A Friend Like Ben: The true story of the little black and white cat that saved my son

‘Don’t worry, Ju,’ Dad would say as he opened the door to see me holding the baby, who’d gone rigid and red as I lifted him up. ‘It’ll be all right. He’ll grow out of it.’

On days when Mum could see I’d just about reached the end of my tether, she’d strap Lewis into one side of the back seat of her car while I put George in the other and we’d go out for a drive, hoping the rhythm might send him to sleep. Hounslow is just a couple of miles from Richmond Park, a huge green space where Charles I took his court to escape the plague. It’s a beautiful place and we often went there for a picnic or a walk, so it held many happy memories for me. But all those seemed to fade as we drove through the park with George screaming.

‘He’ll be fine,’ Mum would tell me. ‘Some babies just take a while to adjust. Things always get better.’

But as I stared at packs of deer running across the park with the skyline of inner London far in the distance, I began to wonder if they ever would.

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