Set down on lined paper kept in a school notebook, loose at the back.
18 July 1980
It was hot that week. Everyone was outside because it was too hot not to be. Mum had the barbecue going and there was smoke all down the road and people kept shouting to each other over the fences.
I didn’t feel right. Not ill or anything. Just not right. Mum said it was the heat and to drink more and stop going on.
The back room was cold. I went in there because it was quieter and it didn’t smell like smoke. The air was wrong. Not bad. Just sharp, like after you wipe something down and it’s clean but you don’t want to breathe too deep.
I shut the door. I don’t remember thinking about it. I just did.
The window wouldn’t open when I tried it. It wasn’t stuck like broken, just heavy. I didn’t lean on it. It felt stupid to. The curtains were already across most of it, which I didn’t remember doing, but I must have.
The room stayed cold even though the rest of the house wasn’t. I sat on the floor because the carpet was cold through my clothes. I didn’t feel bad. Just strange. Like I should keep still.
There was a smell then. Like stuff from the nurse’s room at school. Clean but not nice. It made my eyes sting a bit. I thought maybe Mum had used something in there and not said.
I don’t know how long I was in there. I could hear people outside laughing and plates banging and the radio on somewhere, but it sounded far off, like it wasn’t for me.
Mum came in and said what are you doing in here, it’s freezing. She opened the door wide straight away and the room changed. The smell went and the air moved again.
She didn’t shout. She just told me to get up and wash my face and come and sit where everyone else was.
After that the back room stayed cold, even when it was hot. Mum said it was damp and not good and we didn’t use it much.
It feels like the house knows when someone’s not right and keeps them somewhere quiet.
I know that sounds stupid. It was probably just the heat.