I don’t remember what stopped me at the gate. Holding the weathered post I looked down into the garden and chose not to go in. I turned around and left. I don’t remember what made me phone but David was relieved that I did. He fetched me from my cottage on the estate and drove us back. We didn’t talk. We were silent, suppressed under the heavy foreboding of what we might find. I don’t remember what the voices on the police radio were saying but the musical beeping of it still rings in my ears. I don’t remember who was there, only that two men carried the stretcher on which she lay. I don’t remember what she wore, I had closed my eyes and blocked my ears, trying to avoid any further brandings on my memory. David stank of carbon monoxide. He had dismantled the car. My car. We drove to the farm. He told my sister. I don’t remember what she said, just the taste in my mouth and the back of her head as she ran into the cane field. I don’t remember why I didn’t check if my mom was in the garden.

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