Killed brother for abuse!
Hayley, with her sons Wil (right) and Dan.
Thursday 24th July 2008
We've all heard the saying about a mum's love for her children being so strong, it can survive anything. Well believe you me, my son, Will, pushed that idea to the limit. Don't get me wrong. At times, he could be the loveliest boy in the world. He'd clean the house and make me pie and chips when I got home from my job as a barmaid at the South Durham Social Club in Hartlepool. But there were other times, moments so terrible, when I actually thought my son would kill me. And today was one of those days.
It was November 2007, and I'd just put a cooked breakfast down in front of him.
'Thanks, Mum,' Will, 20, smiled.
But as he looked down at his plate, his eyes narrowed. My stomach tightened and
I held my breath.
'You expect me to eat this?' he exploded. 'The yolk's broken!'
I froze with terror.
'Please love…' I begged. 'Don't…'
But it was no use. Quick as a flash, Will picked up his plate of food and threw it at me.
As the plate hit my chest and clattered to the floor, I could see Will coming for me, fists clenched and a look of pure hatred in his eyes. My legs gave way under me as his fists rained down on my head, face and chest. Gasping for breath, I slumped down to the floor and curled myself up in a ball, trying to cover my head with my arms. But Will was a strapping 6ft 1in lad. I didn't stand a chance. Please God, let it stop…
'Mum?' a voice said.
Panic hit me as I realised it was my other son, Dan, 18.
'Get out!' I cried. 'Now!'
Why didn't I scream to Dan for help? Or try to crawl across the kitchen floor and escape?
Because I knew that if Dan tried to protect me, he'd get it himself, 10 times worse. But as he legged it out of the front door, the punching stopped as suddenly as it had started. Confused, I looked up to see Will standing by the sink, filling the kettle.
'Cup of tea, Mum?' he asked, his blue eyes strangely calm.
My whole body was shaking, but I managed to haul myself up off the floor. I'd survived. Now, we could get back to normal. Well, our kind of normal… I know what you're thinking. Why didn't I kick him out or phone the police? Don't think I hadn't tried. I'd split with the boys' dad 12 years earlier, and I couldn't stand up to Will physically. I'd called the police again and again, and every so often, they'd take him to Hartlepool police station to calm down. But I knew it would never do Will any good.
At 11, a school psychiatrist had diagnosed attention deficit hyperactivity disorder, or ADHD, and mild autism. Will had been sent to a special needs school and prescribed Ritalin, and I was taught how to deal with his behaviour.
'Praise the good and ignore the bad,' the psychiatrist had instructed.
Some people might say I used Will's ADHD as an excuse for his behaviour. But I'd brought him up exactly the same way as his brother, and Dan was quiet and easygoing. What other reason could there be? Now, Will was 20, and spent his days sprawled out on the settee drinking coffee. My life had been reduced to one long nightmare of waiting for him to erupt. But despite everything, I couldn't stop loving him. In fact, I felt I needed to protect him more.
A few hours after Will attacked me, Dan arrived back.
'He doesn't deserve a lovely mum like you,' he said, hugging me.
'But he's my son, too,' I sighed.
'I know,' Dan said, tears in his eyes.
I buried my head in his shoulder, completely exhausted.
A week later, on 19 November, the boys had gone out to separate parties and I was at work, when, at 10.15pm, I received a text. I've had words with Will, he's coming for you. My stomach lurched. It was from Will's friend, Stacey, 26. This wasn't the first time she'd texted me to warn me he was in a mood. Usually, it would end up with him lashing out at me.
'He's drunk,' she told me when I rang after work. 'He's kicking off.'
'He'll pass out soon enough and just sleep it off,' I assured her.
As I put the phone down, sadness overwhelmed me. I'd been here so many times before, I knew there was nothing I could do. So I went to meet my friends for a drink, and after a few glasses of Taboo and lemonade, I got a cab home at 1.45 am. As the taxi turned into my street, my heart froze. There were police cars everywhere and police tape was blocking the way into my house.
'What on earth has he done now?' I gasped.
As I jumped out of the taxi, I grabbed the nearest police officer.
'What's happened?' I asked.
'I'm sorry, but Will's dead,' he told me. 'Dan's in custody.'
My legs gave way.
Will dead? Dan in custody?
Surely they had that the wrong way round. Dan was my good son.
Rocking back and forward on my knees, I started heaving. As the police officer helped me up, I could hardly see through the tears. I phoned my mum, Joyce Noble, now 67, on my mobile. But I was crying so hard, I could hardly speak.
'W-Will's been killed,' I sobbed. 'And Dan's been locked up.'
'I'm coming to get you,' she said.
At Hartlepool police station, I was desperate to see my son.
'What happened?' I pleaded. 'Is Dan here? Can I see him?'
They wouldn't tell me anything, so Mum took me back to her house, where my dad, Christopher, 71, held me in his arms as I broke down.
'Dan must have been defending himself,' I told Mum. 'There can't be any other explanation.'
Mum kept phoning the police station, asking for information. But it wasn't until
the following afternoon that an officer arrived.
'We need to take a statement from you,' he said.
