Leah had just dropped off her three-year-old boy at his dad's, when a phone call tore her world apart...
Gazing at my newborn baby boy Albie lying in an incubator, I felt an overwhelming urge to protect him.
I’d had a traumatic labour and developed sepsis, while Albie had been rushed to intensive care after being starved of oxygen.
But we’d both pulled through and I believed
it had made the bond between us even stronger.
I’d met his dad Neil less
than a year before in the bar
I worked in.
But the relationship was difficult and when Albie was
a couple of months old, we
split up.
My little boy grew into a smiley, kind and fun-loving toddler who adored everything round – from bouncy balls to doughnuts.
We were inseparable and I’d take him on little adventures, such as day trips to Legoland, picnics in the park and to his favourite place, Cleethorpes beach.
We’d play for hours before having ice cream.
One day, as we sat in a café looking out to the sea, Albie put his hands on my face.
‘I love you, mummy girl,’ he said, kissing me.
‘I love you, my sunshine boy,’
I replied.
The nickname was perfect because he’d brought so much light into my life.
Albie was the happiest little boy and so intuitive.
If I was ever
feeling down, I’d never tell him.
But he’d turn to me and say, ‘It will all be OK, Mummy.’
I worked at the nursery he went to, so we were never far apart.
Except for every other weekend, when he stayed with his dad on his farm.
One Friday, when Albie was three, we spent a day shopping together, then he had his favourite macaroni cheese at the pub for tea.
'It will all be OK, Mummy'
Next morning,
I drove to Neil’s to drop him off for the weekend.
I’d always get there a little early so Albie and I could chat and play in the car.
That morning, Albie sat on my knee and we laughed as usual.
When it was time to leave, we said goodbye in the car.
Before driving away, I watched him in his dad’s arms.
Albie turned and waved at
me, his gorgeous grin lighting
up his face.
That afternoon,
I was at my mum Michelle’s house, when Neil called.
‘It’s Albie, it’s Albie!’ he said, crying.
I knew then something was drastically wrong.
‘You need to come to hospital,’ he said, saying that he’d hit Albie with his telehandler – farm machinery used to lift heavy items – by accident.
‘Is he alive?’ I asked.
‘No, he’s dead…’ he said. ‘He’s dead.’
I prayed it was some sort of sick joke.
Only, as I drove to the hospital with Mum, the road was taped off and swarming with police cars.
In those gut-churning seconds, I knew Albie had gone.
Seeing an ambulance, I jumped out of the car and ran towards it.
There, I saw my precious boy lying on a stretcher. In that moment, my world stopped.
I held Albie’s hand as we drove to hospital.
I didn’t want to let go.
His beautiful face was injured, but otherwise, he looked like he was sleeping.
I was so angry at Neil and didn’t want anything to do with him.
At hospital, we were taken to a family room, and I was allowed to be with Albie.
I just felt like I’d died with him and time had frozen.
My partner George tried to comfort me, but I felt numb.
'I messed up, I made a mistake'
In the days following Albie’s death, I was consumed by grief.
I couldn’t bring myself to
move anything that belonged
to him, including the bowl he
had eaten his cornflakes from that morning.
I plucked his unwashed jumper from the basket and breathed
in his smell, taking it with me everywhere.
In time, the postmortem showed Albie had died of a
head injury.
He had suffered multiple crush injuries to his head, legs and body.
At his funeral, I asked everyone to wear bright colours to reflect Albie’s personality.
We had a box of Albie’s favourite bouncy balls, and guests could take one away with them.
We played Heat Waves by Glass Animals, as Albie was always dancing to it, and Forever Young by Becky Hill.
I was too upset to read my tribute, so I asked a friend to.
I’d written, Albie, I’ll never understand what happened to you, why your life was so temporary or why the world is so cruel and unjust.
Accepting that I’ll never see you or hear your voice again, never tuck you in at night, is more than I can bear.
I love you endlessly, my sunshine boy, and I’m beyond fortunate that I got to be your mummy.
As the police investigated his death and questioned Neil, I had so many questions.
Did he suffer? Was he scared?
But I’d never know because I wasn’t there.
I had to leave my job at the nursery because I couldn’t face his little friends asking where he was, or look at the tributes, including a star on the wall.
Then, four months later, I found out I was expecting another boy.
It felt like a miracle, but it was bittersweet, too, because he’d never meet Albie.
In time, I gave birth to my son who I named Ebon Albie, in memory of his big brother.
At first, I struggled to look
at him.
‘I’m worried he’ll look like Albie, but also worried he won’t look like him at all,’
I told George.
When he was a few months old, I started taking him to Albie’s grave so we could feel closer to him.
Just over a year later, Neil was charged with gross negligence manslaughter.
Finally, Albie will get justice,
I thought.
A year later, Albie’s dad Neil Speakman, 39, appeared at Manchester Minshull Crown Court, where he pleaded
not guilty.
He’d previously pleaded guilty to breaching a section of the Health and Safety at Work Act 1974.
The court heard that after I’d dropped Albie at his dad’s, Neil had taken Albie to run errands before returning to the farm to get on with chores.
As Neil climbed into the telehandler and moved bags of wood chip around, Albie played in the garden, throwing sticks into the air for the dogs.
Neil drove forward, dropped the machine forks and reversed back, when he felt a thud as the machine hit something, before driving over it for a couple of inches.
When he turned round, he saw Albie
on the ground and realised the horror of what had happened.
On the way to hospital, Neil flagged down a passing ambulance.
Only, paramedics couldn’t revive him and he was pronounced dead in hospital.
Neil told jurors it was a ‘tragic accident’.
‘I messed up, I made a mistake,’ he said.
I couldn’t stand to look at him.
The telehandler was later inspected by health and safety officials, who found it had various defects, including a missing
wing mirror.
Their report concluded it was ‘foreseeable that persons in the vicinity of the vehicle could be injured or killed when the vehicle was working’.
The prosecution claimed that Albie died ‘as a result of his father’s negligence, which created a serious and obvious risk of death’.
In time, the jury returned their verdict of not guilty.
I felt Albie had been let down – first by someone who was supposed to love and care for him, then by the justice system.
Now, it’s been almost three years since Albie died, but it doesn’t get easier.
I’m not religious, but I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve prayed that I could swap places with Albie.
But I know, one day, I’ll be reunited with my sunshine boy.
Leah Bridge, 31, Bury, Greater Manchester