I forgave my son’s killer

‘James hit his head after being punched’

Watching my son, James, then 21, pack his sports gear into his suitcase, I hovered by the door. ‘Don’t do anything too dangerous, please,’ I asked.

‘Sure thing,’ he shot back with a smile.

It was 2004 and James was off to the Swiss Alps for a week to ski and mountain bike. Ever since his teens, he’d been an adrenaline junkie, but he was a softie at home. Growing up, he was close to his brother, Phil, and when their dad, David, and I split up in 2006, they supported us. And when I remarried my new husband, also called David, they were happy for me.

In 2008, James announced he was moving from Southampton to London to retrain