‘I wanted to say goodbye,’ I say quietly.
‘You think you deserve that privilege after what you put my son through?’
‘I know you won’t believe me, but I didn’t remember anything about what happened back then, until recently.’
‘I believe you, but I don’t care,’ she says. ‘Do you know what you did to him?’
‘I know he was innocent when he went to prison, and I can’t imagine what he must have gone through—’
‘No, you fucking idiot,’ she interrupts, ‘I don’t mean then. I mean after you forced your way into my house. Do you know what happened?’
‘I don’t.’
My grandmother edges closer, and as one hand remains on her walking frame, she uses the other to jab me in the chest. Her nails are sharp like claws. ‘Then ask me,’ she says.
‘Ask you?’ I repeat.
‘Ask me,’ she hisses.
‘What happened to him?’
‘You killed him.’
She straightens her back and waits for me to absorb her words.
‘I think you’re confused, because he was alive when I left—’
‘Fuck off,’ she snaps. ‘I might be old but I ain’t away with the fairies just yet. When you pushed him and he lost his balance, he hit the back of his head on the TV cabinet. Later that night, he started complaining of a headache. I didn’t think much of it as he’s suffered from migraines for years.’Like me, I think. ‘But then he collapsed. I called 999 but he was dead before the ambulance arrived.’
I’m unsure of how to respond, stifled by her revelation.
‘The pathologist said it was likely a bleed to the brain. So you killed him, that’s what happened. Like all the others, he’s dead because of you.’
I ought to have known, because I hallucinated him in the aisle of his store. With the exception of Mum, I only see the people I kill. I should be overcome by emotion, or begging her for forgiveness, but I remain detached.
‘What did he tell you about me before he died?’ I ask.
‘You mean before youkilled him?’
I sense she is going to use every opportunity to remind me of this. I nod.
‘When you left, Ralf told me the treatment they gave you all those years ago was wearing off. That you were beginning to remember. Like I always said you would. ’Cos evil don’t stay buried for long. Good, I told him. Why should we be the only ones to suffer?’
‘You knew what they did to me?’
‘Yes, but I didn’t agree with it. You were old enough to know right from wrong,youshould’ve been punished for it, not my boy. He made me promise that if I ever saw you again, I wouldn’t tell you anything.’ Her brows knit. ‘But I’m not like my son. I don’t want to spare your feelings.’ She points to the awaiting black funeral car. ‘Get in,’ she says.
And I do as I’m told.
Chapter 85
Damon
As the vehicle pulls away from the crematorium, my grandmother orders the driver to roll up the partition. Now it’s her and me alone together for the first time since I was a child. She stares from the window as the vehicle makes its way through the open gates and along the road outside. She pulls a small tin of tobacco from her purse and, without watching what she is doing, drops a pinch inside a rolling paper and creates the most perfectly symmetrical cigarette. I’m tempted to ask her for one. She lights it with a disposable orange lighter which has a black-and-white image of the Pope on the side. She doesn’t unwind the window.
The sun’s bright rays do nothing to defrost her. I don’t really know where to begin, but I must find a starting point because I don’t think she will. She might’ve told me to get inside but she isn’t going to surrender what she knows that easily. And I doubt that after today there will be any other opportunities to have this conversation.
‘What do I call you?’ I ask.
