As my son Ollie, nine, rushed in from school, he grabbed a snack that was sitting on the kitchen side.
‘I’m going out on my bike,’ he shouted over to me.
‘OK, keep your phone on loud,’ I urged him.
He was always out playing with his friends, so me and my husband Clive, 51, had given him an old phone to check in with us.
I’d call him every half an hour to make sure everything was OK.
He was the baby of the family, as we already had Jack, 18, Seb, 15 and my stepdaughter Jess, 25.
But ten minutes after my last call to him, my phone started ringing with an unfamiliar number.
‘Ollie’s fallen off his bike,’ one of his friends shouted down the phone to…
