Chapters (156)
- A DATE WITH DEATH
- Also by Mark Roberts
- A Date With Death
- Copyright Page
- Contents
- The Past
- 1977
- Day OneWednesday, 1st December 2021CatoptrophobiaFear of mirrors
- 1
- 2
- 3
- 4
- 5
- 6
- 7
- 8
- 9
- 10
- 11
- 12
- 13
- 14
- 15
- 16
- 17
- 18
- 19
- 20
- 21
- 22
- 23
- 24
- 25
- 26
- The Past
- 1979
- Day TwoThursday, 2nd December 2021OneirophobiaFear of dreams
- 27
- 28
- 29
- 30
- 31
- 32
- 33
- 34
- 35
- 36
- 37
- 38
- 39
- 40
- 41
- 42
- 43
- 44
- 45
- 46
- 47
- 48
- 49
- 50
- 51
- 52
- The Past
- 1980
- Day ThreeFriday, 3rd December 2021MonophobiaFear of being alone
- 53
- 54
- 55
- 56
- 57
- 58
- 59
- 60
- 61
- 62
- 63
- 64
- 65
- 66
- 67
- 68
- 69
- 70
- 71
- 72
- 73
- 74
- 75
- 76
- 77
- 78
- 79
- 80
- 81
- 82
- 83
- 84
- 85
- 86
- 87
- 88
- 89
- 90
- 91
- 92
- 93
- 94
- 95
- 96
- 97
- 98
- The Past
- 1982
- Day FourSaturday, 4th December 2021ThanatophobiaFear of Death
- 99
- 100
- 101
- 102
- 103
- 104
- 105
- 106
- 107
- 108
- 109
- 110
- 111
- 112
- 113
- 114
- 115
- 116
- 117
- 118
- 119
- 120
- 121
- 122
- 123
- 124
- 125
- 126
- 127
- 128
- 129
- 130
- 131
- 132
- 133
- 134
- 135
- 136
- 137
- About the Author
- An Invitation from the Publisher
‘Aren’t you at least going to say goodbye to him?’
Her mother’s voice rose from the downstairs hallway.
‘No!’
Her father sounded like he had no feelings, as if he was colder than the weather outside, like there was nothing solid beneath the shape of his skin.
‘Please?’
‘I’m going to count to three…’
She filled in the silence that followed this phrase of her father’s, the threats, the curses, the darkness, the promised agonies that were housed in his language each time he mouthed it.
Her mother spoke but her voice was like babble, the meaning of the words lost in the bricks and mortar between downstairs and her bedroom.
She looked down at her little brother, standing at an angle to her as he looked at the taxi and the black fumes that poured from the exhaust pipe.
He coughed and shivered but remained like a statue in the place on which he stood.
She tapped on the glass, softly so as not to alert her father to the fact that she was disobeying him during her little brother’s final days at home.
You’re not to look at him! You’re not to talk to him! You’re not to say goodbye to him!
Her bedroom door creaked open and she froze, dreading what was coming into the space where she slept, the space where she escaped.
‘It’s only me…’
She felt the vice around her head unlock. It was Mrs Doyle stepping closer to her. Not him. Not her. Not them.
‘Where’s he going, Mrs Doyle?’
Silence.
‘Away.’
‘Away where?’
‘Away somewhere. I don’t know the details.’
‘Is he coming back?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Will I ever see him again?’
‘I don’t know.’
She looked out of the window and applied all her concentration to the image of her little brother as the snow started a fresh falling. Still he didn’t move, didn’t shift his head to watch what was drifting from the sky that pressed down on his little head.
I want to remember, I want to remember you, I want to remember what you looked like the last time I saw you.
Her parents’ voices tangled in the space beneath her.
The same tangled sound that had drawn her down the stairs and made her listen to the exchange between her parents.
She recalled the snatches of speech that had made it out of the living room.
‘Mrs Doyle?’
‘Yes, love?’
‘Out of the city.’
‘Out of the city?’
Mrs Doyle sounded confused.
‘He’s being sent away from Liverpool? Right?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘That’s miles and miles away. On his own. He’s so little.’
Below, her parents’ voices faded into a worrying silence.
‘I don’t know,’ said Mrs Doyle. ‘I’ve come to tell you. I’m also leaving today.’