‘He likes to keep me in the dark. There was a window the day I came but he boarded it up from the outside.’ I knew where on the outside the window was boarded up, but I couldn’t make sense of it now in the gloom. The only light came from the toilet and my bedside lamp.
‘Why did he do that?’
‘As punishment.’
‘What did you do?’
‘I can’t remember.’
‘It must have been bad.’
‘I tried to escape and he caught me so I bit him!’
‘Oh.’ I ran back to my side of the room.
‘I’d never bite you. I love you.’
I didn’t reply.
‘It’s so nice and warm here now. I’m glad he didn’t bring you in the winter. It’s summer now, right?’
I bit back the answer. It was September.
‘You don’t remember me at all? Do you know what year this is? Or what month?’
‘Yes.’
‘Will you tell me?’
‘No.’
‘Please. It’s important. I’ve been here since June of 1966. I was eleven. I think you were born a year later, but I don’t know how long ago that was.’
‘Dad told me not to tell you anything.’
‘What age are you?’
‘Where were you before?’
‘I had a family and school and friends and my own bedroom and windows. He says it’s my imagination, but I remember.’
‘Who says?’
‘The man.’
‘My dad?’
She nodded.
‘What’s his name?’ she asked.
I knew it was Conor Geary but I wasn’t going to tell her.
‘I don’t know.’
‘You can call me mummy. I’d love to hug you, you know, to hold your hand? You were only learning to talk when he took you away. You had a few words: Mama, bed, biscuit and milk. That’s when he took you. Don’t you remember?’
I had a shadow of a memory. I used to sleep beside her on that mattress.
