BooksBarbecue
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 cannot tell how this will end, only that it will. It is late. You are sleeping. By the time you read this, our future will be set. Thank you for burning bright during the darkness of these days. I have been lost for a long time, but you have steered me down the righteous path. There is joy in my heart to know that I have found my family again. Sleep tight.

63

Sunday, 16 December 2018

My dreams are full of blood and darkness, and the sharpened edge of a scissor blade.

Heart running, I open my eyes. My first thought is this: Aunt Peg is dead. Tears are waiting for me, hot and immediate. When I’ve put myself back together again, I wipe my face with the sheet.

The bedroom is unfamiliar, much bigger than the flat and much blacker, thick with it. It wants to suffocate me, this night, so I struggle upwards, kicking off the duvet.

From the heaviness in my head, I can tell I haven’t slept for long. Interviewing Sara might have opened up the dark flower of memory, but something else has disturbed me and it stirs an unease.

I stretch out a hand for my mobile phone, but it’s not on the bedside table. Frowning, I scour the floorboards and under the bed, but there’s no sign of it. I don’t recall leaving it downstairs, but I must have done. Things don’t just disappear.

My bare feet press against the rug. It’s cold, winter cold, and the gooseflesh rises on me. Through a break in the curtains, the fields unfurl before me in frosty swathes. The moon, with her smile, is a witness.

A stab of impatience. Where did I leave my phone? I need it to check my emails, to find out if Colin has done as he promised and read my stories, and whether the paper can use them. But it’s nowhere, and there’s a warning in this, except I don’t see it yet.

Tea, I think. And my laptop.

I’m halfway down the stairs when a sound fills up the quiet corners of the house. It’s an odd sort of noise, a sharp cry cut off before it reaches its climax. I stop and listen but all I can hear is the ring of silence and, for a glorious moment of not-knowing, I dismiss it as the yelp of an animal.

Somewhere above, a floorboard creaks.

I tell myself I’m being ridiculous, that reliving those memories has revived old ghosts. I tell myself I double-locked the front door and nobody except the authorities knows we’re here.

Sara Carter screams.