Afterwards, Dad was taken to the University Hospital of Hartlepool to identify Will's
body. I couldn't bear to do it. But the next morning, I knew I couldn't put it off any longer. As
I walked into the room at the hospital and pressed my face against the glass, one emotion flooded through me. Relief. For the first time in years, my son looked calm and relaxed.
I thought back to just days earlier. Will had asked me for money to go out. When I told him I didn't have any, he'd flung the remote control at the wall, leaving a dent, then turned on me as if he wanted to kill me. Now, I could see that all the anger, frustration and hatred was gone. Finally, he was at peace.
'I love you,' I whispered.
As I was led away to make a video statement, my mind was made up. I had forgiven Dan for killing his brother. But that didn't make it any easier to give my statement. I was sobbing uncontrollably as I talked about what had happened that night. That's when I found out that
Will had died from a stab wound.
'We've charged Dan with murder,' an officer told me.
'My son's not a murderer!' I cried.
He was pleading not guilty, and I stood by him one hundred per cent. I knew this wasn't a case of cold-blooded murder. But would the police think the same? They let me see Dan at the station the following morning. When I walked into the room, he looked up, stunned.
'Mum!' he gulped. 'I didn't think you'd want to see me.'
'Of course I do,' I said. 'I love you. I know this was an accident.'
As I held him in my arms, his body shook with sobs. My poor baby.
That night, I stayed with Mum and Dad. My doctor prescribed me antidepressants, and the days passed in a haze of grief. I'd lost one son.
Was I about to lose another?
A week later, I got a phone call from Dan's solicitor.
'He's being bailed to your brother Terry's house in Gloucester,' he said.
I couldn't get there fast enough.
'We'll get you through this,' I promised.
Dan wasn't ready to talk about what had happened and, in truth, I'm not sure I was ready to hear it. But we couldn't just sit there doing nothing every day. So Terry, 47, got Dan a job working on a building site, and we waited for the court case. Then, one weekend in February 2008, I was sitting with Dan, when he handed me some paperwork.
'They're the witness statements from the police, including mine,' he said. 'I want you to read them.'
I nodded. This was his way of telling me what had happened that night.
Back at home, I started to read…On the night of his death, Will had come home fired up for
a fight. When Dan had asked him what was wrong, he'd punched him. Then, Will had stormed over to the front door and locked it. He'd grabbed a knife from the kitchen, found Dan in the living room and pinned him to the settee, where they'd struggled. Dan had been terrified his brother was going to stab him and had turned the knife in Will's hand away from himself. A shiver shot up my spine as the realisation hit me.That could have been me if I hadn't gone for a drink after work. I wasn't a strong lad like Dan. If I'd got home first that night, I wouldn't have been able to defend myself. Would it have ended up with me dead instead?
My tears streamed onto the paper as I read that, as they'd fought, Dan had stabbed Will twice. Then he'd panicked and when he couldn't get out the locked front door, he'd gone upstairs and jumped out of his bedroom window, running to a neighbour's place for help.
God only knows how many hours I sat reading the statements, but afterwards, at least I understood. Only before I could start to grieve for Will properly, Dan needed me. In April, three weeks before the trial, the charge was changed to manslaughter by reason of provocation and Dan pleaded guilty. It was a huge relief. At least now he wouldn't have to go to trial.
That night, I wrote a letter to the sentencing judge.
I've already lost one son. I know Dan shouldn't have done what he did, but I love both of my boys. Please give him a lenient sentence.
On the day of the sentencing, my whole family went to Teesside Crown Court, even Dan's great nana, 99-year-old Sarah Noble. Before we walked into court, I looked up to the heavens.
'Look after your brother, Will,' I whispered. 'He needs you now.'
Then, I sat on the edge of my seat as the court heard the evidence. The judge' s summing-up was absolute agony.
'Your punishment will be life-long,' he told Dan. 'It will be the lasting knowledge and awareness of the sorrow you have caused to yourself, but most especially, to your mother. Your own remorse is all too plain.'
I was sobbing as he sentenced Dan to a year-long jail sentence, suspended for two years.
It took a minute for me to realise what that meant. Dan wasn't going to prison.
'Yes!' I cried, jumping into the air as he ran over and pulled me into a huge bear hug. Some people in the courtroom looked shocked. I knew what they were thinking. How can she hug her son, when he killed his brother? But they weren't the ones who'd had to live with Will, who'd faced the abuse day in, day out, who'd lived with the constant fear of him erupting.
So yes, I cuddled Dan. And yes, I forgave him. That afternoon, I even cooked his favourite dinner of steak and chips.
A week later, we took half of Will's ashes to the beach at the Headland, in Hartlepool, where the boys used to go crabbing together as kids.
'Mum and I should be sitting in the car right now, watching you muck about on the beach like we always did,' Dan said, as he threw the ashes into the sea.
I kept the rest of Will's ashes on my mantelpiece. Two months on, I know I haven't grieved properly. But at least I don't have to worry about Will any more. It's a weight off my shoulders. Dan and I still haven't talked about what happened that night. I'm waiting for when he's ready. And when he is, I'll support him. Because no matter what her child does, a mother's love never dies. I'm living proof of that.
Do you think Hayley was right to forgive Will for killing his brother? Vote now in our poll.