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The past is all we have left. The least we can do is make the most of it.’
I don’t suppose I’d really known grief until then, because when mother died we were both small, and there are some emotions you can’t really feel until you’re older.
I can’t tell you what snapped in me, only that something did. It was like that last sob you give when you know you’re done crying and it’s time to dry your eyes and face the world.
We all have it in us to be something other than what we are, I thought, but we don’t often get a glimpse of what we could have been.
‘Peoples think I’s a harmless idiot,’ he said. ‘They’s only half right.’
Could kindness – by only ever taking little steps – twist itself into the worst kind of cruelty? And did the fact of that kindness excuse any part of her crimes, or just put a different shade behind them, like hanging an ugly picture on a different wall?
