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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

When we were ten, Shannon’s mother sent her on a school trip to the British Museum with a water bottle laced with spoonfuls of salt. At lunchtime, I found her being sick in the toilets. My best friend was crying and the truth came tumbling out. It was not the first time Mrs Carter had pulled this particular stunt, but she was clever, leaving months between each episode until Shannon had lowered her guard. She swore me to secrecy, insisting she deserved this punishment for breaking a plate or forgetting to practise the violin or whatever minor infraction had occurred. It took weeks of encouragement to persuade her to confide in our teacher. But when she’d finally plucked up the courage to tell him, he’d thrown back his head and laughed, dismissing her ‘silly attention-seeking stories’. In that moment, Shannon had lost the last of her faith in grown-ups. What was the point if no one believed her?

And Mr and Mrs Carter are careful. They take great pains to be kind to me and to others, even if they’re not kind to the Carter sisters.

‘You can borrow my black top with the beads,’ says Shannon, a knowing smile playing about her lips.

I’ve coveted that top for months. ‘Deal.’

My name is Brinley Booth and I’m twelve years old. I don’t think about consequences. I don’t think about what-ifs and maybes and regrets. About cause and effect. I think about the here and now. The disco. The sleepover. The thrill.

That’s the terrible truth about mistakes. We never know when we’re making them.

30

It was all agreed.

Sara would be the one to ask because she was the bravest, but Brinley had to go with her because Pamela and Richard Carter were more likely to say yes if she was standing there.

The Carters were in the conservatory, listening to classical music and drinking red wine. It wasn’t dark yet, and the gardens of Hilltop House were bathed in the muted light of early evening. It lent the place a timeless quality.

The music carried on the air, which was edged with warmth, and it made Sara wistful for something she didn’t understand. Her mother popped an olive into her lipsticked mouth and sipped her wine. Sara’s stomach rumbled. Brinley stood awkwardly next to her.

Mrs Carter flicked over the page of her magazine. ‘What is it, girls?’

‘Can Brinley sleep here tonight? We won’t be any trouble, we promise. We’ll stay upstairs and out of the way.’ Nervousness made Sara stumble over her words. She was never sure how her parents would react to the simplest of requests and that uncertainty fostered a climate of fear.

Mrs Carter licked her finger and turned another page.

‘Please,’ said Sara. Her mother was a stickler for good manners.

‘I’m sure Brinley’s father will be expecting her home soon.’