‘Ben,’ I said. ‘It’s me, Mummy.’
I sat down on the side of his bed. I wanted him to wake up, I wanted him to come to me, to pitch into my arms as if he’d been falling from a great height and had finally landed in a place of safety.
His eyelids flickered open, then shut again.
‘Love,’ I said. ‘It’s Mummy. I’m here. Ben.’
Another flicker and then I had them: bright blue eyes. They didn’t move in the usual way though. They looked past me at first, and it was only when I said his name again that they slid towards me, locked onto mine.
He blinked.
My head sank onto his, my breath on his face, his head motionless beneath me. I kissed him, my tears slid from my cheeks onto his. I felt his lips move, and I pulled back so I could see him better, hear him. ‘What did you say, Ben? What did you say?’
Eyes slid shut again, a twitch of movement in his arm. And I thought, where is my child, the one who could never stay still, whose every movement was brimming with life?
His breathing faltered audibly and I heard the doctor step forward, but it settled again and the doctor contented himself with moving the oxygen mask closer to Ben’s mouth.
I felt terrible, terrible sadness building in me, a feeling so powerful that it hurt, and it made my hands shake. I looked at the doctor, his eyes powerfully kind and his words steady: ‘Give him some time.’
And he was right, because Ben stirred, and his eyes met mine again, and even though they seemed to slip out of focus, his lips moved and this time a word was audible on his outtake of air. ‘Mummy.’ And tears began to roll slowly, silently down his cheeks.
I took him in my arms, even though the doctor stepped forward as if to stop me, then thought better of it. I scooped Ben up, onto my lap, and I held his limp, small body close to mine and in return I thought I felt some strength in his arms, and then it was a firmer squeeze and he clung to me. He did that weakly, and wordlessly, but we stayed like that for so long that eventually the doctor had to prise him gently away.
After the medical staff had laid him back down, they tidied him up, adjusted his cannula and checked that he was properly connected to his machines. When they stepped away, Ben’s eyes met mine with more consciousness in them than they’d had before.
And I smiled, because that was what I wanted from him most of all, a smile. It was the last thing I’d seen on his face before he left me in the woods, and I wanted to see it again. But my smile wasn’t answered, because his eyes moved away again, and the lids slid down over the tears that still fell, and he turned his head away from me.
And here’s the thing: I wasn’t sure whether that was because he was exhausted and dangerously unwell, or because there were things deep inside his eyes that he didn’t want me to see.
It was a beautiful reunion for me. It was. The feel of Ben’s arms around me was everything I’d dreamed of, every second he’d been away. But the other bits, his desperate physical condition, the sorrow that was deeply, soundlessly buried within him, and the way he dodged my gaze, I won’t deny it – this is supposed to be a truthful account after all – they were profoundly frightening.
Did you want catharsis? So did I. But there was none. I’m sorry.
EPILOGUE
CHRISTMAS 2013 – ONE YEAR, FIVE WEEKS AFTER
WEB PAGE- www.twentyfour7news.co.uk/bristol – 3.15 PM GMT 11 Dec 2013
JOANNA MAY GUILTY OF BENEDICT FINCH ABDUCTION
By Danny Deal
Joanna May pleaded guilty to the abduction of 8-year-old Benedict Finch in front of Mr Justice Evans at Bristol Crown Court today.
The 27-year-old abducted Benedict Finch after becoming obsessed with having him for herself, it can now be revealed, after she discovered she was infertile.
May was arrested and charged with the abduction after Benedict was discovered abandoned in Leigh Woods. She had been keeping him in the basement of her flat in Mortimer Crescent, Clifton for nine days during October 2012.
May had displayed symptoms of fantasist behaviour in the past and shown an ‘unhealthy’ interest in a friend’s baby.
This information can now be reported after the judge, Mr Justice Evans, lifted an order banning publication.
May stared ahead and showed no sign of emotion during her time in court.
The judge told May she had committed ‘a heinous and dreadful act that harmed in extreme ways the emotional and physical welfare of a vulnerable young child’ and that the abduction had left Benedict’s family suffering ‘eight days of torturous uncertainty’ and ‘unforgivable harassment and vilification by the media’.
Julian Paget QC prosecuting described May as ‘calculating, manipulative, arrogant and extremely dangerous’.
Members of Benedict Finch’s family were in court to hear the verdict but showed little emotion and declined to comment.
Sentencing will take place next week.
286 comments and 7 people are discussing this article
Simon Flynn
This is a truly chilling case. Let’s hope she gets the sentence she deserves. My thoughts are with Benedict Finch’s family.
Jean Moller
She is a vile piece of scum. Hahahahahaha Joanna May everyone inside prison will know what you did and there will be degradation heaping on you I hope you’re never released. Pain to you.
Anthony Smith
Exodus 22.18: ‘Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live.’
Samantha Singh
Hopefully this will be able to bring some closure for her family. Thinking of them and poor little Benedict.
Patricia Gumm
For the sake of the family and for Ben we should be thankful that justice has been done. And we should spare a thought too for the other poor children who suffered her as a teacher without knowing the evil in her heart.
Jasleen Harper
Are we going to pay for her to wallow in prison with satellite tv and psychotherapy now? People like her should be put to work cleaning up shit like them.
Cliff Downs
Jasleen we shouldn’t use language like that out of respect for Ben and his family.
Simon Flynn
The news is a 24/7 monster. It devours all information and we feed it with our opinions, so we can’t be shy of expressing ourselves even if we don’t like the language other people use. It’s called free speech.
Comments are now closed
RACHEL
A few weeks ago, somebody asked me if I thought Ben and I could have some closure once the trial was over. I was lost for words, truly; because the fact of it is that we might never have ‘closure’. If only life were that simple. There are some events and uncertainties that you take to the grave and they threaten to tumble you every single step of the way.
If closure is a search for answers, and an attempt to clear away ambiguity, then let me tell you how far we’ve got.
Here’s what I know for sure:
I know that in the woods that Sunday afternoon, my child willingly walked away with Joanna May, his hand in hers. He looked up into her eyes, he trusted her, and he believed what she told him.
She took him to her car, after making him change into clothes that she provided him with. Skittle followed them. Joanna May hadn’t been prepared for that so she kicked the dog, to make him go away, and, in doing so, she broke his leg. Then she drove Ben away. She avoided routes where CCTV cameras lay in wait for her.
Out of everything that happened to him in that week, Ben talks about her treatment of the dog most of all. His mind circles around it, trying to make sense of her cruelty. What bothers him most is that she made him leave Skittle there, in pain, whimpering on the ground. It was the first sign he had that she wasn’t a stable person.