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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

Somewhere, in the quiet places of my memory, I can smell my aunt’s cooking and her voice fills me up. Courage and caution, Brinley Ada Booth. My face is wet with tears.

I strike the match and press its burning tip to the candle wick. A tiny flame burns bright in the darkness. Pearline bangs on the sitting room wall to tell me she’s OK and I bang back.

Ten miles south of here, a woman called Catherine Allen is asleep in her room in a private hospital. Despite years of humiliation and mental suffering at the hands of her parents, imprisoned for a double murder she did not commit, she has survived her own tragedy. At 11 a.m. tomorrow, she will be discharged. Her daughter has made her a ‘Welcome Home’ banner. Their second-chance future is as bright as the candle flame.

When I was twelve, I was struck by lightning. Aunt Peg insists it was God’s doing, that he fired a thunderbolt at me for telling a lie.

Lies are a necessary evil sometimes, sweet girl.

At the memory of my mother’s voice down the sweep of years, a smile breaks through my tears, a redemptive shaft of hope.

After all this time, I have atoned for the sins of my childhood. Like the lightning tree on my back, the scars can, at last, begin to heal.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Sometimes I think writing acknowledgements is harder than the book itself. It’s taken me weeks to finish these. I’m not sure why. Perhaps it’s because there’s still a part of me that finds it difficult to believe this is my fourth novel and one day the joyous privilege of writing for a living will disappear in a puff of smoke.

Despite many hours working alone on a book, publication is never a solitary endeavour and there are so many excellent people to thank: my editor and champion Trisha Jackson, who never stops banging the drum on my behalf, and the fantastic team at Pan Macmillan, including Jayne Osborne, Rosie Wilson, Stuart Dwyer, Lucy Hine, Rebecca Kellaway, James Annal, Samantha Fletcher and Fraser Crichton. Huge thanks must also go to my ever-brilliant agents Sophie Lambert at C&W and Kari Stuart at ICM, Nish Panchal, Meredith Ford (never has the phrase ‘the dog ate my homework’ been more apt), Kate Burton and the rest of the C&W crew.

Writing a novel that deals with the act of murder by a child (and the media’s reaction to it) is a complex issue which I have tried to handle with sensitivity, compassion and as much truth as the story allows. Thank you to Imran Mahmood, who was so generous with his time and patience in answering my questions about the legal framework in cases such as these. Any mistakes are my own.