–  Oh, Mary, sure you’re to live with us now. You have to live with your husband, that’s how it works!

–  No. No. No, that’s not what’s going on, Mrs Johns. This was just for show. I’m not really going to live down here. Please stop!

We were on the street at Johns Farm. It was two miles to get home and I was wearing stupid plastic slippers. I thought I was going to be sick.

–  Please can you take me home? I didn’t know I wasn’t going home. Please? Please? Please take me home!

He didn’t answer me but got out of the car and took an overnight bag that I recognised as Kathleen’s out of the boot and walked past me into the house. Bridie was crying; her auld dog, Brandy, was whining and jumping around her feet. I saw the Tilley lamp come on in the kitchen. The weak yellow light hit the ground outside where the three of us stood in various states of distress. The big clump of leafy sycamores by the entrance to the river field were dark against the dusk sky and one small blackbird belted out its cheery song. Two miles away, my bed with its blankets and sheets that smelt like me was empty. It didn’t have me hiding in it. I didn’t have it to keep the monsters away.

By the time I walked to the half-door, John Johns had taken off his suit jacket and was unbuttoning his shirt cuffs. I was struck by how big he was in the little kitchen, how very tall. He didn’t speak but the set of his mouth said it all: he was far from happy with what he’d taken on. My bed called out to me, the only spot in the whole of The Hill where I’d felt safe.

–  Are you going to take me home? Please? Please can I go home now?

–  You are home.

He walked away from me to the Lower Room, carrying Kathleen’s bag. I looked at Bridie; she was still crying. She tried to pull herself together.

–  You see, darlin’, your mother had it all arranged. The few things you’ll need tonight are in the bag; John picked it up on the way to the chapel. She knew you wouldn’t have thought of it, don’t you see?

I tasted the vomit before it reached my mouth, just making it to the side of the house, where it sprayed all over one of the rose bushes. As I wiped my lips, John walked out and past us, dressed for the feeding. A farmer’s work is never done. I saw the disgust on his face.

–  She’s in the Lower Room, he said to his mother who nodded.