Lily raised her head to look at her mum, at her marbled, tear-stained cheeks and the bones jutting from her skin like mountains rising from the earth. As their eyes locked, she realized that the secret she had kept for almost thirty years was no longer hers alone.

Chapter 60

June 23, 1988

Lily is standing outside the door to the spare bedroom, hovering on the cusp of a decision. She has been told not to go inside but before she leaves for school she wants to say goodbye to Zoe. She knows how ill her little sister is, and ever since Zoe came home from the hospital two weeks ago, whenever Lily now leaves the house she fears that Zoe may not be there when she gets home.

Turning the door handle silently, Lily slips into the room, her breath held in her chest so as not to make a sound, fearful of disturbing Zoe should she still be sleeping. She sinks her bare toes noiselessly into the thick pile of the carpet, opens the door only enough for her body to squeeze through, careful not to bring too much light into the room. She knows that light can hurt Zoe’s eyes, does not want to do anything that might unsettle her.

It is dark in the spare bedroom, only the faintest morning light visible around the edges of the closed curtains. She can just make out the shape of the blue hummingbirds that pattern the wallpaper around the window but everything else is in silhouette. The air is still and smells pungent—sharp and slightly sweet—like overripe fruit or an open bottle of vinegar.

She hears the crying before her eyes have adjusted to the darkness, before they have found the figure sitting on the bed: her mum’s sobs are low and painful, a sound that seems to Lily to be filled not only with fear but with disbelief and a quiet fury that this should be happening. It is a sound that causes Lily’s heart to knock against her chest, gently at first and then more insistently, until she fears her mum may hear it.

She holds the palm of her hand against her chest. She knows she should not be there but now that she is—unnoticed, unheard—she is too scared to leave in case she accidentally reveals her presence. She allows only the smallest stream of air in and out of her mouth, the shallowest of breaths she hopes will not betray her.

As her eyes adjust to the darkness Lily sees that her mum is giving Zoe some medicine. With one hand, she lifts Zoe’s head from the pillow as gently as if she were handling a precious artifact in a museum. With the other, she drips medicine from a plastic syringe onto Zoe’s tongue. Her mum is crying, low, mournful sobs, and whispering declarations of love into the darkness: “I love you, angel. I will always, always love you.” Giving Zoe the syringe of medicine seems to take forever but when finally it is over, instead of putting the syringe back down, her mum picks up the bottle of morphine, fills the syringe again, and drops more medicine into Zoe’s mouth.