Had one of my sons killed another?
Adam Stringer, left, and Matthew
Wednesday 3rd October 2007
I'd never seen my son, Craig, 23, so angry as he paced up and down the living room.
'I'm going to kill that little brother of mine when I see him,' he yelled. 'How could he?'
'I don't know love,' I sighed.
They say boys will be boys. And with four sons, Gary, 20, Craig, 23, Adam, 15, Matthew, 14, didn't I know it. Thank God for my daughter, Jade, 13.
In August 2005 I'd separated from their dad, Graham Stringer, 44, after 24 years because of a string of silly arguments. I loved my kids dearly. But, with the six of us crammed into a three-bedroom council house in Wombwell, Barnsley, their constant bickering drove me up the wall.
Usually it was just petty rows over who got the most roast potatoes at Sunday lunch. But now, things had got much more serious. Every week for the past three months, Craig couldn't be bothered to go to the cashpoint. So he'd given Matthew his bankcard and his pin number and asked him to take his £80 monthly housekeeping money out. Only now Craig had got a statement through and realised that Matthew had been taking some cash for himself, too.
£4,500 to be precise.
'Go easy on him,' I told Craig. 'He hasn't been himself these past few months.'
All my boys had gone through this difficult teenage phase but Matthew's had come at the same time as my split with Graham 14 months ago. Out of all the kids, Matthew had taken it the hardest. In August 2006, two months ago, I'd even caught Matthew smoking cannabis in the shed. But taking money from Craig's bank account was the last straw. Craig had been saving the money up from his job at Mc Donald's for a deposit on a house.
I had to face facts. My teenage son was out of control. So I called the police to tell them and they'd made me take him in for questioning. It was awful sitting in an interview room, listening to one son admit he'd stolen from another.
'I bought clothes, topped up my mobile phone credit,' Matthew shrugged.
Was that really how he'd frittered all that money away?
But the police seemed satisfied and Matthew was let off with a caution.
Now that we were home, I was fuming.
'I've had enough,' I shouted at Matthew. 'You're grounded for six months and I'm selling your Xbox, your telly and your DVD player to pay back your brother.
'And you won't be getting any Christmas presents this year either.'
Of course I didn't mean it. I wasn't going to sell his stuff and I certainly wouldn't deprive my son of his Christmas presents. But it was time I put my foot down.
I knew Craig would forgive him eventually but before I knew it, he'd put Matthew's beloved Xbox back in its cardboard box and left it in the living room. I wasn't sure if he was actually going to sell it but seeing it there sent the right message to Matthew.
So for the next few weeks, Matthew spent most of his time with Adam in the bedroom the four boys shared. Although there was only a year between them, Adam and Matthew were like chalk and cheese. Adam spent most of his time in his room listening to his MP3 player. He was a talented artist and dreamed of becoming a graphic designer for a computer game company.
'It'll do Matthew good to spend some time with his brother,' I told myself.
Two weeks later, one Thursday night in November 2006, I sunk into bed finally feeling like things were starting to get back on track.
'Goodnight, Mum,' Adam called from the boys' bedroom.
'Night love,' I called back.
But little did I know when I closed my eyes that night what was about to happen.
When I woke that Friday at 7am, I couldn't drag myself out of bed.
But seconds later, I was woken by Jade screaming.
'Fire!'
Panicking, I ran onto the landing. Smoke was billowing up the stairs and flames spread along the banister. I'd had the hall decorated four months earlier and hadn't put the smoke alarm back up. The boys' bedroom was opposite but the fire had already spread across the landing.
With my lungs burning, I fell three metres into the back garden.
'I think everyone's out,' I heard someone say.
Next thing I knew, I was being carried into ambulance. Carys and Matthew were already in there. Matthew was crying.
At Barnsley Hospital, the doctors explained I had slight burns on the top of my left arm and third degree burns on my right arm from shoulder to hand. My collarbone and a bone in my neck had been fractured when I jumped.
That afternoon, Graham and Matthew came to see me. Craig had broken his nose and right wrist and Gary had fractured both ankles.
