‘Don’t, Daisy. Please. Think about Max.’
She pulls back from me, nervously running her fingers over her hat and reaching for a strand of hair. She wraps her finger around it and tugs so the curly strands fall away from her scalp, on to the tiled floor.
‘But Lilac is doing it.’
‘Daisy, if you start waterloading, you’ll have to do it every month. Don’t you want to get better?’
Suddenly, a cold realisation dawns on me. Isn’t this the same thing that Shepherd is trying to teach me?
Daisy’s mouth drops open and I can see where the enamel has been eroded from her teeth, all that stomach acid playing havoc.
‘Give yourself a chance to get better,’ I say to Daisy.
Lilac makes a sound like humph, wipes her mouth with the back of her hand and neatens her sodden nightdress.
‘Yeah, well, I’m gonna go for it,’ Lilac says proudly, waddling out of the bathroom to the weighing area. ‘I must’ve drunk four litres. My tummy hurts, it’s so big. But at least I’ll weigh more.’
I look at Daisy and wink. ‘That’s if her bladder doesn’t explode first.’
It feels good when she offers a tiny smile in return.
After lunch is served in the dining room, Rebecca pops her head into my room. She’s holding a strawberry cupcake.
‘Here, Amy.’ She hands it to me, and crumbs fall on my fingers.
‘Thank you, Rebecca.’
She looks around my room. ‘Why don’t you put some posters up or something? There must be someone who could bring some nice things in for you? What about the person who sends you letters?’
I mumble vaguely, suggesting I will think about it, and put down the cupcake. But I’ll never make this room comfortable, and I won’t have anyone visit me. I won’t even reply to Elizabeth’s letters. I don’t deserve any comforts. This isn’t my home. It’s a cell.
In the end, Rebecca leaves, only one tiny corner of the cupcake gone. I hear her sigh as she closes my door.
I go over the things I said to Daisy in the bathroom, how it mirrored the very same things Shepherd repeats to me. I’ve been stalling. I know that. For three years, I’ve refused to talk about Elizabeth, or even think about her. I’ve never allowed Dad’s face to appear in my mind’s eye, as if I can shut away all that happened.
Since I was told she’d died, though, I can’t shut away Mum. She’s with me, in my deep-set eyes, my pale skin. The echoes of her are in the pathetic beat of my heart, the faint pain as it struggles to keep me ticking away when my soul is dead.
When Shepherd comes for me, I need to be ready.
Remember to forget, Elizabeth said.
I always did.
But my memories are unravelling like a thread being pulled, everything coming apart since Shepherd came back. It’s all his fault. He’s unlocked something.
And now, I can’t remember to forget.
I’m so sorry, Elizabeth. My beautiful, broken sister.
14
ME
KNOCK AT THE DOOR. I open it.
What the hell?
It’s the skinny kid who lives in Swan Lake. I think his mum is the mouse-like girl with the funny red hat.
I look down at the boy, his mum nowhere in sight.
‘What’d you want, kid?’
‘Er, hi. I’m Max Nicholas Reece and I live with my mummy here. She wants me to ask you if you can help us fill out this form . . . Please.’
He hands me the forms. I scan my eyes briefly over them. It’s something to do with childcare, I think.
I glance back at the kid. ‘Why can’t your mum do it?’
‘She can’t read and write much.’
‘I don’t know, kid, maybe one of the other staff members. Anyone but me.’
‘They make me eat Brussels sprouts soup.’
I lift my brow. ‘Amy Earhart. Girl who lives in room 4.’
‘I know who Amy is. But she isn’t in there.’
The kid's soft blue eyes meet my hard ones, and I think maybe I can put enough glare in to intimidate the kid into leaving now. I should tell him to do one and leave me the hell alone. But when I look at him, look at his big blue eyes and his floppy brown hair, he reminds me of me when I was a kid.
Fucking desperate for love.
‘Come in, kid.’
I get him a glass of apple juice and some chocolate biscuits from the cupboard. We sit at the table.
He sniffs. ‘You’ve been smoking?’
‘Don’t smoke, kid.’
‘You’re lying.’
I stare at him. ‘I meant you.’
He grins. ‘I knew that.’
I get a pen from the drawer and start helping him fill in the forms.
‘Name?’ I say.
‘My name’s Max.’
‘How old are you, Max?’
‘Nine.’
‘And is Max Nicholas Reece your full name?’
‘Uh-ah. I’m Maximus Nicholas Reece.’
I half smile. ‘And you’re a boy, obviously.’
‘Obviously.’
We exchange a smile.
Even though I’ve attempted to create some distance between us, the kid wanders after me like the lost lamb he is and plunks down in the chair next to me.
‘Can I sit with you while we do the forms?’
I nod at him. ‘Nationality?’ I say. Max looks confused. ‘Like where were you born? England?’
I show him the list to choose from.
‘Um . . . I’m white British,’ Max says pointing, ‘even though British isn’t a race but the human race is. Mummy and me are not religious or anything. Oh, my first language is English so I don’t need an interpreter.’
The kid is nuts. Loves going on a tangent.
‘Slow down, kid,’ I chuckle.
He’s reading from the form, I guess, checking off the categories, proud to show how grown-up he is — thinks he is.
‘For
