Twelve Years On
I beg you, please help me find my son! the womans voice trembled, just short of tears. I dont want anything else in this world!
Catherine perched on the sofa beside the shows host, dramatically wringing her hands. Shed purposefully dressed as plainly as possible, staying up the entire night before the broadcast so shed look pale and spent. She wanted to present herself as a suffering mothersomeone the public would be desperate to help.
My biggest dream now is to mend things with my son, she said softly, as if every syllable was a struggle. Ive done everything I can think of! I went to the police, hoping theyd help But they wouldnt even take my report. They said Matthew is an adult, and hes been gone far too long. If you didnt care then, why bother now
The host listened, his head tilted ever so slightly. In truth, he wasnt convinced by Catherines display. He suspected the reality was far simpler than Catherine made it seem. Shed fallen out with her son, wanted nothing to do with him all these years, and only now came running. He rather sided with the police. Still, such stories always drove up the shows ratings. People love a good sob story, dont they?
So, was it your falling out that meant you lost contact? he asked, glancing at the audience. Some looked sceptical, others genuinely sympathetic to the unfortunate mother.
Catherine nodded, eyes brimming with tears again. She took a deep breath to summon the strength to go on.
Yes, it all started twelve years ago. My son fell in love truly, completely and decided he was going to marry. I understood his feelings, but that girl I couldnt stand her! I could see just where it would lead. She smoked, drank, was always out in dodgy places late at night… And worst of all, she gradually dragged Matthew into it!
She paused, reliving that time, as the host waited. He knew to let the tension linger for dramatic effect.
I tried to reason with him, to warn him, explain that he was making a mistake. But he wouldnt listen. As far as he was concerned, I was just a mother refusing to admit her son was his own man. One night, he had enough. He slammed his fist on the table and declared, Im leaving!
Catherine let out a sob. The host quietly handed her a handkerchief, which she dabbed gratefully, careful not to smudge her makeup. She sat in silence for a moment before continuing:
He left. Packed up everything while I was at work. Just disappeared no note, no explanation Changed his number, cut off everyone: friends, family, all of them! All for some girl
Her voice wavered. She pressed her eyes shut, holding back the swell of emotion.
Sorry, its hard to keep it together, she whispered, clinging to the handkerchief.
She bowed her head, her hair falling forward to partly shield her face. Shed planned this movement; she wanted the viewers to feel the weight of her sorrow. According to the mental script, she should have broken down in tears just then. Yet the truth was, Catherine felt little of the pain she performed. Inside, the real sensation was tense anticipationwould her act work with the audience?
The host could tell she wasnt actually crying, but he played along.
We understand your pain, he nodded, gesturing for his assistant to bring her a glass of water. Dont rush; tell us when youre ready.
He let the silence stretch, just long enough for effect not too little, not so much as to slow the shows pace.
What do you know about your son now? he eventually asked, leaning in a fraction, displaying earnest interest.
Catherine looked up, eyes fixed in a practiced blend of despair and hope.
A friend recently saw him in London, she said, and her voice trembled, whether from nerves or effort, it was hard to say. They exchanged a few words, and it was clear: Matthew has changed his surname! How am I meant to find him? Im helplessplease, help! Maybe somebody has seen him?
She turned directly to the camera, face locked in an expression of searing anguish, letting her gaze linger on the lens, as if to pierce right through to the hearts at home.
Recently, I ended up in hospital, she went on, and for a fleeting moment there was a genuine hint of worry in her voice and I realised, time does catch up with you. Who knows how much I have left? I long to see my son, to hug him, to say that Ive forgiven him, to ask him to forgive me
The screen then faded to a photo of a young man, roughly twenty. Fair hair, grey-blue eyes, tall decent looking, though nothing that marked him out from a thousand others in the city. Catherines eyes lingered on the image. In all these years, Matthew must have changed matured, maybe grown a beard or tried a new hairstyle. Perhaps he wore glasses now. Maybe hed put on a bit of weight. Picturing these changes only made it seem even more hopeless. The odds of finding him were slim almost nil but Catherine forced herself not to accept that.
If anyone recognises this young man, please get in touch with our studio, the host said in measured tones. The phone number is at the bottom of your screen.
When filming wrapped, Catherine bade the crew goodbye and made her way to the exit, determined to see her part through to the very end. It was her best shot at getting what she wanted.
Outside, she glanced at her friend the one who had insisted she come on the programme. There was a restrained but obvious look of satisfaction on Catherines face.
