the presence of this thought-shadow, or perhaps better, thought-mirror, also implied a criticism, that I did not feel more than I did. Dad was dead, I thought, and an image of him flashed up before me, as though I needed an illustration of the word ‘dad’, and I, sitting in a plane on my way to bury him, react coldly to it, I think, and watch two ten-year-old girls taking a seat in one row and what must have been their mother and father taking a seat on the other side of the aisle to them, I think that I think that I think.
