PROLOGUE


I roused from fitful slumber, ‘William’s not your son.... Not your son... ’ drumming in my head. I’d been dreaming: reliving yesterday’s nightmare: the agony of the moment my son was taken.

I got up. Perched on the edge of the bed, watching stars fade in the crumbling darkness, I had but one thought. William was everything to me and his mother knew, no less than I, that he was my son. She was playing a game. I was well aware of her motive, but she wouldn’t win. I’d been naive, maybe a fool, but it wasn’t in my nature to give up: I’d never give up on my son.

A gentle breeze wafted in through an open sash. Catching a breath, exhaling slowly, I tried to calm my nerve. It wasn’t working and I knew in an instant that I couldn’t stay here. My Mother meant well, I appreciated her concern, but I had a need to be elsewhere. Pulling on clothes, slipping into trainers, I crept out the back door, borrowed a bicycle and headed for home.

Arriving at Merryfields, I propped the bike against a wall. Without William the house was empty, and not relishing the prospect of being alone, I made my way to the barn. Entering through a side door, flicking the light switch; watching heavy shadows fade, I embraced a welcome, long overdue. I ran a hand over saddles, touched trophies and all those rosettes left, like their memory, gathering dust for too long. Removing photographs pinned to a wall, shuffling them through my hands, I was convinced some of my son were missing. I searched drawers, boxes, even turned out a cupboard, all to no avail. But the search wasn’t without reward. Under a pile of dated Horse and Hound magazines, I unearthed my 1974 / 5 journal. It must have been a good ten years since the final entry, and the significance of that particular day, could not be over stated.

Finding a beer in the fridge, I reclined into the folds of the halcyon sofa. With the journal resting on my lap, whilst mindfully smoothing its cover, I reflected upon the journey that had brought me this far. I’d spent too much time trying to erase memories I believed I was better off without, when maybe I should have learned to value them. There is no doubt that without the bad times - all those dark days, my greatest fortune would never have been known. And now, harrowing though this would be, eager to reconnect, I opened the book....