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Back When I Was Ten Save as PDF
Chapters (79)
  1. Cover
  2. WHEN I WAS TEN
  3. Dedication page
  4. Epigraph page
  5. PROLOGUE
  6. PART ONE
  7. 1
  8. 2
  9. 3
  10. 4
  11. 5
  12. 6
  13. 7
  14. 8
  15. 9
  16. 10
  17. 11
  18. 12
  19. 13
  20. 14
  21. 15
  22. 16
  23. 17
  24. 18
  25. 19
  26. 20
  27. 21
  28. 22
  29. 23
  30. PART TWO
  31. 24
  32. 25
  33. 26
  34. 27
  35. 28
  36. 29
  37. 30
  38. 31
  39. 32
  40. 33
  41. 34
  42. 35
  43. 36
  44. 37
  45. 38
  46. 39
  47. 40
  48. 41
  49. 42
  50. 43
  51. 44
  52. PART THREE
  53. 45
  54. 46
  55. 47
  56. 48
  57. 49
  58. 50
  59. 51
  60. 52
  61. 53
  62. 54
  63. 55
  64. 56
  65. 57
  66. 58
  67. 59
  68. 60
  69. 61
  70. 62
  71. 63
  72. 64
  73. 65
  74. 66
  75. 67
  76. 68
  77. ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
  78. WHEN I WAS TEN
  79. Also by Fiona Cummins

But there are voices coming along the footpath in the opposite direction, their merriment soaked in alcohol, and we are all saved by a couple on their way home from the pub.

Dr Carter takes off his jacket and is slipping it around Shannon’s shoulders as they come into view.

‘Evening, Doc,’ says Mr Howarth, the village’s butcher, raising an eyebrow. He nods his head in Shannon’s direction. ‘One shandy too many, eh?’

Dr Carter chuckles. ‘Something like that.’

‘Rain’s setting in,’ says his wife. ‘Best get home. The forecast’s for thunderstorms tomorrow.’

‘Will do,’ says Dr Carter. ‘This one needs a warm bath . . .’

‘And a cup of coffee, I’ll bet.’ Mr Howarth laughs loudly at his own joke.

Dr Carter smiles and nods at Mrs Howarth. ‘Will I see you in the surgery next week? We’ll have a chat about that knee op, shall we?’

She blushes. ‘I’ll make an appointment on Monday.’ Lays a hand on his arm. ‘You’re a good ’un, you are, always busy, always thinking of others.’

He twinkles at her. ‘No rest for the wicked, Mrs H.’ She giggles. It is repulsive.

Then they are saying their goodbyes.

I watch Shannon and Dr Carter disappear into the night, his arm around her shoulder like a steel trap ready to tighten on its prey, and I wait for Mr and Mrs Howarth to get far enough away for me to creep out from behind the bush.

It’s freezing now, but something burns bright inside me.

I make my way back along the river, the rain and dirt muddying the boots Shannon lent me. All at once, I feel homesick for the laboured breathing of my mother asleep in her bed. At least my father has come looking for me. At least he cares enough to wonder where I am.

The windows in my house are blank with darkness when I arrive except for one, which is lit by the glow of a lamp. The sight of it cheers me.

I find my key and unlock the front door. ‘Daddy,’ I say, a diminutive I haven’t used for years. ‘I’m home. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you where I was.’

I kick off Shannon’s boots and start looking for him, overwhelmed by a need to feel the comfort of his arms around me and reassure myself that not all fathers are like Dr Carter.