Maybe the tears would come later, if there was a later. No, there would be no later, not after what they had just done in the garden. She had seen it and they knew she had seen it. And what she had seen had made her incapable of anything afterwards, except lying on the bed in a foetal position, staring at the wall, back inside her original first floor room. Such was her shock she wasn’t sure she remembered the events correctly, or even in the right sequence. She could only recall bits of what happened, like clips from a film she’d been watching as she dozed off, and then awoke, and then dozed off again, until she’d finally roused to watch the end credits rolling down a screen. But images from the garden scene would suddenly rush into her mind, and they would be too clear, too loud and too bright, and she would whimper and push the images back into the darkness. She didn’t know how long she had been lying like this in her old room.
