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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

I do not allow myself to think of Dr and Mrs Carter, no longer human but lumps of bleeding meat, or the skewering of the scissors into my own body because of what I’ve seen. I am now a witness. Bury my head in my knees and try to disappear. Box it up and push it as far away as possible.

I do not know how long it takes me to realize that the Carter sisters are not coming for me. But daylight is creeping over the windowsill and the birds have begun their merry calls when I dare to lift my head.

Even so, I cannot bring myself to move from the safety of the shower. Only the howl of a siren half an hour later jerks me from a dazed reverie into action.

Unfolding my body, I crawl across the tiles, across the stained landing carpet and, eyes screwed shut, into the bedroom, over the floorboards that hurt my knees, to where Mrs Carter is lying.

Morbid curiosity? Perhaps. But humanity, too, an urge to do what’s right and check for signs of life.

Her fingers, hanging over the edge of the bed, graze my hair and I open my eyes. But when I touch her hand, tentative and repulsed, it is cold. One side of her head is matted with dark clots but her eyes are still blue and watchful. I press a fingertip to the sheets, the dampness reddening its whorls and grooves.

A pillow has fallen on the floor. I pick it up and hold it to my chest, a shield to ward off the evil that dwells here.

I make a decision.

I have never liked Mrs Carter, but I think again of my mother’s counsel, of kindness, of giving of oneself for the sake of others. I could not bear my own mother to die alone, and because of that, I cannot bring myself to leave Mrs Carter by herself either, whatever her sins.

I sit next to her. Two or three minutes pass. I press my fingers against her eyelids until they close. And then I curl up and lie at the end of the bed, careful not to touch her again.

I do not look at Dr Carter at all.

By the time the police find me, Sara has dialled 999 and confessed to the murder of her parents, and I’m still lying next to her mother’s body, my pyjamas so saturated with blood they think I’m dead too.

44

The next few hours pass in a blur.

I do not see the Carter sisters again, except the backs of their heads as they are guided from Hilltop House towards the waiting police cars.