'What about Adam?' I rasped, looking at Matthew whose eyes were red raw from crying.
Graham took my hand.
'He was still in the house, love,' he whispered. 'He's gone.'
I just lay there, too stunned to cry. 'No,' I moaned. 'Not my son.'
The police came to see me that evening.
'We think the fire was started deliberately,' an officer said. 'Does anyone have a grudge against your family?'
'Of course not,' I said, shocked. I'd assumed it was faulty electrics. Why would anyone do that to us?
Two days after the fire, Graham came to see me.
'The police have charged Matthew with murder and arson endangering life,' he said. 'He said he didn't do it, but he's being held on remand.'
They thought Matthew started the fire?
'No way,' I spluttered.
OK, he'd gone off the rails. But setting fire to our house with us asleep inside? Outrageous.
Over those next weeks, after having skin grafts on my right arm, the police visited me in hospital again.
'Adam died of smoke inhalation,' an officer said.
They'd found him on his top bunk with his MP3 headphones on. Which is why he hadn't heard the other lads screaming. The smoke had been thick in the boys' bedroom and in the panic, the others didn't realise he hadn't escaped.
After six weeks I was discharged.
'Live with me,' Graham said.
Our old house had been gutted by the fire. We'd lost everything. Gary and Carys had their own place now and Craig and Jade were living with Graham. That was where I belonged too. Those silly arguments we'd had seemed so petty now. Walking into Graham's, the first thing I saw was a baby photo of Adam. He was 6-months-old, grinning away in his bouncy chair. I walked over and gently touched it.
I was a witness so I wasn't allowed to speak to Matthew. At Christmas, seven weeks after the fire, all I could do was send him some clothes. In January this year, it was Adam's funeral at St Mary's Church in Barnsley. I'd arranged for the cars to collect us at the old house. I looked up at the charred shell that had once been our home and imagined Adam gasping for air as the smoke got to him. Unbearable.
We thought, for his safety, it would be best if Matthew didn't go to the funeral. I didn't get to see him until four months later in April 2007, when me and Graham went to the secure unit for young people. A police officer had to supervise because I was a witness.
Slouched in his chair, Matthew looked up at me with big brown eyes. Just like Adam's. I wanted to tell him I knew he was innocent, that he didn't kill his brother. But I wasn't allowed.
Finally, in June 2007 Matthew appeared at Sheffield Crown Court and denied murder and arson with intent to endanger the lives of five people. As a witness, I wasn't allowed to go for the first week. On the sixth day, I was trembling as I stepped into the witness box. What if I said the wrong thing, ruined Matthew's defence?
But I had no choice, so I told them what had happened. Yes Matthew had gone off the rails but he'd never hurt Adam. Afterwards I watched the rest of the trial. I winced as the prosecution revealed how Matthew had stolen the money, that he'd told his mates he hated me and was going to kill me by setting the house on fire.
Police had found white spirit on the white Nike Air Max trainer Matthew had been wearing on the morning of the fire. The prosecution said he'd been angry that I'd taken away his Xbox, so he'd poured white spirit in the hallway, before throwing a match through our letterbox.
Witnesses said he'd stood across the street with his hands in his pockets, watching the blaze.
'Lies,' I told myself.
Would my son really murder his brother over an Xbox?
Matthew had eventually admitted that he'd lied when police had interviewed him. Once he'd said he'd been on a paper round with a friend, another time that he owed money to a drug dealer and had gone that morning to pay it back. That wasn't the Matthew I knew. Graham agreed with me. That's why, seven weeks later, we sat by Matthew's side for the verdict.
As he was found guilty, I rested my head on my son's shoulder and felt his heaving sobs. He was given life for murder with a minimum of 10 years and eight years for arson with intent to endanger life to be served concurrently. Because of the fire, the only thing I have left of Adam's is an Easter card he made. But as mad as this may sound I won't blame Matthew. I still can't believe he did it. Maybe I'm in denial. Maybe the truth is too painful for me to accept.
Now I split my time between Matthew's prison and Adam's grave. I've lost one son, I can't bring myself to lose another.
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