I missed being curved and hard with her—the unmatchable closeness, the knowledge that no one could take her away. When she had moved in, my body had been like an alley house—dank and grimy and rotten at the edges—but she had still wanted to live there. She had clung on, determined, refusing to evacuate in a shock of blood on porcelain. I didn’t understand why she wanted me—but then, I didn’t understand why I still wanted Mam.
