JACK WENT RUNNING AND Molly collected herself and picked the book off the floor. She held it and cried. What will they say about you, Rabbit? What cruel things will some stranger throw your way? How will they justify their spite? How can I bear it without taking up arms and going to war with every single one of them? #AllDressedUpNowhereToGo.

Things had been getting slightly better; the medication had kicked in and she didn’t feel the same level of lethargy and despair, but she still fought to recover her old self. Davey and Juliet’s return was a big boost, and of course the baby was a blessing, a miracle even, but it was also another huge source of concern. What if it’s sick? What if it dies? What if it kills poor Marjorie? How could she be happy about it until she knew the baby and Marjorie were safe and sound? She couldn’t take more sickness and death. She’d rather her heart just stopped and she died than suffer another loss. She held her breath and she waited for something good or bad to happen, and in the meantime she had to face a judge and she wasn’t going to enjoy it, because in a court of law the judge had all the power and she had none; this as a dynamic that did not suit her. She missed her husband, too. She missed his tenderness and their long talks about everyday things; they used to be such a great team and she’d sidelined him, and she knew he’d try to fix it if he could. Although signing up to Irish Water really was the last straw. What the hell were you thinking, old man?

She made a cup of tea and she was still holding the book. She sliced off a piece of cake and she was still holding the book. She drank her tea and ate the cake and she was still holding onto the book. She looked at the photo of her beautiful girl; she traced her fingers around the raised lettering that spelled Rabbit’s name. What did you want to let the whole world know, Rabbit? What did you need to say so badly? How can this text exist without me reading it? How can I survive even one page now that you’re gone?

Pauline knocked on the window.

‘There you are, Molly.’

Molly opened the door still holding the book close to her chest and under her cardigan.

‘Did I catch you reading?’ Pauline said, pushing into the kitchen.

‘Something like that.’

Pauline put the kettle on. ‘I’m walking the walls over there, Molly. I keep having nightmares that I’m going to end up in a shell suit with arrows all over it and locked into a birdcage.’

‘You were always as odd as fuck, Pauline.’