Hi, Mum. Sorry we haven’t been to visit. How have you been?
Did you see the news this morning? Yes, it looks really bad this time.
I’m going to take the children away from here. There’s a group leaving any minute. I have to go straight away – they are waiting for me outside.
I thought of staying longer, but it’s not a good idea to wait. I can’t promise that we will be safe where we’re going, but I’m certain we aren’t safe here.
They are calling for me now. I have to go.
I love you, Mummy.
He's just there, sitting gormlessly at the bare table. He looks at me, eyes empty, gulps and says nothing.
"Look who’s back!" she breezes, fussing around to make him comfortable. A teacup and saucer clatter down. I jump. He doesn't.
He hasn't aged. Ten years and he looks precisely the same.
My fists clench. Offended that he should reappear like this; sickened that he left in the first place.
He is not real. He is an imposter. He is a ghost. I am angry and I am scared.
Her face warns that my urgent questions must wait.
