Day Forty
When Mum wakes up, she comes into my room. I look up, still jangled from being so deep in the writing.
“Is it okay?” she says. “Can I come in? You can read to me more.”
“Of course,” I say. And I catch her up on the plot as I settle her into a comfy chair and then begin to read:
“Oh God,” a voice behind Eliza said. When she turned, there was me, a scruffy-looking derelict.
“That is Boyt,” I remind Mum.
“Yes,” Mum says. “I’m following.”
Eliza saw my limp and felt a twinge of pity for me. I was pasty and bearded in the most unkempt way. She might have been afraid except that I looked as if I might begin to cry.
“Cristiana,” I said.
“No. I am not Cristiana. I’m Eliza Goss.”
“Cristiana,” I repeated. They were just the same.
“Twins,” Eliza said. “My dead sister and I.”
Mum
