PROLOGUE
“Aunty Kemi?”
I looked up.
The little girl sitting opposite me had stopped pulling the loose thread on her cardigan. She’d been wrapping it around her finger since she walked into my office.
“Yes?”
She looked at the door before looking back at me.
“If somebody says it’s a secret...”
She frowned, searching for the right words.
“Should I tell my mummy?”
Outside, the break-time whistle blew.
Children burst into the corridor.
Chairs scraped against classroom floors.
Somewhere, a teacher shouted,
“Walk!”
I reached for my tea.
Cold.
Again.
I put the cup down.
“Yes,” I said.
“You should tell your mummy.”
She nodded.
“Okay, Ma.”
Then she left.
I looked at the loose thread she’d left hanging from her cardigan.
And somehow— I was eight again.
