What we have told her, and when.
Not everything. Not yet. She is seven.
She knows that the man in the photograph is Silas, that he is our son, that he died in the same crash her first mummy died in, and that he got her out of the car and stayed with her.
She does not know that Kelda’s car crossed the line.
We have written down, with Bernadette and with a therapist called Wren Oduya, exactly what she will be told and roughly when, and the last part of it — the collision investigator’s finding — is currently marked for fourteen.
I have read that document eleven times and I have signed it and I still do not know whether fourteen is right.
But it will be told. That is agreed and it is in writing and Pete and I have both signed it, and the reason it is in writing is that I do not trust myself.
