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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

I want to know how he knows, but in the soup of him reading the article, visiting prison all those years with my mum, that last day with my mother when she died and him being as smart and nosy as a jackdaw, I know it’s too thick for me to sieve now: there’s no time.

‘I’m sorry, baby,’ is all I say. I don’t know how long he has known. I don’t know how much it has shaped him or his actions, but I do know it’s too late for us. I can stop neither the bleeding nor the reality.

Instead I lift his head; its heavy in my arms, but I rest him on my forearm. He’s breathing slowly and I recognise it from the dying. I am at once both professional nurse and loving mother. I kiss his perspiration-slicked cheek and tell him the truth: ‘Sweetheart, I have always loved you the most.’

He is still, amazingly, looking at me and I feel like we truly see each other.

His mouth works again: he is trying to say something. I lean lower, my face next to his mouth to try to hear what he is saying. His hand suddenly, with a strength that is shocking, reaches for me and grabs my head and pulls me closer. But then: I feel his lips against my cheek, soft. It is a kiss. We stay like that for perhaps only seconds but the memory of it, I know, will sustain me forever.

Then at once it’s over. His grip drops to nothing and his hand and lips fall away and when I can finally bear to look, his head has dropped back to the floor.

His gaze is both fixed and distant.

I ignore it. I ignore that his wound-pocked chest is not rising or falling. Instead I press my lips against his forehead and kiss him back, and just breathe him in deeper. For a moment I can pretend.

But after a while I know.

I know I will feel this loss later, but for now, the fact that my son did love me, means the joy tempers the grief. Love is enough.

Love is enough.

Epilogue

epilogue:

– eighteen months later –

Jack runs across Hove Lawns on to the beach, the pebbles spilling under his feet as he chases our dog; Lennie is yapping around his feet, already hoping for a swim in the sea. Jack is laughing and throws the ball and our dog tears off ahead, with Jack pistoning behind.

I shout good-natured, redundant words into the wind: ‘Jack! Don’t go far!’