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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

Although they didn’t know it yet, giggling and chatting as they slid on their white tights and pink leotards in the familiarity of Sara’s bedroom, the Carter sisters would never eat breakfast together again.

25

My mother is dying.

At least, that’s what my father says, but he said Take That weren’t going to split up, so I expect he’s wrong about this too. I don’t want her to leave me. I won’t let her. But the nurse is here again, and when she comes, she gives her something that makes her all sleepy, and when her eyes shut, she looks like she’s dead, but she’s not yet. She’s not. I won’t let her be.

Everyone wants me to talk about it. Aunt Peg asks endless questions about how I’m feeling. My headteacher dragged me out of English yesterday to see how I’m coping but I didn’t want to go because a) Travis Lane was sitting next to me and b) I was enjoying the class discussion about The Day of the Triffids.

My father’s no good at all. He walks around with a glazed look in his eyes, and sometimes he forgets to buy bread for my packed lunch. The only time he cheers up is when Maureen Connolly from the pub brings us casseroles and cottage pies, which my mother refuses to touch because they’re made by that woman, whatever that means.

Mum’s bed is downstairs now, so I’m quiet as I eat my breakfast, sitting behind her door, because she forces her eyes open when she knows I’m there, and I want her to sleep so she can get better, but I want to be near her too.

It is Saturday. The worst day of the week.

I like it best when it’s just me and Mum, when I come home from school and Dad’s at work and the nurse has left. I feed her tiny spoonfuls of Complan and tell her about my day, and she smiles, and sometimes – not often – she sings, and I join in, and my heart feels happy.

But when my father’s here, it’s like the world has hard edges and the air is filled with things that no one says. Like now. The nurse is speaking to him, but I can’t hear what she’s saying because he’s shoving plates into the kitchen cupboards. The crashing sound is going to wake my mother, but if I tell him to be quiet, he’ll grab my shoulders and shout at me for being uppity, and Mum will ask him to stop and a tear will slide down her cheek, and I can’t bear it when that happens, so I bite my lip and carry on sitting on the floor, eating my cereal.