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Back What I Did Save as PDF
Chapters (87)
  1. Cover
  2. Praise
  3. Dedication
  4. One
  5. Two
  6. Three
  7. Four
  8. Five
  9. Six
  10. Seven
  11. Eight
  12. Nine
  13. Ten
  14. Eleven
  15. Twelve
  16. Thirteen
  17. Fourteen
  18. Fifteen
  19. Sixteen
  20. Seventeen
  21. Eighteen
  22. Nineteen
  23. Twenty
  24. Twenty-One
  25. Twenty-Two
  26. Twenty-Three
  27. Twenty-Four
  28. Twenty-Five
  29. Twenty-Six
  30. Twenty-Seven
  31. Twenty-Eight
  32. Twenty-Nine
  33. Thirty
  34. Thirty-One
  35. Thirty-Two
  36. Thirty-Three
  37. Thirty-Four
  38. Thirty-Five
  39. Thirty-Six
  40. Thirty-Seven
  41. Thirty-Eight
  42. Thirty-Nine
  43. Forty
  44. Forty-One
  45. Forty-Two
  46. Forty-Three
  47. Forty-Four
  48. Forty-Five
  49. Forty-Six
  50. Forty-Seven
  51. Forty-Eight
  52. Forty-Nine
  53. Fifty
  54. Fifty-One
  55. Fifty-Two
  56. Fifty-Three
  57. Fifty-Four
  58. Fifty-Five
  59. Fifty-Six
  60. Fifty-Seven
  61. Fifty-Eight
  62. Fifty-Nine
  63. Sixty
  64. Sixty-One
  65. Sixty-Two
  66. Sixty-Three
  67. Sixty-Four
  68. Sixty-Five
  69. Sixty-Six
  70. Sixty-Seven
  71. Sixty-Eight
  72. Sixty-Nine
  73. Seventy
  74. Seventy-One
  75. Seventy-Two
  76. Seventy-Three
  77. Seventy-Four
  78. Seventy-Five
  79. Seventy-Six
  80. Seventy-Seven
  81. Seventy-Eight
  82. Seventy-Nine
  83. Eighty
  84. Epilogue
  85. Acknowledgements
  86. Extract from To Keep You Safe
  87. About the Author

Will I open the door and find that here? Will this be what structures my life? Blood and death at the start; blood and death at the end? Because if he’s hurt or taken Jack, it would be the end. I would only go down and find my stash and slip them silently down my throat, until they were all gone, until I was gone. I wouldn’t waste my time seeking justice – I watched my mother lose twenty-two Christmases with me at the request of Her Majesty’s sense of justice, before she was finally released. I’ll not waste my time.

I grip the handle and open the door.

The room is hot. It’s dark, but the curtains are now open again. The flickering light from the grate reminds me of Sunningdale burning. Jack is in bed, a small hump of perfection under the duvet. So small, it’s as if he’s not even really there.

I cross the room. I need to know.

I stand above the shape in the duvet, my hand hesitating as I reach out. I realise so much, and I embrace my addiction and all that it’s caused, if only, only, that this anxiety is also true. I make a deal with God. Please, God, I’ll accept my faults, if Jack is safe – please. I’ll be better if I can just be wrong about this.

My fingertips touch the top of the cover and just before I pull it back, I realise that I haven’t seen him move – it’s motionless, this lump, the same as if it’s just a childhood trick with a pillow, the oldest in the book. I know Jack’s no longer here: he’s already gone.

I lift the covers.

Seventy-Four

seventy-four:

– now –

I can’t believe it: Jack is here, curled foetus-like, in his pyjamas, around his favourite bunny. Is he all right?

I reach out, knowing my hand is shaking, and hear the front door slam and think: Nick has found his keys.

I touch Jack’s shoulder and . . . he’s breathing. Thank you, God. Thank you, God. Thank you, God.

I hear Nick’s feet on the drive. I lean close, breathing Jack’s still almost-baby smell. I want to gaze at him, drink him in, soak in his safety and nearness.

I hear the squelch of Nick’s car alarm answering the key fob.

I cross to the little lead-latticed window and quickly unlatch it, pushing it open just as the car door slams. I want to call down to him and let him know Jack is fine, but he’s too fast. His lights turn on, and with a roar, he’s away.

He doesn’t normally drive fast – he’s worried. Something our son has said has upset him. I gaze into the darkness, watching his red tail lights until they suddenly vanish as he turns a corner.