Num8ers - By Rachel Ward Page 0,106

read it, that’ll be it. There’ll be nothing else from her. It’ll be like saying good-bye all over again.

I don’t want it to end. I know it has already. I know she’s gone, but I’ve got a little bit of her back now.

“Mum,” I say. My voice sounds strange, like it belongs to someone else.

I want her to be here, with me, so much.

And I open the envelope, and she is.

The instant I start reading, I can hear her voice, see her sitting propped up in bed, writing. Her hair’s gone, and there’s no weight on her at all anymore. She’s so thin you can’t hardly recognize her face. But it’s still her. It’s still Mum.

Dear Adam,

I’m writing this knowing you won’t read it until after I’ve gone. I want to tell you so much, but it all comes down to the same thing. I love you. Always have, always will.

I hope you remember me, but if you start to forget what I looked like, or sounded like, or anything, don’t worry. Just remember the love. That’s what matters.

I wish I was there to see you grow up, but I can’t be, so I’ve asked Nan to look after you. She’s a diamond, your nan, so you be good for her, don’t cheek her or nothing.

Adam, I need you to do something. I can’t be there to keep you safe, so I’m telling you this now. Stay in Weston, or somewhere like that. Don’t go to London, Adam. I seen the numbers when I was growing up. We’re the same you and me — we see things that no one should ever know. I told people, I broke my own rule, and it was nothing but trouble. You mustn’t tell. Not anyone. Not ever. It’s trouble, Adam, trust me, I know.

London isn’t safe. 01012027. I seen it in tons of people when I was growing up. Find somewhere where the people have good numbers, Adam, and stay there. Don’t go to London. Don’t let Nan take you there, and keep her out, too. Keep her safe.

I’m going to go now. I can’t hardly bear to stop writing, to say good-bye. There aren’t enough words in the world to tell you how much I love you. You’re the best thing that ever happened to me. The best. Don’t forget,

Love always,

Mum

xxxxxx

A tear drips off the end of my chin and splashes onto the paper. The ink spreads out like a firework, turning her kisses all blurry.

“No!”

I wipe the paper with my thumb, but that just makes it worse. I find an old tissue in my pocket and dab it dry, and all the time the tears keep pouring down my face. Then I put the letter on the end of the bed, out of harm’s way, and I let go.

I haven’t cried for a long time, not since before she died. Now I can’t stop. It’s like a dam bursting — something bigger than me sweeping me away. My whole body’s crying, out of control; great heaving sobs; tears and snot; noises I never knew I had in me. And then I curl up in a ball and I rock backward and forward, backward and forward, for I don’t know how long ‘til I slowly come to a stop. And there’s nothing left. No more tears.

I look around me like I’m seeing the room for the first time, and I feel the anger back again, tingling in the tips of my fingers, pulsing right through me.

Don’t go to London. Don’t let Nan take you there.

I knew this was a bad place. I knew we shouldn’t have come.

I slam out of the room and down the stairs. Nan’s still in the kitchen. Cup of tea in front of her and a cigarette in her mouth.

“She never wanted us to come to London! She wanted us to stay in Weston! Did you know that? Did you? Did you?”

I’m leaning on the other side of the table, gripping it with both hands, gripping so hard my knuckles are white.

Nan puts her hand up across her forehead and rubs it. She shuts her eyes for a second, but when she opens them, they’re defiant.

“She said something, yes.”

“She said something, and you still brought us here?”

“I did, but…” She thinks she can argue with me, justify herself. She’s got to be kidding. Nothing she can say will make this better. She’s been found out for the lying, selfish cow she is.

“When I said I didn’t want to