It was Sunday. Around twelve. It could not be much longer. Jamie was surprised it was so quick. He had always thought starvation was a slow death. But then he had not been fat, he had never been fat.
Less than a week, he thought. Quick. He felt his brain was loose in his head and knew he was losing what little sanity he had left. He groaned. Why had he ever been born? In a way Cartwright had done him a favor. He had hastened the end. He had dreamed of death, the sweet nothingness, the release from pain. He had always been alone, searching for love, but never finding it. Again Elizabeth's face floated into his mind. She was his only regret. She had loved him a little, even when no-one else had. She might possibly even shed a tear for him when he was gone.
The family had gone for dinner and Jamie had hidden behind the shed, ignoring their calls. He decided to go to his normal haunt, the hay loft. It was a haven of peace and tranquility. He could see everyone but no-one could see him. Joe knew of it now but Jamie reasoned that he cared little and he would be left alone.
He climbed the steps slowly, grasping at the rail as he shook. And then darkness. He did not feel it when his head cracked open on the cobbles below. He was already gone.
