Ten minutes later and Thom is no closer to understanding the notebook and how his name, his real name appears in there. Is it possible that Daniel merely took a notebook belonging to Thom and wrote in it himself? Or had Daniel written it and for some reason, put Thom’s name in there on purpose? Otherwise the only other possibility is what he feared: that he wrote it himself.
He thinks about the words in the notebook like belonging and losing people and alone and they swarm around his head. The words were a shock to read and Thom realises it isn’t so much because Daniel may have written them but because they sum up many of his feelings about his own life.
Thom does feel alone, even when he is surrounded by others. Since Daniel’s death, he has taken his solitude to extremes and it has been easy to do so, because most people in his life barely notice him or can be bothered to hear how he really feels. And there have been times when he has wondered about Aunty Val, Richard and Daniel, and whether he is an unwanted extra. Other times, he has been sure they all love him.
It dawns on Thom then, that he can think of a perfect time when he could have written these words. Immediately after his parents died, he suffered from complete shock and distress, not sleeping properly and often finding himself doing things without realising it. He lost grip on life for a while and slowly, Aunty Val and Richard mainly, recovered him. But what if during the time when he’d been so confused, effectively ‘losing his mind’, he wrote this? But it all sounded so adult, so informed – could his young self really have written this?
It is possible, Thom decides. This would explain his name being written as Thomas Downing, his name given to him by his parents. He took Mansen after their death, when Aunty Val adopted him and as far as he knew, had tried to use it as soon as it was confirmed. The period between him losing his parents and the adoption wasn’t that long, as the authorities had deemed it necessary. It had been perhaps six months to a year at most. So that is the only period where Thom could have written those things, although his confusion and anger remained with him like an ulcer, obvious and sore, for much longer.
Thom realises, the more he turns it round in his mind, it is possible he still thinks these things even now, he has diluted feelings to the same effect at times. He shouldn’t feel sorry for Daniel at all, he should feel sorry for himself.
Thinking again of Daniel, Thom wonders if Daniel read this. Did he leave it in the lock up so that Thom would find out how he felt and perhaps to let him know he’d been depressed too? Is this another link to the suicide theory? Or did Daniel just want to upset Thom for some unknown reason?
Thom wants to believe Daniel’s intentions were good. He can’t quite fathom the other possibility, it makes his head become groggy and makes vomit rise in his throat, like the day he found the note. He wonders whether he should’ve saved the vomiting, as he can’t think of a suitable way to respond to the notebook now. His only option seems to be to amputate a limb in disgust.
In that moment, as Thom is grimacing about the prospect, he sees the arm peeping out from the side of the house. He wonders if Aunty Val or Richard are hiding there and are too ashamed to come out, having witnessed him crying. He gets to his feet quietly and tiptoes towards the side of the house. Yet as he gets a few yards away, the hand whips out of sight and Thom guesses the owner of it has begun to run.
Thom chases past the house and into the front garden. He sees his target, a woman with dark curly hair and a skirt dragging behind her, fiddling with the gate. Thom dives towards her and grabs her around the stomach, pulling her to the floor. They make a collective groan as they tumble onto the grass that hasn’t been mowed since the funeral and has grown wild, tickling their bare skin. A piece of grass prods up Thom’s nostril, and he sneezes.
The woman is limp underneath him and he wonders for a panicked moment if he has knocked her unconscious. Yet when Thom looks down, he sees her blue eyes watching him with unwavering interest and not the fear or guilt he expects. He moves away, scratching his stubble as he separates himself from the woman, suddenly conscious of it. She eases herself up casually, as though she is sunbathing on the beach, not having just tried to escape him.
He is about to speak when she yanks at her elbow and frowns at a small cut that is slowly oozing blood. She makes a noise of dis-approval and looks up at him. For a moment, he feels like a boy-friend who has forgotten to buy her an anniversary present and then remembers; she is the one that owes him an explanation.
As Thom looks down he notices her skirt has ridden up around her legs and he sees her smooth thigh and above that, the edge of the red knickers she is wearing. Thom gulps on air and looks away again, pretending to check his knee for damage.
“Thom”, he says after a moment, involuntarily, like a hiccup.
She is quiet for a moment and then replies, “Sarah”. Thom thinks there is something strange about the way she says it, almost as if she has plucked it out of the air or it is a name she has always loved and has now chosen it for herself.
Thom manages to smile at her, despite the awkwardness and the lack of explanation. They have only managed two words but Thom feels better. After about thirty seconds of more silence, she smiles back. The gesture has clearly been thoroughly considered, something she doesn’t want to give away easily. Therefore, Thom appreciates it.
“Hello Sarah”, Thom says, checking to see if she flinches at the name. She does nothing, just continues to stare at him as though he is an alien object that has landed in her path. When he moves his hand towards her, she jumps back. Thom points at her elbow and she understands and offers it to him. His sleeve soaks up a little of her blood and he moves it away, thinking about how much they have already shared in such a short space of time.
“Why were you crying?” Sarah asks, surprising Thom. He had no idea anyone saw him in the garden and he wonders what she must think of him. He hesitates for a moment, his gut spinning like a Catherine wheel, shooting off in all directions.
“My cousin died”, he tells her, feeling his tongue struggling with the words. His saliva has turned to wallpaper paste.
“I’m sorry”, she says automatically, emptily. Thom almost laughs; her voice is like a glacier splitting his body in half. Even stranger than her tone is that he likes it. He is sick of people cooing him like a baby. Sarah is bashing him over the head with a rock instead.
“Please come in. We can wash that”. He gestures to her elbow.
Flicking her curls out of her eyes, she nods and Thom pulls her up.