We all had to be very careful where mothers were concerned. ‘Don’t LOOK at me like that!’ And so we all had to pretend that we did not see her becoming thinner and thinner until her big eyes stared out of her face like carriage lamps. ‘I don’t want you to pity me,’ said Beanie fiercely. We realized, once the initial shocking discovery in the summer term had passed, that there really are no words in the English language to explain how sorry you feel, and that grief, outside books, is far less dramatic and far more exhausting than you are led to expect. Our friend Beanie’s mother was still sickening by the day, and there was nothing anyone could do about it. Our fellow Detective Society members were out of sorts, and it was not hard to see why. Daisy and I were fifth formers now, which sounds dreadfully grown-up and shiny with promise – only the reality was as misty and confusing as the English autumn weather. I suppose it all began during the autumn term at Deepdean.
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