‘I’ll walk you to Waterloo,’ he says.

‘There’s really no need, I’m perfectly capable of getting there myself.’

‘I’m sure you are, but I’m new around here remember? I might get lost, so I’d appreciate the company.’

He offers me his arm as we leave the restaurant and I see no harm in taking it. I can feel the warmth of him through his coat and notice the way women seem to stare at him as we stroll to the station. We walk along the concourse and I scan the departure boards through tired eyes, anxious not to miss the last train home.

‘Platform Thirteen for me. Thank you so much for a lovely evening.’ I kiss him on the cheek.

‘We must do this again some time.’

‘I’d like that,’ I reply, not entirely sure that I would.

He takes my hand in his and I feel instantly uncomfortable.

‘I have to go,’ I say, trying to retrieve my fingers from his grip.

‘No, you don’t. Come for one last drink. You can get the next train . . .’

‘I really can’t, I think this might be the last one.’

‘Then stay with me. We can get a room at one of the best hotels London has to offer.’ His grip on my hand tightens and I see a look in his eyes that I’d deleted from the memories of us. I pull my hand away.

‘Edward, I’m married.’

‘You’re not happy. You wouldn’t have come tonight if you were.’

‘That’s not true.’

‘Isn’t it? I know you.’

‘The version of me you knew is several years out of date.’

‘I don’t think so. We both messed up before, but we can move on from that. I didn’t know what I had back then, but I know now, and I want it back. I think you do too. That’s why you came.’

‘I’m really sorry if I’ve given you the wrong impression. I have to go.’

I walk away. I don’t need to look back to know he’s still standing there or that I’ve made a big mistake.

Before

Wednesday, 14th October 1992

Dear Diary,

Today was my birthday. I am now eleven years old. It was also Taylor’s birthday, but we did not spend it together. Today was officially the worst birthday I’ve ever had. Everything is broken and I can’t think of a way to fix it. Things went very wrong, very quickly, and then just kept getting worse. It wasn’t my fault, it really wasn’t.

I’ve been wearing Taylor’s bracelet to bed at night, the one with our date of birth engraved in the gold. It sounds silly, but wearing it felt like she was with me somehow and that made me happy. I was so excited this morning that I forgot to take it off before coming downstairs. It was a stupid thing to do.

Mum said I had to eat breakfast before I could open any presents. She thinks about food all the time and has got fat again, so fat this time that she had to cut the top of her leggings with the kitchen scissors because they were too tight. She saw the bracelet when I reached for the cereal and was calm at first, just asked what it was and where I got it. She looked at the inscription and read the words out loud. My darling girl. I didn’t want to get in trouble on my birthday, so I told her it was a gift from Taylor’s mum.

It was just a little white lie and I promised God that if he existed and made Mum forget about it, I would definitely give the bracelet back the next day. But God doesn’t exist or wasn’t listening. Mum just lost it and went nuts. Even Dad, who had called in sick again, told her she was overreacting, but that just seemed to make things worse. She told me to take it off, so I started pretending to fiddle with the clasp. Then she walked away and I thought it was over, but she picked up the phone on the wall at the other end of the kitchen.

Dad poured me a bowl of cereal but I couldn’t eat it, I knew she was calling Taylor’s mum and that this was going to be bad. My cereal crackled and popped while I watched Mum snap. Sometimes it’s hard to understand a conversation when you can only hear one side of it, but sometimes you can fill in the blanks as though you’ve heard the whole thing. She told Taylor’s mum that we would be returning her gift. Mum said she didn’t appreciate Taylor’s mum spending more money on her daughter than she could afford to, and that a child wearing jewellery was a decision for the child’s parents.

I’m not a child.

Mum went quiet then. It was as though the conversation had ended, but she was still holding the telephone to her ear, the red cord tightly twisted around her fingers. Then she looked up at me and I knew that she knew I had told a lie and it wouldn’t matter whether it was white or not. Her mouth hung open, as though she was silently saying the letter ‘O’ for a very long time. Then she said, ‘goodbye’ and ‘sorry’ and I knew I was in trouble. She put the phone down and very calmly told me not to lie. Then she asked me if I had stolen the bracelet.

I said no.

Sometimes I lie. Sometimes everybody lies.

Mum told me to take it off again. I shook my head and she started marching towards me, so I ran. Mum’s pretty fast when she hasn’t been drinking, even though she’s let herself go. She’s won the parents race twice on sports days, but she didn’t catch up with me until we got to the top of the stairs. She put her face right in my face and yelled at me to stop lying, bits of her spit landed on me, then she asked again if I had stolen the bracelet. As soon as I started to say the word ‘no’, she slapped me really hard on the cheek. Mum was yelling at me and Dad was at the bottom of the stairs, yelling at Mum, then she grabbed my wrist and yanked the bracelet.

It was only thin gold, it snapped and fell on the floor.

It was an easily broken thing.

I didn’t mean for what happened next to happen, I just wanted her to get away from me and stop ruining everything so I pushed her.

I didn’t mean for her to fall down the stairs, it was an accident.

Everything seemed to slow down and her eyes changed from small and cross to wide open as she fell backwards. She landed at the bottom and didn’t move and everything was quiet. At first I really thought she might be dead. I didn’t know what to do and I don’t think Dad did either because he just stood there for what felt like a really long time. Then she moaned and it was horrible. She didn’t sound like Mum any more but the sound definitely came from her. Dad looked really worried and said he would call an ambulance, but Mum said it would be quicker for him to drive her to the hospital in the car. I wondered if it would start and hoped that it would. Dad helped her up and she kept just moaning about the baby.

I’m not a baby, I’m eleven.

They didn’t say anything to me, not even goodbye. They just walked out the front door and drove away without looking back.