To describe the last nine months as a nightmare doesn't quite encapsulate what Breda Guckion has endured — and continues to endure — every day. Anxiety hangs over her life like a persistent cloud.
She functions, 'puts on her mask', goes to work as a teaching assistant in a primary school near her home in Ladbroke Grove, West London. She meets up, as she always has, with her large, extended family, who live nearby.
But every time a phone rings, the mask is whipped away and she's back, heart pounding, terrified, praying and snatching at hope. Who is it? What news do they have?
The cause of her unbearable anxiety is her 24-year-old middle son, Billy Hood, who'd moved to Dubai last year to work as a football coach. Yesterday, Breda found herself referring to her son in the past tense. On days like those, she has to hide away and cry.
To describe the last nine months as a nightmare doesn't quite encapsulate what Breda Guckion (pictured) has endured — and continues to endure — every day. Anxiety hangs over her life like a persistent cloud. She functions, 'puts on her mask', goes to work as a teaching assistant in a primary school near her home in Ladbroke Grove, West London. She meets up, as she always has, with her large, extended family, who live nearby
'Listen to me, I'm talking like I'm never going to see him again,' says the 55-year-old grandmother who, in normal circumstances, you could imagine with a twinkle in her eye.
'Hopefully I will . . . see him again' she says, as tears threaten. You can only hope she's right.
Billy, you see, is very much alive, but locked up in a prison cell more than 3,000 miles away facing a sentence longer than some get for murder.
His offence? Trafficking, selling and possessing illegal drugs. Even within the context of the notoriously strict judicial confines of the UAE where there is zero-tolerance for drugs, an observer might think police quite within their rights.
Except there is a twist — the so-called 'drugs' found in Billy's car were four vials of vape liquid containing CBD oil, an oil found in the cannabis plant, but without its psychoactive effects; an oil so innocuous that it's widely available to buy, quite legally, on High Streets in the UK.
The cause of her unbearable anxiety is her 24-year-old middle son, Billy Hood, who'd moved to Dubai last year to work as a football coach. Yesterday, Breda found herself referring to her son in the past tense. On days like those, she has to hide away and cry
It's recently been a popular, seemingly harmless, recreational pastime among young 'vapers' who find the oil relaxing, much like tobacco.
Crucially, however, the oils and accompanying vape device, weren't, Billy insists, even his; he doesn't take drugs, doesn't smoke — 'not even shisha' — he's the kind of young man more likely to be hitting the gym at 6am than languishing with a hangover.
The oils had been left behind, mistakenly, by a friend who Billy had dropped at the airport two weeks previously.
Then, 12 days ago, in a terrifyingly brief 15-minute court session, he was given the maximum sentence of 25 years in prison (it would have been 27, if it hadn't been for a blood test showing no drugs in his system).
Except there is a twist — the so-called 'drugs' found in Billy's car were four vials of vape liquid containing CBD oil, an oil found in the cannabis plant, but without its psychoactive effects; an oil so innocuous that it's widely available to buy, quite legally, on High Streets in the UK
No wonder Breda feels, as she repeatedly puts it, 'broken'.
'I'm 55. When he comes out I'll be 80. Will I even still be alive? Will I still be around for him?'
'I never ever thought it would come to this,' she says. 'I thought justice would prevail. I thought they would kick him out and tell him not to come back. I thought he would be on a plane home and I think that's what he thought, too.'
Contact has been minimal, details scant. Billy's phone calls can come at any time without warning and, usually, last seconds — minutes at best, before the line crackles and dies.
They're awkward, three-way conversations via his lawyer and Billy's older brother Alexander, 27, a plumber who is doing his best to support his mum. Breda joins in if she's there.
'There's been a change in his voice from his cheery, chirpy self [since he was arrested], it breaks my heart to hear it,' she says. 'I think he tries to stay positive, he always asks after his nan, who lives next-door.'
On Thursday morning, there was one such call, out of the blue. She relished hearing Billy's voice but was horrified to hear of the 'shocking' conditions in the jail — he still doesn't even have a mattress to sleep on — and how he was 'surviving'.
'All I could do is grab the phone and shout 'I love you, I love you'. It was just wonderful to hear his voice,' says Breda.
Contact has been minimal, details scant. Billy's phone calls can come at any time without warning and, usually, last seconds — minutes at best, before the line crackles and dies. They're awkward, three-way conversations via his lawyer and Billy's older brother Alexander, 27, a plumber who is doing his best to support his mum. Breda joins in if she's there
So how has it come to this, in this so-called 'modern' state of Dubai — the world's number one playground for the rich and famous?
Billy's supporters fear he was singled out by state monitoring of WhatsApp messages, looking for key words related to drugs. Drugs convictions — especially of foreigners — carry a lot of kudos and promotions, for police.
Their suspicion that Billy was being monitored is not unrealistic paranoia: recently, it was revealed that the ruler of Dubai, Sheikh Mohammed, used sophisticated spyware to hack into the phones of his ex-wife and her legal team during a custody hearing.
A week before Billy's arrest, in January, the friend who owned the vape liquid sent a message saying he'd mistakenly left it behind in his car.
By Billy's account, he was thrown into a cell with just bread and water, tasered and beaten until he signed a document written in Arabic that would transpire to be a confession that consigned him to a police cell for the ensuing eight months.
'Billy helps out children, coaches and volunteers. He's never been into drugs, ever. It is impossible that he is guilty of the allegations against him,' says Breda.
This whole nightmarish experience is so removed from their normal, happy, bustling family life, they can't quite believe so recently they were encouraging Billy to pursue his dreams.
Looking back, Breda can't remember a time her middle child (Billy also has a sister) wasn't into football. 'Billy was like lightning, he could run faster than he could kick the ball sometimes, he always had a ball at his feet. Always,' she says.
From school teams, Billy graduated to playing semi-professionally for Kensington and Ealing Borough FC while also studying for coaching qualifications.
The opportunity to work in Dubai came via friends early in 2020.
'It was a big change for him,' says Alex. 'But he was excited. He was happy, he had some friends already out there working and he soon made new friends, he's a very sociable guy.'
The pandemic forcing school closures in Dubai — and the 50C summer — brought the sportsman back to the UK.
The family knew a little of the Emirate state's draconian laws and the many overseas visitors who have fallen foul of them. But as Breda and Alex say, such cases seem unreal until suddenly one of your own family is among them
But then he was recruited by two expats who wanted to employ him on their coaching team; the job came with a company car and an attractive salary so, in September 2020, he returned to Dubai — ultimately, say his family, he wanted to set up his own company coaching children in schools.
'It was exciting to see him embarking on a new life, a new chapter,' says Breda. 'He was excited to go and we thought
