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Chaos. Absolute chaos.

Eventually, I find the courage to look in Elizabeth’s wardrobe again. To find the box that I saw the other day; one she’d pushed into the far depths of the wardrobe to keep it hidden.

I know about hidden things. What they can mean.

Something about that box wasn’t right, but I didn’t have the courage to find out exactly how wrong it could be.

With Elizabeth, I never know what I’m going to find.

When I open the box, I’m not surprised at all. I knew all along, somehow.

It’s the strangest feeling.

The box is stuffed with empty medicine bottles. Olly’s medicine, and some of mine. Clearly Elizabeth has been stock-piling.

I stare at the bottles for a long while, willing them not to be there. Occasionally, I’m able to fool myself like that. But not this time. The implications are just too heavy.

I consider throwing them all away. Destroying the evidence. But if I put my fingerprints all over that stuff and they know I’ve interfered – well, my life won’t be worth living.

When I was growing up, there was a little boy who lived on our street – William.

He was always getting ill. In and out of hospital. And then he started having blackouts. Seizures. Eventually, he died.

We learned from the autopsy that he had sodium poisoning. The mother had done it with table salt. They said she had some sort of illness.

Munchausen syndrome by proxy, it was called.

No one suspected a thing – the mother seemed like such a bright, happy woman. Everyone in the street knew her. She even ran a sewing group.

I remember telling Elizabeth the story. She was fascinated. I’ve always known she wasn’t like other children. She could lie and manipulate from a very early age, no doubt imitating my own little flights of fancy.

But Elizabeth was never careful, like me. She always took it too far. And she’s so close to being found out with all these hospital visits.

I admit, I was depressed when Elizabeth was young. Frustrated. Not the kindest parent. Intelligent women had fewer choices back then. I know I got things wrong. But for Elizabeth to be hurting Tom on purpose …

It’s just beyond normal.

Sometimes in life it’s kill or be killed. Elizabeth is holding me at gunpoint.

I knew there wassomethinggoing on with Olly’s health. It didn’t seem right to me, the amount of tablets Elizabeth was giving him. Or the fact his leg never seemed to get better. And nurses don’t train in physiotherapy – why was she giving him leg exercises and pulling his joints around?

But I kept out of it. It was Elizabeth’s business. I stuck my head in the sand, didn’t get involved.

I pass the downstairs mirror and see myself, eyes creased with worry and sadness.

There’s nothing good about getting old. Beauty fades, leaving only truth.

My father used to say the real monsters of the Second World War were the people who did nothing. Who pretended everything was okay. He was a Jewish-Austrian immigrant so he knew a lot about it.

I look in the mirror and try to smile. It’s very important to have a nice smile; I learned that by watching others. I have lovely veneers and I take very good care of them.

That little boy William died.

Hedied.

I leave the medicine bottles in the wardrobe and lock the house up tight, sticking a Post-it note on the breakfast bar for Elizabeth:

Did what I could but no cleaning products, going home now, Mum.