Chapter 54 Damon
Damon
‘Were you and your mum close?’ Dahl asks.
It’s the first question on a tape recorded five days after my second session.
I assume I must’ve nodded, because he asks another question.
‘Was that because for such a long time it was only the two of you?’
‘I told you before, I look after her when she’s poorly,’ I say. ‘I help her.’
It’s only now that I realise I’m still talking about her in the present tense, even though by the end of the second recording, I seemed to have accepted she’d died.
‘Does your dad help, too?’
‘Mum doesn’t like him coming around.’
‘Why?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘How do you feel towards him?’ I hear the rustle of clothing. ‘You’re shrugging. Why?’
‘I don’t like him.’
‘Why?’
‘Because he doesn’t like me.’
‘What makes you believe that?’
‘Because if he liked me, he’d have stayed.’
That feeling remains with me today. Even though now I know Mum had no choice and Dad was frequently behind bars, I still hear an echo of not being good enough for either of them to want to be around me.
‘What was it like for you when your mum was depressed?’ Dahl continues.
‘She doesn’t want to do anything. She just lies around the flat or stays in her bed for days. The television is on all the time, but she never really watches it.’
‘Can you tell me how that made you feel, Damon?’
‘Like she doesn’t care about me.’
‘You missed her attention.’
‘I make her food, I read her books and I try to make her laugh. She likes my silly voices.’
‘And did that work to bring your mum back to you?’
‘Sometimes it does.’
‘But not every time.’
‘No.’
‘And how did that make you feel?’
‘I get sad.’ I mutter the next part: ‘Then I get angry.’
‘I think I’d feel like that too,’ says Dahl. ‘How did you show your anger?’
‘Sometimes I cry and I shout at her and when that doesn’t work . . .’ My voice trails off.
‘It’s okay, you can tell me. This room is a safe space, remember?’
I can barely hear myself. ‘I hit her.’
‘You hit her?’
‘Yes,’ I whisper.
‘Where?’
‘On the arm or her chest. Sometimes her face. But I don’t mean it and I say sorry as soon as I do it.’
The adult me recoils. Another memory I have blocked out. The only explanation is that I didn’t know how to express my frustration in any other way.
‘What was it like having to share her with her boyfriend?’
Boyfriend? What boyfriend? I don’t recall my mum ever dating anyone. But before I can give it any more thought, my younger self answers.
‘I didn’t like him.’
‘Why?’
‘Because he took Mum away.’
Dahl pauses before he speaks again. ‘And was jealousy the reason why you stabbed him?’