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
I couldn’t breathe. This felt different. When I cried about Jack, Nick always tried to cheer me up. When Nick raged about Jack’s behaviour, I always tried to calm him down. Between us, to try and cope, we each interchangeably played different roles of anger and sadness and optimism and even humour.
But neither of us had ever admitted to being frightened.
Fear meant lack of safety and lack of safety meant . . . a whole new level.
And what Nick didn’t know was that today I couldn’t counter his argument. Today I had to agree.
I felt cheated because I really wanted Nick to reassure me today, tell me that everything was going to work out fine, because every time I went to our hall to see if the letter had been delivered, my own nerves became increasingly torn.
I couldn’t believe it was happening again. I’d had to move Jack from nursery to nursery, but as the paying customer, change always felt like an option. School was different. If he failed in his first few weeks, what did that suggest about the likelihood of success for his next school? And what if he failed the next school after that?
My fear started to get ahead of me and I’d stared at the empty doormat as I’d let myself in from work and had a nightmare image of being forced to homeschool him. If his lovely school wanted to kick him out in his first year and his own grandmother, Irene, didn’t want to look after him, what did that suggest about the future? I could see a reality where I’d have to give up work and all that meant. (No more drugs pilfering! No more independence money!) Worse, the thought of trying to homeschool Jack all day and then look after him in the evenings made me feel fraught.
I looked forward to Mondays like some people longed for the weekend.
How had these two things happened on the same day?
Because he’s getting worse. The line on the trajectory was still going down: sharply. Where would it stop?
I suddenly felt Nick’s terror: I’d been fooling myself that this was under control. We looked at each other. He’s going to keep getting worse until . . .
When?
‘He’s going to kill someone one day,’ Nick said, answering my unspoken question.
For a moment I didn’t say anything. But I dismissed it as soon as I found my voice: ‘Now you’re just being dramatic.’ Repelled at the spoken fear, I turned back to the counter. I picked up the knife and started chopping. I didn’t want to think about that. I didn’t want to think this was going to go on for years. I didn’t want to think where this could end. How would I cope?