Before I Saw You(33)

‘There’s not that much to tell.’

‘Really? You’re telling me a story that starts with “I know what it’s like to be the one they want dead” doesn’t have much to it? Come on!’ He was laughing. She imagined him shaking his head and rolling his eyes at her.

‘I set that one up fairly dramatically, didn’t I?’ She snorted. His laugh really was infectious. ‘I’ve never spoken to anyone about it properly before, so I’m not even sure where to start.’

‘You can start anywhere or nowhere. It’s totally up to you.’

He was right. It was up to her. She could tell as much or as little as she wanted. At the end of the day it wasn’t really for him. She was telling the story for herself.

Twenty years was a long time to carry around something as heavy as this; maybe it was time to let go of some of the pain.

She closed her eyes and took his hand again.

‘I was born a twin. My brother Euan was four minutes older than me. He was so full of life that I wouldn’t be surprised if I’d actually had half my head out before he hauled me back into the womb and pushed himself out first. You couldn’t stop him doing what he wanted and you were a fool if you tried. There was such a fire in him that you could feel the heat just by looking at his face. He was a whirlwind and shook up everything in his path, except for me. It was as if he held those four minutes like a gift. He was my big brother, and he took it upon himself to protect me as though his life depended on it.’ She paused as a suffocating lump rose in her throat. This was why she always stopped herself from thinking about him.

‘He sounds like he was more stubborn than you … and that is an incredible feat!’

Alfie squeezed her hand reassuringly.

‘He was. He was brilliant. The best.’ She paused again, allowing the space to hold her in her thoughts. ‘But in reality he was the one that needed looking after. He was born with a congenital heart defect – it’s not uncommon in twins. Sharing the same placenta, there is always a risk that one baby doesn’t receive as much oxygen as the other. Unfortunately, I took the lion’s share and left him without.’

The guilt surged through her heart and hot tears pricked her eyes.

Another squeeze. Go on, don’t stop now, it said.

‘We had a relatively normal childhood. Euan was determined that his condition wouldn’t get in the way of anything. He didn’t seem to have a care in the world. Maybe we all carried the fear for him. My parents were strict with him and even stricter with me. I had to look out for him at all times. Make sure he was OK. Any time we were out of the house and away from them, he was my responsibility. I would have done anything for him. I loved him with every cell of me. He was a part of me.’

She took a deep breath. She knew she was waffling, buying any semblance of time she could before she had to tell the real story.

‘We were eleven years old when it happened. It was a Saturday in late October and the weather was turning. We’d begged our parents to let us go and play outside for the afternoon; by the cliffs was our favourite spot. I knew he was feeling restless that day. He had been trying to push boundaries, seeing how far he could stretch our parents’ rules and his limits. As we got to the edge, he began to run. I screamed after him to stop but he kept going. I can see him now, like a caged wild animal that had finally been set free. He was laughing manically, throwing his head to the sky in pure joy. He ran and ran all the way down to the beach. I followed him as quickly as I could, but he was so fast.’

She could feel herself speeding up as she spoke, almost as though she couldn’t wait to spit the story out and be done with it. The toxicity was sour and she no longer wanted the taste of it on her tongue.

‘By the time I reached him, he was already in. He’d taken off his clothes and run into the sea. I screamed so loudly my throat burned. In the end I had to run in after him and drag him out. He kicked and screamed and clawed at me, shouting over and over how unfair his life was. I held him so tightly, both of us crying with the pain of it all. He begged me not to tell Mum and Dad what he’d done. He knew we’d both be in trouble. And for some stupid, stupid reason I didn’t.’ She shook her head in frustration. ‘When we got back I sneaked him into the house, made him have a warm bath and sent him to bed. I told my parents he was tired from running and everything seemed fine the next morning. By the evening things were bad. He was sweating. Drenching the bed sheets and his pyjamas, but when I put my hand on his head he was like ice. I told him over and over that it was going to be OK, but I knew everyone was scared. My parents were so confused as to how he’d got so sick so quickly. He pleaded with me not to tell them, but I had to. I had to do something.’

The memory was whirring in her mind. Jagged edges of sounds and colours pierced her consciousness. Closing her eyes didn’t help; it just brought everything into clearer focus. She didn’t want to see his face again. She couldn’t bear to replay the memory any more. The pit of her stomach started to lurch as the nausea hit her. She let him die. She should have saved him. Those poisonous words echoed over and over until she wanted to scream them out of her head.

‘They were so angry when I told them. So angry they couldn’t even shout at me. I wished they had. I wanted them to scream at me, tell me off, but instead they were silent. My mum wouldn’t look at me. They called the ambulance but … but by the time they came, it was too late. He’d been so cold. His body was in so much shock that his heart just gave up.’