had taken on an odd tinge. Even then, I put my disorientation down to stress. To grief. It wasn’t until a sweet, sickly smell tickled my nostrils that it crossed my mind it was happening again, but it was impossible to think that it could, it had been so long. But I knew I was right when I was hit by a spinning sensation. Arms and legs flailing. I wasn’t aware at what stage I fell to the floor, plummeting into blackness, I only found out later that I had. Time became irrelevant. It could have been seconds, minutes, hours later before I became conscious of a distant voice. An odd rasping roared into my ears – my own panicked breath. An angel – a blur of brilliant white light. I thought I was dying.
I thought I was dying again.
But as my hazy vision focused I saw it was Saffron in her white jeans and jumper. Her concerned face loomed towards mine.
‘Are you okay?’ Her hand was on my shoulder.
I tried to speak but my mouth was full of coppery blood where I’d bitten my tongue.
‘I’m calling an ambulance.’ The panic in her voice somehow calmed me.
‘No.’ I sat up. ‘Please don’t.’ Gingerly, I pressed the back of my head where I’d hit it on the floor. I knew from experience that later I’d be sore and covered in bruises, but at the time embarrassment was my overriding emotion as I struggled to my feet. ‘It’s a seizure. I’ve had them before.’ But not for years, since before my parents disowned me. It was like after they’d thrown me out, my body had fallen into a reverse shock almost – instead of breaking further apart, it had fallen back together. Perhaps Gavan had been the cause of my seizures returning. He had been the cause of so many things. I was thinking of the letter again and it all became too much. I began to cry.
‘I’m so sorry.’ She looked stricken. ‘That looked awful. I didn’t know whether to call 999 first or try to help you. It all happened so quickly.’
Although I was fuggy and disorientated and it felt like I’d been out for hours, in reality it had likely lasted less than a minute.
‘How are you feeling?’ she asked doubtfully, still gripping her phone.
Sick. Exhausted. Afraid.
‘Fine.’ I said, the bitter taste of the lie and blood on my tongue.
‘You don’t look it. Are you sure you don’t need checking over?’
‘No. Honestly, there’s nothing the hospital can do for me.’ There was a beat and I thought she’d insist on a doctor and all the implications that would bring. ‘You could fetch me some water though.’ I sat on the stool, elbows on the counter, my head in my hands. Seconds later a glass was placed in front of me and it felt like a dead weight as I lifted it to my dry lips and sipped before wiping the dribble snaking down my chin with my sleeve. ‘You can go. I’m going to lock up and head home myself.’ I was drained of energy; like I’d been powered by electricity and then unplugged.
Saffron hovered uncertainly. ‘I could give you a lift?’
I hesitated. I’d be a danger on the road, but I’d only met Saffron about a dozen times; I didn’t want to put her out. ‘I’ll ring a friend to pick me up.’
It didn’t take long to scroll through my contacts. Even if it weren’t for recent events, Gavan and I had been one of those couples who spent all our time together, so I didn’t have many friends. I hesitated at Anwyn’s name. My sister-in-law and I had been so close once, but our fractured family now barely spoke. Still, I called and it rang and rang before her voicemail kicked in. I pictured her watching my name flash up on the screen, choosing not to answer.
I didn’t leave a message.
The shop bell pealed. I raised my heavy head. Saffron had cracked open the door; I’d almost forgotten she was still here.
‘Are you sure you’re okay? I could drive your car and pick mine up later. It’s no trouble?’
I was feeling so unwell I couldn’t face getting the bus, and I certainly couldn’t afford a taxi.
‘Yes please,’ I said. ‘That would be nice.’
But it wasn’t nice at all.
Three is a power number, although I didn’t know that at the time, I came to learn it later. It took three men to witness three things; a creation, a destruction and a restoration – Noah, Daniel and Job. There were three founders of the Roman Empire. It took three decisions to destroy my life.
Sometimes when something awful happens you sift through memories afterwards, desperate to pinpoint the exact moment things went horribly, horribly wrong.
Saying yes. That was the first mistake I made.
I still had two to go.
TILLY
They’d changed the classrooms around in the six weeks I’d been off. By the time I’d located my English group I was late.
‘Sorry,’ I muttered to Mr Cranford.
And rather than snapping at me like he normally would with his stale coffee breath he said, ‘That’s okay, Tilly. It’s good to see you back.’ His words were soaked with sympathy and somehow that was harder to bear than his shouting.
All the good seats were taken. Rhianon was sitting at the back with Ashleigh, Katie and Kieron. Katie and Kieron’s bodies were angled together, their heads tilted towards each other, and I knew they were no longer purely friends. The thought of his lips on hers made my heart feel like it was breaking all over again. It was only a couple of months ago that he’d told me he loved me as his fingers strayed under my blouse, into my bra.
For God’s sake, Tilly. Pull yourself together.
I dumped my rucksack next to an empty desk right at the front. The chair leg scraped loudly across the floor as I pulled it towards me. Mr Cranford waited, whiteboard marker in his hand, until I was settled before he carried on.
‘This half term we’re going to be studying Othello.’ There was a collective grumble. ‘No need for that. Plays are one of the oldest forms of entertainment.’ His pen squeaked as it wrote ‘Shakespeare’ across the board. ‘You can’t beat a good tragedy—’ He froze. Our eyes met. His were full of apology. I could feel the tears welling in mine. Quickly, he began to speak again. ‘Plays were accessible, cheap…’
I zoned out. My mind cast back to the ‘theatre’ Dad had made me and Rhianon, cutting the front out of a large cardboard box and painting it red. Mum had hung two pieces of yellowing net curtain from a wire. Our audience of Uncle Iwan, Aunt Anwyn, Mum and Dad would queue at the door until Rhianon collected their shiny fifty pence pieces. The stars of the show were the sock monkeys we’d named Dick and Dom – mine turquoise and white striped, Rhianon’s red polka dot – and we’d move them from side to side as they spouted waffle we thought was hilarious. There was never a script.
I glanced over my shoulder, certain Rhianon would be sharing the same memory, but I was confronted with the back of her head, long blonde hair hanging silkily over her shoulders. She’d twisted around and was whispering something
