ask? Has Tenko in there got the same birthday as you?’
‘Sheila! You must stop talking like that. Everyone deserves a second chance.’
Ellen clears her throat. She’s standing at the doorway.
‘This book,’ she says. ‘I think it might be valuable. It’s a Harry Potter first edition.’
Sheila picks up a pen and writes on the notepad next to the till on the counter. She pushes it towards me when she’s finished. She’s probably a thief.
My face grows hot as I rip the sheet from the pad. I screw it up and drop it into the bin, before ushering Ellen back into the storeroom. She can’t have seen what Sheila wrote, but she will have noticed the whispering, and the silence that followed her presence.
‘I’m so sorry about that,’ I say, in case she read it. ‘I’ll give Sheila a warning. I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable.’
Ellen sits at the table and places the book in front of her.
‘It’s okay. I’m used to it,’ she says. ‘There was one person in particular who targeted me when I was inside: Jackie Annand. She never liked me. But that’s another life. I’m here now.’
She looks up at me and smiles. She has the same eyes as Sophie.
Wednesday, 2 July 1986
Debbie
We need to bin this digital alarm clock. Even when I close my eyes, I can still see the angry red numbers reminding me I’m not asleep. It’s one fifteen in the morning. If I go by her previous feeds, Annie’ll be waking again at three thirty. I could go and heat a bottle ready, in case she wakes early.
I keep checking she’s still breathing. She’s only a foot away, in her basket. What if I fall asleep too deeply, roll off the bed and crush her? No, no that couldn’t happen – I’ve not fallen out of bed since I was a child. But you never know. I shuffle away from the edge a bit.
I close my eyes, but my mind is busy with too much crap. My body’s exhausted – why won’t my brain listen to it? It’s no good. The memory of last Saturday keeps coming back to me. I wish I’d never gone with them to Lytham Club Day. There were too many people around – everyone stared at me. You shouldn’t be outside. I bet that’s what they were thinking.
I watched Bobby and Leo on the little rides, while Nathan, Monica and Peter went on the waltzers. It was too warm. The children’s rollercoaster went round and round and round, hundreds of times. I had to sit on the grass.
Peter and the others came over, swaying.
‘That was amazing,’ said Monica. ‘I haven’t been on one of those since I was a teenager.’
‘You have to go on something, Debs,’ said Peter.
I ended up climbing onto the lorry that had been converted into a two-storey ‘fun’ house with the boys. Bobby took me by the hand and pulled me up the stairs.
‘You’ll love it, Mummy,’ he said.
Halfway up the stairs, my legs started to shake. Why hadn’t I realised how high it would be up there? The eyes on the faces painted on the walls watched me. I tried to cover them with my hands as I walked past, but there were too many. Their gaze followed me until we reached the outside part of the upper level.
I held the rail opposite.
Peter and Monica stood waving at us; I couldn’t let go to wave back.
It was too high. I couldn’t breathe. A cold sweat covered my body.
Oh God, I thought. I’m going to die.
I kneeled on the metal floor. The ringing in my ears got louder.
‘Mummy? Mummy? Are you okay?’
Breathe, breathe.
I put my head close to my chest, closing my eyes.
I don’t know how many minutes passed before Bobby’s hand touched my shoulder.
‘Is it too high for you, Mummy?’ he said. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll help you down. I used to be like this when I was four.’
He reached down for my hand; I looked up at him.
My breathing gradually slowed.
‘I’m sorry, Bobby.’ I looked around, relieved I could get the words out of my mouth. The sound in my ears faded. ‘Come on, love. Let’s find something fun for you to go on next.’
I don’t know what happened to me that day.
Am I dying? I feel numb and my body doesn’t feel like mine any more. That day, I could barely breathe – there must be something wrong with me. My mind might be shutting down first.
1.23 a.m.
Oh God. I might go insane with tiredness. In an article in one of Mum’s magazines, it said if you can’t get to sleep, get up and make a milky drink, but I can’t find the energy.
After counting three hundred and fifty-six sheep, I turn onto my back and look up to the ceiling. This is torture. I bet Monica never had this.
I can’t believe I was trying to catch Nathan’s eye on Friday. What was I hoping to achieve? My face feels hot with the memory of it. He doesn’t even know how I feel – I don’t even know how I feel. Monica wouldn’t have noticed anyway. She was too busy being amazed by how great Peter is.
‘We should get a microwave too, Nath,’ she’d said. ‘We could have jacket potatoes every day, then.’
He’d rolled his eyes at her back, but frowned when he realised that I saw him.
Go away, Nathan, I’d thought to myself, fully aware that – as always – my feelings were as fickle as Preston sunshine. There’d been a smash of china in the kitchen, and Monica had jumped up immediately.
‘Are you all right, Peter?’
It was my turn to roll my eyes. I glanced at Nathan, but he was looking at the impression Monica had left on the settee. I wondered, then – as I do now, in the darkness – if he’d had the same thought that I did. That perhaps Monica was in love with my husband.
‘Get up! Get up!’
I sit up quickly.
‘I’m coming, Uncle Charlie,’ I say without thinking.
But there’s no one here. The bedroom is semi-lit by daylight filtering through the curtains. Annie’s basket is empty – so is Peter’s side of the bed.
Why did I call out for Uncle Charlie? My mum’s brother
