“No. She stayed with you,” Dad corrected. “When you were demented out of your head and anyone in their right mind would have run for the hills, that girl stayed right by your bedside, listening to you talk out of your arse.” “Yeah, well, she’s gone now, isn’t she?” I muttered, feeling thoroughly fucking sorry for myself. “When your back was to the wall last night, who sat here with you?” I stared at him. “Who held your hand, Johnny?” “Dad—” “Who waited for the ambulance with you?” “Dad, stop–” “Who came to check on you when you were at your worst?”
