I’m not stupid. I know why I’m like this. Why I run. Why I can’t accept goodness at face value without questioning it within an inch of its life. History, as basically an expert, repeats itself. My mum was a runner. My dad was a runner. I think if I look it in the face, I’ve been running away all my life. It can’t hurt me if it can’t catch me.
When my dad died, my mum ran away. She ran so far in...
