Christine Hill
No Son Of Mine
When mark was a young boy and still at school he was the apple of his mother’s eye. He always behaved impeccably, did his homework without being asked or reminded, was polite to everyone, and never caused his parents to worry. The years passed and Mark became a teenager. He had grown into a tall good looking lad who took pride in his appearance and performance and Pat his mother was as proud as a peacock of how he had turned out. He had many friends both male and female and Pat’s kitchen was always full of bustle and typical teenage joviality.
“We love coming to Mark’s house,” remarked one of the girls who was a regular visitor. She was called Jane but she certainly was not a plain Jane. She was very attractive with long dark hair which she wore tied back in a pony tail on school day’s when in school uniform but on other occasions she came dressed very casual, indeed a little too casual for Pat’s liking. You could almost say her fashion sense was non-existent and Pat could not help but say as much when she met up with her friend Joan for coffee at the garden centre.
“You should see how she dresses,” she said to Joan as she sipped her latte coffee. “It’s just – well you might even describe it as seductive!” Joan looked at her and gave her a condescending glance then said,
“For goodness sake, Pat, you need to get into the twenty-first century! Girls dress like that! It’s entirely normal, well at least they think it is. I suppose she turns up in skimpy skirts and low cut tops with her boobs almost popping out, does she?” and she grinned, waiting for Pat’s response.
“Well, yes I suppose that’s a fairly accurate description but I mean, is it right dressing like that with adolescent boys like our Mark and his friends around? Not that I would be worried about Mark doing anything he shouldn’t,” she added cautiously. “But the other boys might, if there was the opportunity,” and she sighed as she peeled the paper from her chocolate muffin and took a huge bite.
“Listen Pat,” said Joan firmly. “If teenagers are going to do it, they will do it and there is not a lot we can do to stop them. It’s normal these days for them to have boyfriends or girlfriends and I’m afraid to say, to have sex.”
“Oh no, not my son!” steamed Pat. “He would never do anything like that, I can assure you,” and she munched on the last bite of her cake. Joan shook her head and once more smiled at her friend.
“We’ll see,” she said with a vagueness that Pat was about to respond to but on second thoughts, decided not to. Joan could be quite arrogant at times and she was not a one to be argued with. She always had to be right so Pat decided to leave that conversation unfinished. But having three teenage sons of her own, she knew exactly what it was like.
The following Friday was the last day of the summer term and there was to be a barbecue at Jane’s house for all the pupils who were leaving school and going on to college. Mark was excited about going to the event and told his mum that he would make his own way home when it was over. Pat was not happy about this and told him she would be more than happy to pick him up when he was ready but he insisted and, recalling the conversation with her friend recently, she finally gave in gracefully giving him a peck on the cheek as she passed him in the hallway as he left.
“Don’t be too late,” she warned him as he slammed the front door.
Pat spent the evening catching up on some housework and then sat down to watch television. She was quite absorbed in a drama she was watching when she suddenly realised that it was nearly midnight and Mark was still not home. Becoming alarmed she jumped up and reached for her mobile phone and pressed the button to ring his phone. Impatiently she waited for the call to go through and then cursed when it went straight to voice mail. She scanned through her contacts list to ring the mother of Mark’s friend Tony and pressed call. A sleepy voice answered.
“Hello? Who is it?”
“Hello. You are Tony’s mother? This is Mark’s mother…is Tony home yet from the barbecue?”
“Barbecue? Don’t know what you are on about,” she continued. “Tony is up in his room, asleep by now I should imagine and Mark isn’t here, sorry,” and the phone went dead. Pat wondered what to do next. She had no idea where Jane lived where the BBQ was being held. How stupid she was for not having asked Mark earlier, she chided herself. Just then the doorbell rang and she gave a relieved sigh, saying as she went to the door,
“Thank goodness, you’re home at last but why are you ringing the bell, have you lost your key?” and she threw wide the door, an expression of false anger on her face, intending to tell Mark what she thought about him arriving home so late. But the look on her face turned to horror when she saw two burly policemen standing there.
“Mrs Tate?” said one of them as he removed his hat. She nodded as he continued, “May we come in for a few minutes?”
“What’s happened?” she almost whispered, dreading to hear words that she feared she was going to hear.
“Your son Mark is in hospital. We will take you to see him as soon as I have explained,” said the officer. Pat’s hand flew to her mouth and tears filled her eyes and were brimming over as she said,
“No, no, not my son! Oh my god! What has happened to him? Was it a car accident? A fight? Please tell me,” she begged.
