parents like my first day at school . . . drawing a picture of ‘my family’ based on the one photo I had of me and Mom and Dad, then Patrice sniffing disdainfully that the picture didn’t show her or my uncle or Paige or Tod.
Back, back in time, to less coherent memories, of a dog barking in a park . . . the fringed edge of a tartan rug, rough against my fingers . . . Paige prodding me in the stomach . . . saying, ‘You smell, Dilly . . .’ And then even further back to a room I had no conscious memory of . . . but was deeply familiar to me . . . my mother’s face smiling through the bars of my crib . . . and then a swirl of images, all the times and places mixed up . . . yellow curtains with a pattern of beach balls rising and falling in the breeze . . . my dad lifting me high in the air over his head . . . me squealing with delight . . . Mom’s anxious voice . . . a voice I didn’t remember, but recognised instantly . . . ‘Be careful, Will, put her down’ . . . a mobile above my head . . . a teddy bear with a torn ear . . . the sound of a car . . . my dad, huge and smelling of the outside world, holding me in his arms, offering me a bottle . . . his voice gentle as he spoke to the person next to him . . . me sucking greedily at the wonderful creamy milk as his soft Scottish accent whispered: ‘. . . The most precious expression of our love’ . . . the smell of perfume . . . gentle hands wrapping me in a blanket . . . and then tears . . . and terror . . . a fear of something . . . the known world collapsing around me . . . Mom’s face blank and pale and moaning as she rocked me . . . ‘I’m sorry, baby, I’m sorry, this is too hard . . .’
My mind lurched, then shuddered. Ed was pulling me away.
I realised I didn’t want to go. There were memories here I wanted . . . needed . . .
Nooo. I called out in thought-speak.
We have to go.
No.
And then whoosh , Ed was gone. My mind felt raw, the memories ebbing away like a dream you can’t hold onto as you wake.
‘No,’ I moaned out loud, rocking backwards and forwards.
‘Dylan?’ Ed’s voice beside me. His arm around my shoulders. ‘I’m so sorry.’
His words and touch brought me back to the room. I opened my eyes. Ed was right next to me, his eyes filled with tears. Ketty was still standing by the bed, her mouth open in horror.
‘I’m so sorry,’ Ed said. ‘I didn’t think about how you’d see all that . . . how . . .’ His voice cracked. ‘How hard it would be . . . and your mum . . .’ He tailed off. I knew he meant my mom’s depression and the way her words about things being ‘too hard’ prefigured her suicide.
As I pulled away from him, I realised that tears were streaming down my face and my hands were clenched tightly into fists.
I wanted to lie to them and pretend it was fine . . . I was fine . . . even deny the suicide . . . but I couldn’t. I was too full of the hurt of what I’d seen. My parents had loved me so much and all that love had been torn away from us . . . from me. Because someone murdered my father and, in the end, my mom had chosen death, too, which meant . . . which meant . . . I could hardly bear to admit it to myself . . . I wasn’t enough to make her stay.
I turned my face to the wall, tears still leaking uncontrollably out of my eyes.
‘It didn’t work,’ Ed explained dully to Ketty. ‘We didn’t see anything about any of those things Dylan has . . . It was just horrible to feel all that pain . . . and for nothing . . .’
As he spoke, one of the memories I’d just raked up floated to the surface of my mind again. What were my dad’s exact words?
‘The most precious expression of our love .’
Of course. It all fell into place.
It was unbelievable, but deep in my heart I knew it was true . . .
I turned to Ed and Ketty. ‘We did get the answer,’ I said, wiping my eyes. ‘I don’t have a memory of it, but that’s probably because I was unconscious when he did it.’
‘Did
Back, back in time, to less coherent memories, of a dog barking in a park . . . the fringed edge of a tartan rug, rough against my fingers . . . Paige prodding me in the stomach . . . saying, ‘You smell, Dilly . . .’ And then even further back to a room I had no conscious memory of . . . but was deeply familiar to me . . . my mother’s face smiling through the bars of my crib . . . and then a swirl of images, all the times and places mixed up . . . yellow curtains with a pattern of beach balls rising and falling in the breeze . . . my dad lifting me high in the air over his head . . . me squealing with delight . . . Mom’s anxious voice . . . a voice I didn’t remember, but recognised instantly . . . ‘Be careful, Will, put her down’ . . . a mobile above my head . . . a teddy bear with a torn ear . . . the sound of a car . . . my dad, huge and smelling of the outside world, holding me in his arms, offering me a bottle . . . his voice gentle as he spoke to the person next to him . . . me sucking greedily at the wonderful creamy milk as his soft Scottish accent whispered: ‘. . . The most precious expression of our love’ . . . the smell of perfume . . . gentle hands wrapping me in a blanket . . . and then tears . . . and terror . . . a fear of something . . . the known world collapsing around me . . . Mom’s face blank and pale and moaning as she rocked me . . . ‘I’m sorry, baby, I’m sorry, this is too hard . . .’
My mind lurched, then shuddered. Ed was pulling me away.
I realised I didn’t want to go. There were memories here I wanted . . . needed . . .
Nooo. I called out in thought-speak.
We have to go.
No.
And then whoosh , Ed was gone. My mind felt raw, the memories ebbing away like a dream you can’t hold onto as you wake.
‘No,’ I moaned out loud, rocking backwards and forwards.
‘Dylan?’ Ed’s voice beside me. His arm around my shoulders. ‘I’m so sorry.’
His words and touch brought me back to the room. I opened my eyes. Ed was right next to me, his eyes filled with tears. Ketty was still standing by the bed, her mouth open in horror.
‘I’m so sorry,’ Ed said. ‘I didn’t think about how you’d see all that . . . how . . .’ His voice cracked. ‘How hard it would be . . . and your mum . . .’ He tailed off. I knew he meant my mom’s depression and the way her words about things being ‘too hard’ prefigured her suicide.
As I pulled away from him, I realised that tears were streaming down my face and my hands were clenched tightly into fists.
I wanted to lie to them and pretend it was fine . . . I was fine . . . even deny the suicide . . . but I couldn’t. I was too full of the hurt of what I’d seen. My parents had loved me so much and all that love had been torn away from us . . . from me. Because someone murdered my father and, in the end, my mom had chosen death, too, which meant . . . which meant . . . I could hardly bear to admit it to myself . . . I wasn’t enough to make her stay.
I turned my face to the wall, tears still leaking uncontrollably out of my eyes.
‘It didn’t work,’ Ed explained dully to Ketty. ‘We didn’t see anything about any of those things Dylan has . . . It was just horrible to feel all that pain . . . and for nothing . . .’
As he spoke, one of the memories I’d just raked up floated to the surface of my mind again. What were my dad’s exact words?
‘The most precious expression of our love .’
Of course. It all fell into place.
It was unbelievable, but deep in my heart I knew it was true . . .
I turned to Ed and Ketty. ‘We did get the answer,’ I said, wiping my eyes. ‘I don’t have a memory of it, but that’s probably because I was unconscious when he did it.’
‘Did
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