Chapters (87)
- Cover
- Praise
- Dedication
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Twenty-Four
- Twenty-Five
- Twenty-Six
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- Twenty-Nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-One
- Thirty-Two
- Thirty-Three
- Thirty-Four
- Thirty-Five
- Thirty-Six
- Thirty-Seven
- Thirty-Eight
- Thirty-Nine
- Forty
- Forty-One
- Forty-Two
- Forty-Three
- Forty-Four
- Forty-Five
- Forty-Six
- Forty-Seven
- Forty-Eight
- Forty-Nine
- Fifty
- Fifty-One
- Fifty-Two
- Fifty-Three
- Fifty-Four
- Fifty-Five
- Fifty-Six
- Fifty-Seven
- Fifty-Eight
- Fifty-Nine
- Sixty
- Sixty-One
- Sixty-Two
- Sixty-Three
- Sixty-Four
- Sixty-Five
- Sixty-Six
- Sixty-Seven
- Sixty-Eight
- Sixty-Nine
- Seventy
- Seventy-One
- Seventy-Two
- Seventy-Three
- Seventy-Four
- Seventy-Five
- Seventy-Six
- Seventy-Seven
- Seventy-Eight
- Seventy-Nine
- Eighty
- Epilogue
- Acknowledgements
- Extract from To Keep You Safe
- About the Author
But that never happened for me. He just kept getting worse. And with it, so did my neurosis. In some ways, codeine stepped in for me; it gave me the ability to change when Jack couldn’t. Wrapped in a warm blanket, I didn’t worry so much what other people thought, I was able to live in the moment more, stop over-planning. Where some might indulge in too much wine, I found the codeine was better for me – it gave me more control, it was harder to detect and easier to stay at a certain point of equilibrium.
I don’t think I had ever missed it more than I did in that car park, with the charred bones of Sunningdale behind me and an uncertain future ahead of me.
Despite being clean, though, the paranoia was back with me then, playing with my mind, making me uncertain as to where my fear started and stopped being real.
I stretched out for Jack’s small hand waiting patiently for mine. So warm; so small. So gentle. I closed my hand over his and let him pull me out of the car. How could it be that this child could give me the strength to stand again?
It felt brave to fight the questions in my mind, to only walk towards the building – not run – when it felt that a sniper’s sight was silently moving with me, watching me.
Jack tugged on my hand, seemingly keener to get inside than me.
The sheltered housing block my mother lived in had two entrances; the car park entrance was to the side and the smaller of the two. The door was half-glazed, so after I’d pressed the silver button of the intercom, I leaned into it, glad to press my forehead against the cool glass; it felt like a soothing hand against the fever in my mind.
The hallway was empty.
I pressed again. Somehow, even the sound of the intercom ringing somewhere inside the walls, inside my mother’s cosy flat, made me feel better – like an umbilical cord, it connected me to where I wanted to be.
I refused to glance over my shoulders. It still felt like he was here, but he couldn’t be – could he? The fever increased in my head and I realised I was asking the wrong question: why wouldn’t he be here now?