Gerald, but I may
have been able to talk some sense into Judy. She was a mother herself. She must
know how it feels to be separated from a son – presumably not as viciously as
this, but she must surely understand a mother’s bond with her child.
Perhaps the police would be there
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