“No, it’s nothing like that. I’m sorry to tell you that it seems Mark has taken some drugs.” He paused as Pat looked at him, unable to understand what he was telling her. “I am afraid he is very poorly,” and he reached out his hand to take Pat’s hand in his. “We really need to get to the hospital quickly, Mrs. Tate,” and he stood up, taking Pat by the elbow. Blinded by her tears and with her body trembling she allowed him to guide her out of the house and to the waiting police car. “It’s all right; I have locked the door for you. I will look after your keys for the time being,” he said gently.
Sitting in the back of the car as they travelled to the hospital, Pat kept saying over and over again,
“No, not my son. You must have made a mistake. No son of mine would do such a thing. Mark is a good boy, he really is,” and the tears flowed uncontrollably.
On arrival at the hospital, the policeman gently guided her to the ward where Mark was being cared for. When she saw him lying on the hospital bed, hooked up to all the equipment, she froze in sheer horror. She could not believe that it was her son lying there. Slowly and cautiously she approached him and sat on the seat which the nurse placed next to the bed. She took his hand in hers and at first she was unable to speak for the sobs that escaped from her throat.
“Have a sip of water,” offered the blonde nurse next to her, giving Pat the plastic cup full of water. Gratefully Pat gulped the water down and then said,
“Does he know I am here, do you think?” and she looked up at the kindly nurse.
“Just talk to him,” she urged. “I am sure he will know you are there,” and she smiled sympathetically. She just hated having to witness such scenes of tragedy.
“He will get better though?” said Pat, dabbing at her eyes and staring at first the nurse and then the doctor who stood patiently at the end of the bed.
“I’m afraid there is not much we can do other than be with him a little while longer,” said the doctor as he scribbled something on the notes on the bedside table. “Unfortunately the drug has already affected his vital organs and”
Suddenly realising the implication of what she was being told, Pat began to scream hysterically and the nurse had to take her to one side to try and calm her.
“I know that it is hard, probably the worst thing you have ever done in your life but you have to be strong for your son, for Mark,” and she put her arm around her to comfort her.
“Mark would never take drugs. He is a good boy. Someone has done this to him and I am going to find out who!” she stormed angrily.
Just then there was a gentle knock at the door and a nurse popped her head in and said,
“Is is okay for his friend to come in? She has been waiting in reception for a long time and she would really like to see him,” to which Pat said angrily,
“Yes let her in! I have a few questions for her! She will know what has happened, little tart that she is!”
“Mrs Tate,” soothed the doctor. “There is a time and place for that and it is not now. Now you need to sit with your son.” Just then Jane entered the room, her face ashen and tear-stained. Amazing, Pat thought to herself as she observed the girl was wearing what she would consider proper clothes, namely denim jeans and a checked gingham shirt. She really looked very attractive. She crept across the room to the other side of Mark’s bed and took his other hand in hers. She bent over the boy as he lay there and she kissed him gently on the cheek, whispering words that Pat could not quite make out. Then she looked up at Pat and said,
“Mrs Tate I am so sorry, but it wasn’t Mark’s fault, truly it wasn’t,” and big crocodile tears fell from her eyes. Pat glared at her as she replied,
“No it was probably yours! You gave him the drugs, didn’t you?”
The girl jumped to her feet in astonishment.
“I certainly did not!” she said angrily. “It was Mark! He has been dealing drugs for months now and supplying others in our class but until now he has never actually taken any himself. Not till tonight…” and her voice tailed off.
“I don’t understand what you are talking about,” hissed Pat, beginning to wish that Jane would just leave right this minute.
“It’s true,” she said, looking anxiously at Pat, not wanting to tell her the awful story of how Mark had been buying and selling drugs to the whole class. “Most of the time the stuff he got was good and we all had fun but somehow this lot he must have got some bad stuff and he was showing off tonight at the BBQ and said he was going to try it himself to prove it was ok but soon after he took it he – he got sick,” and she hesitated, reluctant to upset his mother even more.
“No son of mine would do such a thing!” Pat cried. “He’s a good boy!” Jane sobbed and then left the room. Just then the machines began to bleep and the monitors were flashing red and Pat stood up becoming alarmed. “What’s happening?” she whispered.
“I’m sorry,” said the doctor. “I’m afraid that Mark’s heart has given up now. We will leave you with him for a short while to say goodbye. The nurse will stay with you if you would like her to,” he added, as he picked up the notes at the end of the bed and walked away.
A few months later Pat was standing on the stage at Mark’s former school. She was there to give a presentation to the whole school, telling them of the dangers of taking drugs. Standing next to her was Jane. Jane worked hard helping Pat with the anti-drugs campaign and she was a regular visitor to Pat’s house with Mark junior now aged three months.
Pat concluded her talk to the pupils saying,
“I only hope that all you boys and girls will remember what I have told you today and that you never have to go through what happened to our family. The only two good things that came out of this tragedy is little Mark junior here and his wonderful mother Jane!” and she began to applaud, clapping loudly as the whole room erupted in cheers.
