Parched, I reach for the glass on the table in front of Danny, empty its contents and fill it with fresh water. At least the tap works. Then I stand against the sink, glass in hand, and stare at Danny.

‘Becca, we need to talk.’ Danny is struggling to hold his head up. My eyes are fixed on his, waiting for him to tell me something, anything, to make sense of this crazy world I find myself in.

‘Are you sure you don’t want to sit down?’ he says. This time I do. I pull out a chair and plonk myself at the far side of the table. ‘Rebecca, something awful happened.’

Danny’s voice sounds like it’s coming from somewhere miles away, echoing in my head. He lets out a long deep sigh, runs his hands through his wet hair, then keels forward, resting his arms on the table. His eyes are crying without tears. I can see the pain etched across his face, pulling and dragging at the Danny I know. The Danny I thought I knew. The silence after he speaks is choking. Invisible hands, squeezing my throat, pulling at the collar of my shirt. I look upwards and take breath after breath after breath.

‘Are you okay?’ he says, but I don’t answer. I don’t have to answer him anymore. When I feel calm enough to continue, I let my gaze meet his again.

‘Becca,’ he says, moving his hand across the table as if waiting for me to hold it. He can wait. ‘It was me.’ My heart stops, my eyes freeze on his.

‘It was you what?’ I say, not wanting to hear the answer.

‘I killed the baby, Becca.’

I want to ask him how he killed the baby, why he killed the baby, but I can’t speak. Danny is banging his forehead on the kitchen table.

‘I wanted you to know,’ he cries, still banging.

‘I wanted to tell you years ago but everything was so… so…’ Words fail him. He is looking at me, waiting for some sort of response. I lick my lips.

I don’t know how long we’ve been sitting here, truth festering in the air between us. Eventually I find the will to speak but all I can say is, ‘Why?’

Danny stares at the wall as if the answer is written there. Then he moves his demented stare to me. His eyes are full of fear.

‘It was an accident, Becca. I was only three years old.’

His words fall like acid onto my soul.

‘I didn’t know what I was doing, you have to remember that. I was three years old when it happened.’ Danny keeps reminding me of his age, it must be his excuse, his reason for surviving the ordeal. He was so young.