ONE PUNCH killed both my boys

Walking into the spare room, I gave the windowsill a dust and started pulling off the bed sheets. I’d just had my grandson, six, to stay but, as I changed the bedding, it wasn’t echoes of his laughter I could still hear, but the giggles of my two sons, Andrew and Chris. Sitting on the bed, I looked up at Andrew’s framed football posters. But as it always is, my smile was soon replaced by overwhelming sadness, knowing their laughter would never again bounce off those walls.

Andrew and Chris had shared the room growing up. When Andrew was 14, and Chris 12, my husband, Andy, and I would hear them laughing from