‘I get sad.’ I mutter the next part: ‘Then I get angry.’
‘I think I’d feel like that too,’ says Dahl. ‘How did you show your anger?’
‘Sometimes I cry and I shout at her and when that doesn’t work ...’ My voice trails off.
‘It’s okay, you can tell me. This room is a safe space, remember?’
I can barely hear myself. ‘I hit her.’
‘You hit her?’
‘Yes,’ I whisper.
‘Where?’
‘On the arm or her chest. Sometimes her face. But I don’t mean it and I say sorry as soon as I do it.’
The adult me recoils. Another memory I have blocked out. The only explanation is that I didn’t know how to express my frustration in any other way.
‘What was it like having to share her with her boyfriend?’
Boyfriend? What boyfriend?I don’t recall my mum ever dating anyone. But before I can give it any more thought, my younger self answers.
‘I didn’t like him.’
‘Why?’
‘Because he took Mum away.’
Dahl pauses before he speaks again. ‘And was jealousy the reason why you stabbed him?’
Chapter 55
Damon
Stabbed? What the hell?I barely have time to process Dahl’s question before the conversation continues.
‘I didn’t mean to,’ I say on the tape. ‘He made me angry.’
‘What did he do?’
‘I don’t know . . .’
My voice trails off, allowing silence to reign.
‘Most of the time,’ Dahl says, ‘we only lash out against other people when we think we have a reason to.’ His tone is never judgemental.When we think we have a reason to. That echoes in my mind, conjures up the face of the man I killed. ‘Were you scared he was taking your mum away from you?’
I don’t answer him.
‘When grown-ups start new relationships, it can be an intense time,’ he continues. ‘They want to know more about each other, so they spend a lot of time together. And sometimes that means the people they love the most are often left out.’
‘It wasn’t fair,’ twelve-year-old Damon blurts out, his frustration now evident. ‘I’mthe one who looks after her. When she was sick for weeks,Imade her better. But when Maud left, instead ofspending time with me, she was with him. He was always in the house, eating with us, watching TV and drinking beer. I wanted it to go back to her and me.’
‘And that’s why you tried to hurt him with the scissors.’
‘It was an accident,’ I say. ‘I was using them when he said he wanted them, and I told him to wait a minute. Mum told him she’d find him another pair but he yelled at her. Said I needed to do as I was told. She tried to say something else but he slapped her in the face and she fell on to the floor. Then he tried to grab the scissors from me and he lost his balance, slipped, and they went into his arm.’
Relief floods through me, knowing it wasn’t deliberate. That I am not like my father.