No Son Of Mine
When mark was a young boy and still at school he was the apple of his mother’s eye. He always behaved impeccably, did his homework without being asked or reminded, was polite to everyone, and never caused his parents to worry. The years passed and Mark became a teenager. He had grown into a tall good looking lad who took pride in his appearance and performance and Pat his mother was as proud as a peacock of how he had turned out. He had many friends both male and female and Pat’s kitchen was always full of bustle and typical teenage joviality.
“We love coming to Mark’s house,” remarked one of the girls who was a regular visitor. She was called Jane but she certainly was not a plain Jane. She was very attractive with long dark hair which she wore tied back in a pony tail on school day’s when in school uniform but on other occasions she came dressed very casual, indeed a little too casual for Pat’s liking. You could almost say her fashion sense was non-existent and Pat could not help but say as much when she met up with her friend Joan for coffee at the garden centre.
“You should see how she dresses,” she said to Joan as she sipped her latte coffee. “It’s just – well you might even describe it as seductive!” Joan looked at her and gave her a condescending glance then said,
“For goodness sake, Pat, you need to get into the twenty-first century! Girls dress like that! It’s entirely normal, well at least they think it is. I suppose she turns up in skimpy skirts and low cut tops with her boobs almost popping out, does she?” and she grinned, waiting for Pat’s response.
“Well, yes I suppose that’s a fairly accurate description but I mean, is it right dressing like that with adolescent boys like our Mark and his friends around? Not that I would be worried about Mark doing anything he shouldn’t,” she added cautiously. “But the other boys might, if there was the opportunity,” and she sighed as she peeled the paper from her chocolate muffin and took a huge bite.
“Listen Pat,” said Joan firmly. “If teenagers are going to do it, they will do it and there is not a lot we can do to stop them. It’s normal these days for them to have boyfriends or girlfriends and I’m afraid to say, to have sex.”
“Oh no, not my son!” steamed Pat. “He would never do anything like that, I can assure you,” and she munched on the last bite of her cake. Joan shook her head and once more smiled at her friend.
“We’ll see,” she said with a vagueness that Pat was about to respond to but on second thoughts, decided not to. Joan could be quite arrogant at times and she was not a one to be argued with. She always had to be right so Pat decided to leave that conversation unfinished. But having three teenage sons of her own, she knew exactly what it was like.
The following Friday was the last day of the summer term and there was to be a barbecue at Jane’s house for all the pupils who were leaving school and going on to college. Mark was excited about going to the event and told his mum that he would make his own way home when it was over. Pat was not happy about this and told him she would be more than happy to pick him up when he was ready but he insisted and, recalling the conversation with her friend recently, she finally gave in gracefully giving him a peck on the cheek as she passed him in the hallway as he left.
“Don’t be too late,” she warned him as he slammed the front door.
Pat spent the evening catching up on some housework and then sat down to watch television. She was quite absorbed in a drama she was watching when she suddenly realised that it was nearly midnight and Mark was still not home. Becoming alarmed she jumped up and reached for her mobile phone and pressed the button to ring his phone. Impatiently she waited for the call to go through and then cursed when it went straight to voice mail. She scanned through her contacts list to ring the mother of Mark’s friend Tony and pressed call. A sleepy voice answered.
“Hello? Who is it?”
“Hello. You are Tony’s mother? This is Mark’s mother…is Tony home yet from the barbecue?”
“Barbecue? Don’t know what you are on about,” she continued. “Tony is up in his room, asleep by now I should imagine and Mark isn’t here, sorry,” and the phone went dead. Pat wondered what to do next. She had no idea where Jane lived where the BBQ was being held. How stupid she was for not having asked Mark earlier, she chided herself. Just then the doorbell rang and she gave a relieved sigh, saying as she went to the door,
“Thank goodness, you’re home at last but why are you ringing the bell, have you lost your key?” and she threw wide the door, an expression of false anger on her face, intending to tell Mark what she thought about him arriving home so late. But the look on her face turned to horror when she saw two burly policemen standing there.
“Mrs Tate?” said one of them as he removed his hat. She nodded as he continued, “May we come in for a few minutes?”
“What’s happened?” she almost whispered, dreading to hear words that she feared she was going to hear.
“Your son Mark is in hospital. We will take you to see him as soon as I have explained,” said the officer. Pat’s hand flew to her mouth and tears filled her eyes and were brimming over as she said,
“No, no, not my son! Oh my god! What has happened to him? Was it a car accident? A fight? Please tell me,” she begged.
