“I still hate you, Hugh,” I say. “I always have.”
He begins singing that song, the one he sang to me when I stayed over at his house. The one he sings to me at night when he’s telling me about Josie and Mum and Dad. Dad’s in the army now. He’s a soldier. Sometimes I think about how he could shoot Hugh down with his machine gun.
He grips the bat with both hands, widens his legs and squares his shoulders. I take another step back. My legs feel like jelly and I’m either going to be sick or wee my pants. I don’t want to die, I don’t want to. But he’s bigger than me. If I fight him, would I win? I have to try. I have to.
“You should hate me, Aiden,” he says. “I thought I wanted to kill you. I was so sure.” He lowers his head and pauses. It feels like the moment is all stretched out, like it’ll go on forever. But then he says, “It has to end all the same.”
He lifts the bat like he’s going to hit me, but just as I’m bracing myself to fly towards him, to hit him first, he swings the bat upwards. He screams loudly as he hits himself in the face, smashing his nose. I scream with him, afraid of the blood spurting from his nose. Afraid of him swinging the bat again, hitting himself in the head.
Hugh falls down. He drops the bat on the ground. I run over to him and bend down.
“F-f-in-ish-it.” Bloody spit dribbles from his mouth.
I shake my head.
Hugh reaches out and pushes the bat towards me. “H-it-m-me.”
There are tears running down my face. Snot comes out of my nose. I’m scared. I don’t know what to do. I almost trip over the bat as I step away. Hugh lies there with his face all broken and bruised, with his eye all swollen. If I took the keys and left, he’d lie there in pain for hours and hours. I don’t know how hurt he is. He could die on his own. Or I could go and get help. My mind feels all weird, like it can’t cope, like it doesn’t want to make the choice.
I don’t want to make the choice.
I want it to all go away.
I bend down and pick up the bat.
I lift it over my head.
When it’s done, Hugh twitches two or three times and then he goes still. His eyes aren’t the same as they were before. They don’t glitter or sparkle like eyes should.
And then I think about how lucky he is because he doesn’t have to remember anymore. All his thoughts are gone and he doesn’t have to think about the cage anymore.
There’s some blood on my shirt too. I take it off and mop up the blood on the floor. I pull Hugh into a corner and put my t-shirt over him because I don’t want to see his face anymore. I pull the keys from his pocket and unlock the door. I switch off the light and hurry out of the door up the steps. The further up the steps I go, the more afraid I feel. I drop the keys before I reach the top. The air is fresh and I take two big gulps of it, but I feel shaky.
It’s dark and I don’t know where I’m going but I keep walking. There are leaves on the ground and lots of trees. It’s raining. I fall over twice.
I sing Hugh’s song.
Then I decide that I don’t want to remember anymore. Someone finds me. I know who I am, but I don’t want to tell them. I don’t want to talk to anyone, and I don’t want to remember. I want all my thoughts to go away like Hugh’s thoughts all went away.
I don’t want to remember.
45
I called her Gina after my mother. She had my eyes and Jake’s mouth, but we won’t talk about how she looks like Jake. The nurse brought Aiden in to see me and his new sister after the labour was over. I took my small, squirming little baby, swaddled in a soft blanket, and I gave her to my son to hold. The son who had frightened me, and who I’d thought was dangerous. The son the media called ‘feral’ and insinuated was uncivilised after his incarceration away from society. Aiden cradled her gently in his arms as though she was precious, delicate cargo. And she was. She was as perfect as Aiden had been when he was born. She was a fighter. We both were. We’d been through hell together and now we were both rewarded by her being here. She was alive and perfect and I was glad I’d fought for our future.
“Is it too soon for visitors?” DCI Stevenson poked his head around the corner.
“No. It’s fine,” I replied.
The last two hours felt like a lifetime ago. After Aiden had pointed out the fluid pooling on the ground, we’d struggled back up the steps and out into Rough Valley forest. The contractions were worse than before, which meant Aiden had to prop me up as we struggled through the trees. I shouted. I screamed. I yelled.