From WHERE IS MY SON?

The bond between parent and child is powerful. Just as Matthew and I had sensed one another the previous week, I could now feel his presence and his distress at not seeing me. He was expecting me to be there. There was no question of his having forgotten, not with the retentive mind of a child. It was making me more and more upset.

A telephone call to Gerry Nolan in Limerick got me nowhere. He was away playing golf. I headed back to the blockhouse. There was still no car, but there were people in the apartment. A man in a suit leaned out a window and beckoned me towards the door. He pressed the buzzer and the door opened before me. What was going on?

Upstairs, all was revealed. People were being shown around the apartment and the man in the suit, an estate agent, was doing the showing. He asked me my name and it slipped out without thinking. Never mind the consequences, I thought to myself.

So, Brenda had moved, taking my son away without telling me. Where? When? Had she gone already? These thoughts were racing through my mind when the agent approached me and asked me was I interested in renting the apartment.

"There's no shower," was my reply. He gave me his card and I walked downstairs to the courtyard again.

My mind was in a whirl. Walking to where the truck was parked I sat in it for some time, wondering what to do next.

Some food! The Mayfair Hotel where I often had my midday meal was just a short drive away. The chefs serving behind the counter knew my face and I responded half-heartedly to their good-natured banter as they filled my tray. It took me a long time to get down the delicious roast beef, often pausing between forkfuls for minutes on end.

What to do next? No use phoning Gerry again, he'll be golfing all day. My mind was moving slowly and carefully with no trace of weariness or fatigue in spite of having had only four hours sleep the night before. My watch said half past three. Where was the time going? Two hours had passed in a daze.

Mechanically, I left the table and made my way back to the apartment block.

The Volvo was in the car park. My mind cleared with a start. So, my son couldn't be far away. My feelings were right once more.

Looking around, I suddenly became aware of my surroundings. A team of gardeners was tending the flowerbeds round the lawn. Elderly residents were sitting on the benches round the open area and some younger people were lying on the grass.

I pressed the buzzer. No reply from the doorbell. I pressed again, and then a third time. Still no reply. Walking down the steps on my way to the telephone across the road I looked up and saw the window open.

"Matthew!" I cried, and the answer came unmistakably. "Daddy!"

"I've come up to see you." There was no sign of his face at the window. Nothing except a single knock, like the sound of a chair falling over. It could only have been a few seconds but it seemed like an hour.

"Matthew," I called again.

"I WANT MY DADDY!" It was a scream and it reached to the furthest ends of the grounds. People looked up from their benches and their seats on the grass. The yell he gave had a constrained note as if there was a struggle going on.

"Matthew, are you okay?"

"I WANT MY DADDY!" This time his cry was even louder. All the people round the lawn were now turned towards the building and the yells coming from inside.

"Matthew, are you okay? Is she hurting you?"

"I WANT MY DADDY!" Matthew's scream had now become a shriek. It penetrated across the grounds, out on to the road and cut through the traffic noises outside. People all round the complex were looking in horror.

The younger gardener rushed over to me with the keys of the building in his hand. Oblivious to the crowd I rushed into the building, upstairs to Brenda's apartment and banged on the door. "Brenda, let me in." I cried. "There's a crowd coming in from the street."

The sound of a struggle, and the muffled thud of a chair falling on a carpeted floor could be heard.

Matthew had stopped screaming and now he sobbed.

"Brenda! Let him out! What are you doing to him?" I shouted through the door.

Matthew cried out again.

"If you don't let the child go I'm calling the police," I said. "This is criminal abuse of a child."

My mind was becoming cooler. It was very important to comfort Matthew and to calm him down.

"Matthew pet, she's going to let you out soon," I told him.

Then came the sound of a telephone being dialed and Brenda's voice speaking to the police.

"Come quickly! It's my husband! He's in the building, outside the door and he's shouting and causing a disturbance. There's a safety order out on him and I'm terrified that he may hurt me--or the child. Please! Come as quickly as you can."

Why hadn't Matthew spoken to me? Was she preventing him? It was more than likely that the Gardaí were going to arrest me, given their habit of taking the part of the woman in this kind of dispute, but I was hoping they would arrive as soon as possible because they would have to look in on Matthew.

There was no need to worry. A police car pulled up in a matter of moments, and four Gardaí walked out of it and marched towards me grimly.

No dismissive indifference now, I thought, walking straight to them.

"Go up and see if my son is all right. He's been screaming his head off."

After a slight pause, one of the Gardaí spoke. "We've been called to deal with a disturbance.

Someone has been shouting and frightening a woman. Was that you?" He asked.

"The only one who has been shouting is my little son and there are about a hundred witnesses. Now, will you please go up and see if he's all right? Don't worry about me, I'm not going anywhere and two of you should be enough to mind me."

The same Garda spoke again. He instructed the other three to look after me while he went up to speak to Brenda. He was taking no chances--and leaving me in no doubt whose side they were on. The three Gardaí soon relaxed when they saw that I had no intention of giving trouble. Still quite worried about Matthew, I called his name again. The Gardaí didn't interfere. He was at the window in a second. Obviously, the Garda had come into the apartment. She couldn't stop him now.

"Matthew, are you okay?"

"Yes, Daddy." The relief swept over me, making me feel weak.

We spoke for about five minutes. I don't remember what we said except that he asked me "Can I go out to you now Daddy?"

"Ask the Garda, he'll probably let you out."

No such luck! After five or six minutes he emerged from the building and marched towards me. "She said you were sent a solicitor's letter saying that the access was cancelled. You shouldn't be here."

Numb with confusion and relief, I couldn't think of anything to say for a time. Taking this to be a sign of guilt, he went on.

"There's a safety order out on you so you can be arrested anytime and criminally charged."

"Well, then arrest me." Matthew was all right and I couldn't care less.

"If you come around here disturbing the peace we'll have no choice but to arrest you especially when you have no right to be here."

Slowly, my mind began to clear. There was something wrong with what he was saying. "Hang on a minute. She's not a court, she can't change a court order by solicitors letter."

He stopped. "Yes...that's true."

Now sure of my ground I added, "The court order says my access is every Saturday, so I'm quite entitled to be here."

"Why didn't you report it at the Garda station that you came to see your son and that access was denied?" He was defensive now.

"I did. At half past ten this morning, to a Bean Garda, but no one was going to do anything about it." I drove my point home. "But you turned out in force when you thought that I was breaking a court order."

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