Laura Purcell

Sometimes, the brain cannot cope with the information it has to process. It makes sense of trauma in odd ways. If I can hear what your mind tells you, I might be able to understand how it works.’

He was too young. Too fresh and full of hope to realise there would be times in his life he would want to erase – whole years of unbearable moments.

She swallowed the pain in her throat. How could she relive it? How could she bring herself to do it to them, all over again?

That dreadful listlessness which had possessed her when she first heard of Rupert’s death started up, but she pushed it back down. She did not want to be swamped by grief or bitterness – she only yearned to pretend it had never, ever happened.

He kept saying that. Repetition only made it sound false.

He kept saying that. Repetition only made it sound false. Presumably, what he really wanted was to establish his career by solving her case.

she had layers and layers to peel back before she could reach it clearly

with the baby in her belly, she had grown selfish for her own comfort. Sleep, fire and an easy chair had become the vital things in her life.

She could not cry. She spent her days holding the knowledge of Rupert’s death at a distance, like a dagger against her throat, afraid to let it plunge in and bring with it understanding. Her only sensations were numbness and nausea.

She could not cry. She spent her days holding the knowledge of Rupert’s death at a distance, like a dagger against her throat, afraid to let it plunge in and bring with it understanding. Her only sensations were numbness and nausea.