Sometimes words fail us. This is one of those times.
Nick, Bournemouth, before the attack
I frequently write about my son… as I see him every day, it is natural that he is very much part of my everyday life, even without the story of his incredible journey to tell. But I have two sons, and my younger son’s story is a quieter tale.
Alex is three years younger than his brother and they were inseparable. When Nick, always the daredevil, climbed trees and got into scrapes, Alex was with him. Nick loved books and taught his little brother to read, blond heads together, poring over the pages of Dr Seuss and the Narnia stories. Where Nick was always sharp, brilliant and bright, Alex was a warm, golden glow. Apparently alike in many respects, they approached life from opposite angles; they were very different. Even so, together they managed to get into… and out of… huge amounts of mischief as…
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