‘My daughter’s bravery is so inspiring’
It was a tragedy that shook the nation. A terrorist walked into Manchester Arena as an Ariana Grande concert ended. While young music fans and their parents milled in the foyer, the terrorist detonated a bomb, killing 22 people and leaving more than 800 o
The mum of a Manchester Arena bombing survivor tells her story
Every parent will know the feeling of dread that creeps into your heart when the phone rings late at night. On 22 May 2017, at around 10.40pm, that was me. The voice on the phone was my husband, Nick. ‘Alison…’ he started, his tone strangled and strange. ‘What is it?’
I asked, immediately worried. I’d been relaxing at home while he went to pick up our younger daughter, Freya, from the Ariana Grande concert she’d gone to with her friend, Nell. It was an hour’s drive away from our home in Holmes Chapel, near Crewe. The girls had been so excited that they’d practically danced out of the door.
‘There has been an explosion,’ Nick said. ‘I think it was a bomb.’ I felt a mixture of horror
and deep panic as I heard the words. Nick couldn’t find the girls and I told him I hadn’t heard from them, so he kept looking and said he’d ring me back.
I sat alone in total shock as the news sank in. My heart was pounding and I started to shake uncontrollably. I kept repeating, ‘Freya, where are you?’ out loud and in my head. I tried ringing her but there was no answer. I sent texts telling her I loved her.
RUSHING TO HOSPITAL
I was overwhelmed with disbelief and fear. I had lost both of my parents in the previous couple of years, my mum only four months earlier, but this pain I felt was piercing. It will stay with me for the rest of my life. I always knew that to lose a child is every parent’s worst nightmare. In that moment, I understood.
As I sat there, desperate with fear,
Nick phoned again, telling me he’d rung my friend Amanda, who was on her way to our house to be with me.
I felt useless. I wanted to join the search. Minutes seemed like an eternity. How was I going to tell Freya’s sister, Georgia, then 17, who was about to sit an exam the next morning, that something had happened to her sister? Then our home phone rang. It was a male voice asking if I was Freya’s mum. I’ve since found out that this man was the father of another girl who’d been at the concert that night. He said he was with Freya and that she was okay. She had injuries but they were not life-changing. The man was very calm and through my sobs I thanked him from the bottom of my heart.
When my friend Amanda arrived at the house, I was so relieved to see her. We hugged and the tears flowed. As we sat huddled together, waiting, it felt like for ever. Finally, I heard from Nick who called to say he’d found Freya. ‘You need to get to the hospital now,’ he said, his voice urgent.
I roused Georgia, who managed to stay calm, quickly dressing. I wasn’t in any fit state to drive, so Amanda took the three of us to the hospital. In the car, Georgia quietly went on her phone checking for any news updates. When we finally arrived at the A&E department at the Royal Manchester Children’s Hospital, it was strangely quiet. The calm before the storm.
Suddenly, Nick appeared at the door. He didn’t want me to see Freya yet, but I insisted. Our daughter was in the resuscitation area, barely visible among the doctors and equipment around her. She had an oxygen mask on and her face was covered in blood. The extent of her injuries was unclear, but she was in pain and needed morphine. However, she was conscious and knew we were there, which was a huge relief.
Surgeons needed to treat her and she was finally taken to theatre at 4.30am. We gave her a kiss and told her we loved her. She didn’t look scared at all, but we were petrified. ‘Please take care of her,’ I told the surgeons. They warned that it would be a long stint in surgery, and the wait was agonising. It was the worst night of my life.
After that, Freya spent five days in an induced coma to allow her battered body to start recovering. She had 29 injuries, including a shattered left arm, two broken legs, lacerations and she was covered in burns. The smell of explosives in her hair haunted me every time I went to kiss her.
FINDING STRENGTH
We’d been desperate for our girl to wake up, but when she did, it was horrible to see her so distressed. She was screaming and shouting: ‘Where’s Nell?’ Nick held her hand, his voice choked with tears as he told her the terrible news we’d since found out.
‘Nell has died, Freya,’ he said. Seeing her grief was unbearable.
Most nights, while Freya was in hospital, one of us would sleep on a camp bed by her side. Some days she would just cry, but mostly she showed remarkable determination, forcing herself to sit up, stand up and, eventually, get herself into her wheelchair despite crippling dizziness and nausea. Her memories of that night were vivid, and she could even picture the bomber’s face, but the biggest pain of all was
‘Finally, Nick called to say he had found Freya’
losing Nell. All we could do was be there and hold her, telling her over and over that it was going to be all right.
When Freya came home, a lot of things were different. Our home had to be adapted with handrails, a hospital bed and a shower seat, and she was very fearful of damaging herself now there was no longer a button to press for a nurse to come rushing to her aid. I had to help wash her and push her in her wheelchair until she grew strong enough to walk again. She had always loved music, but now she found she couldn’t listen to it at all, as it brought back too many traumatic memories.
Freya struggled a lot with guilt, particularly when it came to Nell. ‘Why am I still here when she isn’t?’ she’d ask. She tortured herself with the thought that Nell had only been at the concert because Freya invited her. No matter how much we told her it wasn’t her fault, she kept saying it wasn’t fair. However, she was so grateful for all the help and kindness she received.
Four months after the attack, Freya went back to school. I watched her walk down the road with her friends, a smile on her face, and I remember thinking what a remarkable child she is. All day I waited nervously for a phone call to say she was too tired or couldn’t
‘The strength she has shown mentally is astonishing’