Shattered by Teri Terry Page A

The worst memory of all – Dad’s death – was suppressed, buried so deep it didn’t come back until Katran died.
    ‘Lucy? Riley, I mean. What is it?’
    I shake my head. Does she know how he died? Does she know it is my fault? I can’t say it out loud. Not tonight.
    I look past her, at the bedroom we’re in. ‘Was this my room?’ I ask.
    She shakes her head no, and I’m relieved. It seemed so not my room. I had that right at least. ‘I put you in here as it is away from the other girls. Easier for me to visit.’ She hesitates. ‘It used to be my room. A long time ago.’
    ‘Tell me everything I can’t remember,’ I say. ‘Please. I want to know it all.’
    She seems to hesitate, then holds out her hand again. A small thing, yet somehow it is so hard for me to reach out and take hers, to hold a stranger’s hand, when her eyes are so full of desperate want . I do, and she grips mine tight once again. She smiles. ‘What do you want to know?’
    ‘Everything, from the beginning. Tell me about when I was born. Where was I born? Was…’ And I hesitate. I’ve been so reluctant to mention him that it is just penetrating now that Stella hasn’t, either. ‘Was my father there?’
    She shakes her head, lips in a thin line. ‘He wasn’t there. He rarely was for the hard bits.’
    My eyes widen, a retort working its way up, but I bite it back.
    ‘But you, Lucy, were the most beautiful baby that ever drew breath.’ She smiles. ‘I’ll show you.’ She gets up and takes out keys from her robe pocket. She goes to one of the locked wardrobes. ‘I put albums in here for you: photos, all sorts of things you can look through from before. There are eleven albums, one for each year. We’ll start making another one now, won’t we?’
    She extracts an album and brings it over, places it in my hands, and I eagerly turn the pages. Well, okay: I was a pretty cute baby. There is shot after shot of my general chubby, baby cuteness: in a cot holding out hands and laughing; giggling in the bath; covered in mushy food. Always smiling. Didn’t I ever howl? A few have Stella in, also: hair dark then, smiling in a way that goes into her eyes. And there are empty spaces now and then: someone is missing. Removed? ‘Why aren’t there any photos of my dad?’
    She snaps the album shut. ‘That’s enough for tonight. You need to get some sleep. You have an early start tomorrow, don’t you?’ She slips the album back in the wardrobe, locks it again.
    ‘Can I have a key?’
    She hesitates, then shakes her head. ‘No. You need your rest. We’ll look at them together, all right? Goodnight, Lucy.’
    She goes out the door.
    Well.
    Waterfall Weirdo : I hear Madison’s words echo in my head, then feel bad. That’s not fair. She’s had a terrible hand dealt to her, hasn’t she? Having her only child vanish when she was ten, then back seven years later, Slated, with no memory of her. She obviously had issues with Dad, also. I need to work out what that is about, what I should or shouldn’t tell her about him. I sigh. Inside I’m gripped by a need to know all I can of him, all I’ve forgotten, and more. I wonder if there are photos of him anywhere?
    I slip Pounce off my knees, walk across the room to the wardrobe with the albums in, and assess the lock. A few twists with a hairpin, and the lock clicks: open sesame! A skill learned from Nico.
    Inside, the wardrobe has clothes hanging on one side – summer dresses, put away for the winter? And the other side is shelves. The first few have albums numbered one to eleven as she said. But if she took Dad out of album number one, chances are the same is true of them all. The shelves below contain things wrapped in tissue paper. Curious, I draw out one bundle, take it to the bed, and open the paper carefully. Inside are neatly folded children’s clothes. A girl’s. Mine?
    I hesitate. I am trespassing on Stella’s memories, wrapped up and locked away, for how long? It feels