Well, did it work? she asked quietly, her tone self-congratulatory. Did I manage to win them over?
Tamara had spent the entire show observing the crowd, and was certain their scheme had worked. Many in the audience genuinely welled up; a few wiped tears, others whispered and shook their heads. Tamara allowed herself the briefest smirk.
The women in the crowd were on the verge of sobbing, she murmured. Im sure youll soon find out where your darling lives then you can demand compensation for all you ever did for him. Look at him, living the high life while his poor mother doesnt see a penny!
Catherine grimaced; she didnt much care for Tamaras blunt cynicism, but really there was a ring of truth in it, if one could face up to it.
Truth be told, until recently, Catherine barely thought about Matthew at all. Any thoughts of her son drifted in from time to time but never for long, and never with any real pang of grief or longing. Everything changed the day Tamara ran into a mutual acquaintance who had seen Matthew in London and relayed just how much his life had changed.
A flashy car not just expensive, but the sort you only ever see in Knightsbridge or Mayfair. A bespoke suit worth thousands of pounds. A custom watch, engraved and fitted with a complex mechanism not something you could buy in any department store. And when Matthew emerged from a notorious Mayfair restaurant, it was clear he wasnt just well-off he was spending with style. A night in the sort of place with a bill that never comes in under four digits, spoke volumes.
Catherine didnt even pretend she was interested in her sons wellbeing. What concerned her was something else entirely: the money she felt he OWED her! After all, she was his mother! She brought him into this world. Now let him pay up!
No matter, someone will find him she told herself as much as Tamara. Just a little patience now and Ill be well looked after…
Why shouldnt she? She was sure Matthew wouldnt dare turn her away; with his social circle, scandal was the last thing he needed. No, hed have to play the dutiful son for the public, win himself a little good PR. With all this publicity, hed have no choice!
Naive She hadnt yet realised she was walking straight into the trap her own son had devised for her.
***************************
Twelve years earlier.
Matthew got home around nine that evening, utterly burnt out. Hed just taken the last, toughest exam of his whole uni course. Formulas still spun in his head, his eyes were sore from hours buried in textbooks, muscles aching from tension. All he wanted was to collapse into bed and pass out for a day straight. But he knew that was a luxury tonight would not afford him.
From the landing, he heard raised voices inside. A mans clipped and sharp, clear irritation. And a womans quiet, trying to reason or apologise. Him again. Matthews jaw tightened. It was as if the man always knew when hed be home, and planned his arrival so as to pick another fight.
Matthew slid his key into the lock, trying to hope he might slip unseen to his room, postpone the drama for a day. But as the door parted, he near tripped over packed bags right on the mat.
He stared. Whats this? Why were his suitcases here? Heart racing, he instantly knew something was wrong.
Whats going on? he called, trying to keep it steady. My stuff? Who put it here? Whats happening?
His voice came out louder than he intended, his exhaustion getting the better of him. Setting his backpack down, Matthew crossed his arms and waited for an answer. The arguing stopped abruptly. Then his mother emerged from the kitchen.
At the sight of him, Catherines face soured, nose wrinkling in wordless distaste. She snorted, spun around, and disappeared down the corridor. Matthew stood, baffled, watching her go. He sensed things had escalated far beyond a normal row.
He kicked off his shoes and strode to the kitchen, drawn by muffled conversation. The door was ajar and, through the gap, he saw what made his fists clench. Seated at the table was the man whose voice hed just heard Anthony. The man made himself comfortably at home: one arm stretched over the neighbouring chair, tea in hand. His eyes swept appraisingly over Matthew, then flicked back to Catherine.
Suppressing a surge of anger, Matthew stepped forward.
Whats he doing here? he asked Catherine, voice tight.
You havent told him yet, have you? Anthony scoffed, spinning his phone between his fingers. Been putting it off?
Dont speak about me as if Im not here, Matthew snapped. I have every right to be in this flat. Unlike you! Who even are you, and why is your son here?
He wanted to say more, but Catherine cut him off, her face cold and impassive. She delivered the words flatly, as though reciting a weather report.
As of today, youre no longer living here. Your old room now belongs to Anthonys son.
Matthew stood as if struck. He searched her face for a trace of warmth, signs this might just be a cruel joke. But Catherines stance was rigid, her gaze hard, lips pressed tight. Anthony only took another sip of tea, as unconcerned as could be.
Hold on! What right do you have to decide where I live? Matthews voice wobbled, but he did his best to sound sure.
