Angie Bradley-Kidd, 67, Manorbier, Pembrokeshire
As I set about clearing dinner away, there was an impatient beeping outside.
It was February 1999 – and, like most teenagers, my son Charlie, 17, loved going out with his mates.
‘See you later, Mum,’ he grinned, pecking me on the cheek. As popular as he was carefree, Charlie made friends wherever he went.
A daredevil, Charlie loved to ride the waves at Tenby, shredding my nerves every time. But tonight, he was off to a party.
Much better!
‘Are you staying over?’ I asked.
‘Yeah, don’t worry!’ Charlie said. ‘See you tomorrow, Mum.’ And with that, he was out the door.
Later that evening, I watched telly with my husband Paul before calling it a night.
Hours later, I woke to a shrill…
