Owen

I HEAR A LOW MOAN and realize that it has come from my own lungs. The horror floods through me anew. In fragments, I remember:

The JCB. The men calling me over.

A dark pit—the bright tarpaulin-clad shape emerging.

The tarpaulin falling open.

Stepping back from the pit, my shadow leaving the bones.

The skull, with its gaping mouth. Inside the mouth: the teeth. One of the teeth broken in half. I knew a crooked smile like that, once upon a time.

The chipped left front tooth. Unmistakable. Fifteen years since I've seen it—when she smiled at me waiting for her by the caravan park gate. Or crying in despair at her lot: stuck in a tiny life, her big dreams stifled.

I remember how I wrenched my eyes away from the tooth and saw the jewelry. All the cheap little pieces with which she adorned herself. The silver bangles, the tiny studs and rings from her ears, all bright against the darkness of the soil.

The last time I'd seen her she'd cupped my chin. Smiled that wonky smile. "I know I'm a rubbish mum, Owen. I was such a baby when I had you, that's the thing. I hadn't lived. I know I drink too much, stay out too late. But I'll try harder, I promise. You're everything to me. You know that, right? I would never do anything to hurt you."

I fell to my hands and knees. Lifted her out, wrapped in her horrible blue shroud. Carried her with me deeper into the trees. Just to get her into the air, the light. I couldn't leave her for another moment in that dark, cold pit of unmarked earth where she'd lain for so long, all alone.

She didn't desert us. She didn't leave me. I was the one who abandoned her. No wonder I felt pulled back here. She's been here waiting for me all this time.