‘We’re going to La Rochelle. I have to talk to Ginie,’ he said, and dread settled into my chest like lead.

My mind was exhausted and overwrought by the stress of the last few months. I was also faint from not eating – it had been hours since I had any food. No one had been taking care of me, and I didn’t have the will to do it myself. As I sat in the truck, staring out of the window, my thoughts twisted and knotted, and I was afraid that I was going mad, too.

42 Catherine, Rhodesia, 1950s

42

Catherine, Rhodesia, 1950s

After Ginie was shot and Dad drove away with her, I sat with my back against a tree trunk, waiting for someone to remember me. It was dark, but the garden was lit by floodlights, which cast eerie shadows on the grass. I began to feel strangely light, as though my body weren’t there at all. Part of me seemed to have cut loose and drifted off, looking down from the branches of a tree. From there I could see myself, a tiny huddled shape. This strange double perspective stayed with me until the rushing wings of a large bird overhead startled me back to myself. I looked up and saw it was an owl; a creature the Africans associate with witchcraft.

I became aware of an icy chill, colder than anything I had ever experienced. It crept over my limbs and clung to my eyelashes and hair, making my teeth chatter and my flesh crawl. I felt a freezing finger of wind brush my cheek, as though someone had touched me. I scrambled to my feet, but found myself unable to walk forwards. It was the strangest sensation, it felt as though I was pushing against an invisible barrier. There was a girl slipping through the trees towards me. She was younger than me and her skin was very pale, almost translucent. At first, it looked like she was wearing red tights, but as she drew nearer, I realised that her legs were covered in blood. She halted in front of me, her eyes boring into mine. I felt that she was talking to me, but her lips weren’t moving. Hardly daring to breathe, I heard her voice whispering like a lullaby. Go to sleep, nobody cares for you. Sleep. . . you’re better off asleep. Don’t wake up.

I don’t know if I blacked out from fear or lack of food, but when I woke up I was still huddled by the tree. The girl had gone, as had the dreadful cold. My mother was bending over me. I felt such relief when I saw her, it was like coming into a safe harbour after being lost at sea. For several moments, I simply smiled up at her. I pulled myself into a sitting position and saw the gun in her hand. A pit opened up in my stomach.