But I don’t say any of it. Because suddenly I’m tired and everything hurts and I just can’t fight anymore.
• • •
Dad brings me home two weeks later in his work van. There is only room for two in the front, so Mum has stayed behind to prepare the house, and as the motorway speeds by beneath us, I find my stomach tightening nervously.
The cheerful streets of my hometown feel foreign to me now. I
look at them with a distant, analytical eye, noting how small everything appears, how tired, how twee. Even the castle looks smaller, perched on top of the hill. I realize this is how Christine must have seen it when he first came home after his accident, and push the thought away. As we drive down our street, I find myself sinking slightly in my seat. I don’t want to make polite conversation wit
