POLUNSKY UNIT (DEATH ROW)
LIVINGSTON, TEXAS 77351
USA
March 17
Hey there, Stu,
It’s a relief to be in here with you tonight. There’s a blanket that Dot must have left so I’ve curled up under that on the deck chair, happy to be hidden away. Honest truth, I don’t know how long I can keep up the pretense anymore, like imagine an actress in The Wizard of Oz messing up her lines, the witch’s green makeup dripping onto the stage. Except for me, of course, it’s the opposite, my good face melting away to reveal something bad underneath. The audience screams. Mum. Dad. Sandra the loudest of all.
She turned up again this evening. Unannounced. Ringing the doorbell three times and stepping into the hall without waiting for an invitation.
“What’s she doing here?” Dot signed. “And why hasn’t she washed her hair?”
“Dot says hello,” Dad muttered, showing Sandra into the living room, being all “How are things” and “Nice to see you,” though I could tell he was shocked by her sudden appearance.
“She smells funny,” Dot signed.
“My daughter’s got a cold,” Dad explained because Dot was waving her hand in front of her nose. “What can I do for you, Sandra?”
He pointed at an armchair, but Sandra knelt on the floor, where I was sitting. Her T-shirt wasn’t much protection against the cold night, and her thin arms were covered in purplish goose bumps. Dot wasn’t exaggerating about the smell. As Sandra turned her bag upside down and shook, I caught a strong whiff of alcohol on her breath. Photos fell onto the carpet by my feet.
“For the display. At the memorial. I thought you might like to see them.”
Before I could respond, Dad frowned and said, “Did you drive here, Sandra?”
Sandra just grinned, her lips stained with wine. “Look at this one,” she said, holding up a photo of a little boy on his front with talcum powder all over his chubby legs. “And this!”
“Fat baby.” Dot again.
“Cute,” Dad said. “Very cute.”
Slippers shuffled on the carpet as Mum walked in with a book in her hand, stopping dead when she spotted Sandra spreading photos over the rug.
“What’s going on?”
“That lady’s gone crazy,” Dot signed.
“Sandra’s come to show us some pictures,” Dad said, glaring at Dot, who giggled. “Isn’t that nice?”
A toddler with a chocolate-covered smile.
A nine-year-old with a scab on his knee.
First school photo.
Last school photo.
A photo of me at the Spring Fair standing between two brothers.
Sandra passed it to me, and I took it with hands that wouldn’t stop shaking. Someone would see them, I was sure of it, so I dropped the picture onto my lap and pressed my fingers between my knees, hating the clamminess of my skin. My face—that was impossible, too. I tried a smile, but my lips felt wrong.
“You wouldn’t guess that something terrible was about to happen,” Sandra said softly, peering at the photo. “There’s been something I’ve been meaning to ask you, actually. Something about that night.”
“I’m not sure Zoe’s up to it,” Mum said quickly, seeing my face drain of color. “She doesn’t like to talk about the Spring Fair.”
“But it’s important.”
“I think it’s better if we just look at these photos,” Mum said. “I’m sure there are some lovely ones.”
“Why did you leave?” Sandra persisted, and though she might have had a drink, her gaze was steady.
“I told you before. We went for a walk,” I said too quickly.
“But why?”
“That’s a nice one,” Mum said, pointing at a picture of Max and Aaron and Fiona on three mountain bikes. “Very sweet. Let’s have a look at some others.” She made to pick up a photo, but Sandra gathered them into a pile.
“If you don’t mind, I want to understand my son’s last movements.”
My heart was frantic, slamming against my ribs, trying to get away from the questions as I jumped to my feet. “It’s hard for me,” I said. My eyes filled with tears. “It’s hard for me to discuss it. Impossible. I dream about that night all the time, and I’m scared of thinking about it because it still feels so—”
“Easy, love,” Mum said as Dad put his hand on my sweaty back.
Sandra blushed, clutching the photos tightly. “I’m sorry. I just—I don’t understand why you left the fair. Through the woods. Where were you going?”
“Nowhere. We got bored,” I lied. “That’s all. We got bored.”
“If only you hadn’t,” Sandra muttered, and Stu that’s when I walked out of the room on shaky legs, pretending I wanted to make a cup of tea. Ten minutes later, I was still staring at the kettle. It was Mum who had to flick the switch.
Love,
Zoe xxx
1 Fiction Road
Bath, UK