My First Memory
by Clementine Darcy

We have a topic to write about today! I admit I’m glad you’ll be giving us a theme from time to time. Most days not much happens in the life of Clementine Darcy, so ‘Writing Clementine’ could become quite dull for all involved. Memories are easier to write about. They’re already there – stories behind a closed door in your mind, waiting to be told.

My first memory is only a fragment. A smell, a few words and a feeling.

When I was three years old, Mum and Dad and Fergus and Sophie went to Hong Kong. I had to stay behind, with my Aunty Debbie. It wasn’t their fault. There was a problem with my vaccinations, and they didn’t discover it until it was too late to cancel everything. Don’t be alarmed, Ms Hiller. Mum says I was thrilled to be staying with my aunty and my cousins. I packed a little pink suitcase and everything.

It was an adventure. This isn’t a sad story, Ms Hiller.

My first memory is not of them leaving. I don’t remember that at all. What I remember is them coming back.

I was in Aunty Debbie’s sunroom, at the front of her house, and the light was pink because it was sunset. I was sitting on the floor. The door flew open, and Fergus ran in. He picked me up and he held me to him, so tightly. He smelled of peanut butter. He whispered in my ear, ‘I missed you, little sister, and I won’t ever leave you again.’

And I felt safe.

That’s all. That’s all I remember. Now, it’s all I can do not to go up to his room and slap him and yell. Because he lied.