“No, it’s nothing like that. I’m sorry to tell you that it seems Mark has taken some drugs.” He paused as Pat looked at him, unable to understand what he was telling her. “I am afraid he is very poorly,” and he reached out his hand to take Pat’s hand in his. “We really need to get to the hospital quickly, Mrs. Tate,” and he stood up, taking Pat by the elbow. Blinded by her tears and with her body trembling she allowed him to guide her out of the house and to the waiting police car. “It’s all right; I have locked the door for you. I will look after your keys for the time being,” he said gently.
Sitting in the back of the car as they travelled to the hospital, Pat kept saying over and over again,
“No, not my son. You must have made a mistake. No son of mine would do such a thing. Mark is a good boy, he really is,” and the tears flowed uncontrollably.
On arrival at the hospital, the policeman gently guided her to the ward where Mark was being cared for. When she saw him lying on the hospital bed, hooked up to all the equipment, she froze in sheer horror. She could not believe that it was her son lying there. Slowly and cautiously she approached him and sat on the seat which the nurse placed next to the bed. She took his hand in hers and at first she was unable to speak for the sobs that escaped from her throat.
“Have a sip of water,” offered the blonde nurse next to her, giving Pat the plastic cup full of water. Gratefully Pat gulped the water down and then said,
“Does he know I am here, do you think?” and she looked up at the kindly nurse.
“Just talk to him,” she urged. “I am sure he will know you are there,” and she smiled sympathetically. She just hated having to witness such scenes of tragedy.
“He will get better though?” said Pat, dabbing at her eyes and staring at first the nurse and then the doctor who stood patiently at the end of the bed.
“I’m afraid there is not much we can do other than be with him a little while longer,” said the doctor as he scribbled something on the notes on the bedside table. “Unfortunately the drug has already affected his vital organs and”
Suddenly realising the implication of what she was being told, Pat began to scream hysterically and the nurse had to take her to one side to try and calm her.
“I know that it is hard, probably the worst thing you have ever done in your life but you have to be strong for your son, for Mark,” and she put her arm around her to comfort her.
“Mark would never take drugs. He is a good boy. Someone has done this to him and I am going to find out who!” she stormed angrily.
Just then there was a gentle knock at the door and a nurse popped her head in and said,
“Is is okay for his friend to come in? She has been waiting in reception for a long time and she would really like to see him,” to which Pat said angrily,
“Yes let her in! I have a few questions for her! She will know what has happened, little tart that she is!”
“Mrs Tate,” soothed the doctor. “There is a time and place for that and it is not now. Now you need to sit with your son.” Just then Jane entered the room, her face ashen and tear-stained. Amazing, Pat thought to herself as she observed the girl was wearing what she would consider proper clothes, namely denim jeans and a checked gingham shirt. She really looked very attractive. She crept across the room to the other side of Mark’s bed and took his other hand in hers. She bent over the boy as he lay there and she kissed him gently on the cheek, whispering words that Pat could not quite make out. Then she looked up at Pat and said,
“Mrs Tate I am so sorry, but it wasn’t Mark’s fault, truly it wasn’t,” and big crocodile tears fell from her eyes. Pat glared at her as she replied,
“No it was probably yours! You gave him the drugs, didn’t you?”
The girl jumped to her feet in astonishment.
“I certainly did not!” she said angrily. “It was Mark! He has been dealing drugs for months now and supplying others in our class but until now he has never actually taken any himself. Not till tonight…” and her voice tailed off.
“I don’t understand what you are talking about,” hissed Pat, beginning to wish that Jane would just leave right this minute.
“It’s true,” she said, looking anxiously at Pat, not wanting to tell her the awful story of how Mark had been buying and selling drugs to the whole class. “Most of the time the stuff he got was good and we all had fun but somehow this lot he must have got some bad stuff and he was showing off tonight at the BBQ and said he was going to try it himself to prove it was ok but soon after he took it he – he got sick,” and she hesitated, reluctant to upset his mother even more.
“No son of mine would do such a thing!” Pat cried. “He’s a good boy!” Jane sobbed and then left the room. Just then the machines began to bleep and the monitors were flashing red and Pat stood up becoming alarmed. “What’s happening?” she whispered.
“I’m sorry,” said the doctor. “I’m afraid that Mark’s heart has given up now. We will leave you with him for a short while to say goodbye. The nurse will stay with you if you would like her to,” he added, as he picked up the notes at the end of the bed and walked away.
A few months later Pat was standing on the stage at Mark’s former school. She was there to give a presentation to the whole school, telling them of the dangers of taking drugs. Standing next to her was Jane. Jane worked hard helping Pat with the anti-drugs campaign and she was a regular visitor to Pat’s house with Mark junior now aged three months.
Pat concluded her talk to the pupils saying,
“I only hope that all you boys and girls will remember what I have told you today and that you never have to go through what happened to our family. The only two good things that came out of this tragedy is little Mark junior here and his wonderful mother Jane!” and she began to applaud, clapping loudly as the whole room erupted in cheers.