He did the arithmetic that everybody in this story has done at some point, and he decided which version of his wife he could live with.
He was wrong. I have told him he was wrong. I have also, since about the June, stopped needing him to agree with me about it.
Immy.
She was three years and six months old and she remembers three things: a red bag, singing, and being told not to forget him.
The singing is real. Robert Innes did not record it. But there is a line in the ambulance service record about the child being “settled” when crews arrived, which is a strange word for a three-year-old on a verge in the dark in December, and I have decided what it means, and nobody is going to talk me out of it.
The don’t forget me is the one that has undone every person I have told it to.