He was floored. Of course he realised his presence cramped her attempts to build a new life, but to toss him out no warning, no discussion it was unthinkable. And so cruel!
Dad was meant to leave this flat to me he started, grasping at any sliver of comfort in this collapsing world.
Catherine folded her arms and lifted her chin, face contorted into what briefly might have passed for sorrow though Matthew saw nothing but a performance.
He was going to, but he died so suddenly, she said, voice even. The will was never changed, so the old one stands from before you were born. Remember: I am sole owner now, and I decide who lives here! From this day, youre banned from my flat. Youre a grown man, stop hanging onto your mothers skirts! Arent you ashamed?
Each word was a slap. Matthew could feel a protest rising inside, but he forced himself to stay calm. He was being thrown out of his home the place hed grown up, every creak in the floor and mark on the wall familiar.
A twitch started beneath his eye, the telltale sign of stress. Thoughts raced even wild ones. Maybe that accident that killed his dad was no accident at all? Maybe someone stood to gain, keeping the deed from slipping away from dear mums control?
He glared at Anthony sitting sedately at the table not offering a word, as unmoved as ever. The unfairness of it all only sharpened.
Are you really doing this? Matthew turned to Catherine, looking for any glimmer of doubt. Are you honestly casting your own son out?
Catherine shrugged, as if talking about a piece of furniture.
Ive even packed your things. From now on, someone else lives here. Dont come back without my say so.
Where am I meant to sleep tonight? he said quietly, containing his rising anger as best he could.
He tried to believe it was a joke, that shed laugh and say, Alright, thats enoughjust wanted your reaction. But Catherine stared him down coldly, no trace of affection or doubt.
He wanted to leap up, grab arrogant Anthony by the collar, shout, Who are you to decide my fate? But Matthew just clenched his fists and forced himself to stay put.
Youll manage, Catherine said coolly, as though they were discussing moving a lamp. Youve plenty of friends. Someonell take you in. Sort yourself out.
She said it so breezily, as if his homelessness was the most trivial thing in the world. Injustice balled inside him, but he kept his dignity.
And one more thing, Catherine added, raising her chin Ive taken the money for your final university year. Earn your own fees I need the money for my wedding.
This hit him harder than he expected. For a moment, he was lost for words. She really was ready to cut him off in total. Not just from his home, but from any help, any path to an easier future.
He would not stoop to beg or plead not now, not ever. A plan was already forming. Hed take a break from his studies, get a job, work for the fees himself. He had his wits, a pair of hands hed find his own way.
Slowly, Matthew nodded accepting the challenge. He looked at his mother, checking for even a flicker of compassion, but saw only iron resolve. In that instant, he understood: there was no going back. Any trust left between them was gone.
He knew, then, that hed never be able to forgive her.
***************************
Have you seen it? Nick asked, voice brimming with urgency as he leaned across the table towards Matthew, phone in hand. Friend from back home just sent this. Says the episode aired a few minutes ago.
Matthew slowly looked up from the pile of paperwork hed been combing through, letting the file fall to the table. Focusing on work was now pointless. A strange feeling rose within a smirk, almost bitter amusement at the situation.
Ive seen it, he replied, smirking. Tamars husband couldnt keep quiet about us bumping into each other. But its what I wanted. Let Mother see exactly what shes lost.
He leaned back in his chair, running a hand over his short hair as fleeting images from the broadcast flickered across his mind Catherine, with her practised mask of grief, speaking of her missing son. Twelve years ago shed sent him away without a second thought, taking his home and his education. Now, suddenly, she wanted to perform her lost-mother act.
Yes, Matthew had settled the score not with a public feud, but by quietly showing her what shed thrown away. Hed carved out a life. Built a career. Made connections. Now, he was a citizen elsewhere, with a steady income and future plans. Hed done it all without her input, blessing, or help.
Now his mother knew hed done well for himself and that she could have turned to him for support, had she not pushed him aside. Had she not favoured another man and his son. Had she not stolen his fees, thrown him out, thrown away every bond they had.
Soon, shed learn the most important thing: he would give her nothing. Not a penny no offer of support, not the faintest notion of reconciliation. Matthew had decided: the past was buried. The future he would shape alone without her, her judgement, or her manipulative games.
The woman who once gave him life would never reach him again. Not in body, and not in spirit. And perhaps, I thought as I closed my diary for the night, that understanding was the greatest freedom Id ever win.
