‘You are funny, Aunty Daisy. I’m not the one who has trouble remembering things,’ she says. Her tears have stopped. One Mississippi . . . ‘What does that mean?’ I ask. ‘You always do this . . . forget what really happened,’ she replies, with a strange look of pity on her face. I don’t understand anything she is saying. Two Mississippi . . . ‘Are you telling me that you didn’t kill Rose and the rest of the family?’ I ask, desperate for there to be some other explanation. ‘Of course I didn’t . . .’ Trixie starts to say, and I feel a brief moment of relief. Maybe this is just a bad dream and
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