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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’m dying.

The thought drifted from her – a balloon flying skywards on an untethered string – and, with it, came that ever-present sense of melancholy, a longing to remake the tattered shape of her past. For the world to know the truth.

She moved her lips again but no one bore witness to her testimony this time. No newspaper journalist or court-room attendant, no police or probation officer, no judge or jury, except perhaps the one in the sky, but she wasn’t sure she believed in Him.

Honor.

And then Sara Carter, who was Catherine Allen, who was a wife and mother, sister, friend, tabloid sensation, figure of hate, innocent child and convicted killer, let go of the pain and closed her eyes.

65

Sara isn’t moving.

I don’t know if she’s unconscious or dead, but there’s blood on my hands, and no strength in my legs, and it’s over, isn’t it?

Shannon nudges Sara with the tip of the knife, and there’s the tiniest sound, an exhalation of breath, and I will her to live for her daughter and her husband. For herself.

The moon rides higher, throwing its light across the landscape, the fields and the streams and the houses hidden under the cover of night, and the leather bag slumped like a carcass in the corner of the bedroom.

Shannon has our mobile phones, I can see them in the bag. A torch. The silver rectangle of my laptop, and my dictaphone and the memory cards that tell Sara’s story.

When I’d emailed Colin, I’d sent thousands of written words, and photographs of Sara and the notebook, but not the recordings. They could wait until morning, I’d thought. But we’re not going to see the morning again, Sara and I.

I’m crying now, but the fear leaves me and is replaced by a preternatural calm.

Is this what it is to face death?

‘Shannon . . .’

The ends of her hair look like they’ve been sucked damp by a child, but the truth is much darker than that.

‘Shannon . . .’

I’m trying to reach her, to find the humanity inside the abyss, and there are so many questions I want to ask her, so many whys, but her expression is blank and she’s raising the knife, and the reach of her blade goes further than the scissors, and—

Run, Brinley.

And I do.