Ben

‘It’s amazing how some people can light up a room just by stepping into it. Ben was twenty-one months old and full of smiles. He spread happiness simply by being there.’

In 1991 Kerry and her son Ben followed Kerry’s parents to live on the Greek island of Kos. On 24 July, she was at work when her mum Christine arrived crying uncontrollably. Ben had been playing outside, and then disappeared. Someone had taken Ben.

In her heartbreaking memoir, Kerry describes the agony of being initially suspected by the police, which meant the closure of airport and ferry terminals were delayed, the early sightings that raised their hopes and the hoaxes which dashed them completely. And the unbearable pain of knowing her baby boy was alone somewhere without his mum.

Back in the UK, the long years of waiting and hoping have been difficult on the whole family. Kerry has raised her daughter, Leighanna, while following up more than 300 leads.

In 2011 they had a breakthrough when South Yorkshire Police agreed to work with the Greek authorities to reopen the case. The chance that Ben will read about himself and come home becomes more real every day.

Kerry and her family have worked tirelessly over the years to try and discover Ben’s whereabouts. The Help Find Ben Needham Campaign is at the centre of everything they do. Every spare penny of their own money goes towards the campaign to cover costs for transport and accommodation while they follow up leads and organising events to raise awareness. Likewise, all of Kerry’s royalties from the sale of this book will go toward the campaign to help cover these same costs.

For more information on the campaign and for the latest news and updates on the search for Ben visit
www.helpfindben.co.uk

For Ben and Leighanna:
my children and my life …

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‘Kerry! Kerry! Come! Come!’

I couldn’t help rolling my eyes as Jorgas, the night porter at the Palm Beach Hotel where I worked as a waitress, came fussing out to find me. It was 10.30 p.m. and I was about to enjoy my customary bottle of lager at the pool bar after a long day of cooking and serving. I’d just finished preparing the restaurant for the following morning’s breakfast shift. As far as I was concerned, there wasn’t so much as a fork out of place. Not for the first time, Jorgas clearly thought otherwise.

What is it now?
I wondered as he led me back inside the main building.
A smudge on one of the serving spoons? A tea towel on the wrong rack?

It was only when Jorgas walked straight past the restaurant that I entertained the idea that it wasn’t about my work. Even so, it never occurred to me that it had anything to do with the commotion coming from the reception area. It was the end of July 1991, peak season on the idyllic holiday isle of Kos. Holidaymakers there weren’t the most reserved of people at the best of times. The fact that a lot of people were already in bed didn’t enter into it.

I still didn’t put two and two together when I spotted the pair of waiting policemen illuminated under the harsh entrance lights.
All I could think about was the uncontrollable howling coming from just outside the door. The voice sounded familiar but it couldn’t be …

‘Mum?’

I found my mother huddled on the stone steps, her sobbing face tucked between folded bare arms. Her skin felt cold to cuddle, and not because of the thin shorts and sun top she was wearing. I’d never seen her like this. I’d never seen
anyone
like this.

For a few moments the world stopped. All I could think about was holding her close, just as she’d comforted me and my younger brothers so many times over the years. I don’t know how many seconds passed before I noticed we weren’t alone out there. But it wasn’t Jorgas standing next to us now. It was the two policemen from inside.

That’s when I realised they’d all arrived together. That’s when I realised I felt sick to the stomach with fear.

‘What is it, Mum?’ I tried to keep the rising panic from my voice. ‘What’s happened?’

She was crying too hard to speak. I squeezed her tightly and felt her relax. She cleared her throat, looked up at the policemen, then back into my expectant eyes and broke down again.

‘Is it Dad? Has something happened to him?’

Mum shook her head.

‘Is it Stephen? Or Danny?’ If anything had happened to my kid brothers I would not have been able to cope.

But Mum shook her head again, took a deep breath and, holding my gaze this time, said, ‘It’s Ben.’

‘What about him?’

‘He’s gone. I’ve lost him.’