I swallow down my sympathy, for I cannot afford to feel John’s pain. It will weaken me. It is my anger that gives me the strength I need.

Mam stands, wiping her hands down the front of her petticoat. ‘Did you bring them?’

‘What?’ John asks.

‘The teeth.’

‘You’re asking if after I’d beaten them from his head and he lay hollering on the ground in a puddle of blood, and I standing with it dripping from my fists – did I bend and pick his teeth up?’

‘Aye.’

‘I didn’t.’

‘What use are you? Returning empty-handed to this house when you know I can use a tooth for a curse or to sell.’

There is a crack as the plank of wood smacks down, crunch as the mouse meets its end.

‘And you, lass? What have you brought?’

I think of the hag stone I gave to the farm lad, that she could have sold. ‘Water.’

She crosses her arms, lifts her chin. ‘Last us a day, two perhaps. Won’t feed us.’

‘I meant to bring nettles but—’

‘Meant to is no good to me. Teeth left on the ground, no good. Nowt comes through that door that doesn’t have a use, that’s how we live, and yet here are you two, not a thing to offer between you.’

John swings the flattened and bloodied mouse by its tail. ‘This for your pot if you like it.’

‘Any more and I’ll pull that clever tongue from your head. Your wit won’t feed us, John.’

‘I’ll bring nettles,’ I say.

‘We need more than nettles from you. You asked to be taught the ways you’re born to. It’s time you used the gift you’ve been given.’

Her words fall through me like stones. The weight of them holds me still.

Mam does not take her eyes off me. Her voice is soft but tipped with ice. ‘Nay? Then you must be what use you can. Villagers are busy with feasting and drinking, you can fetch the teeth I’m owed.’

There is no arguing with her. And I would rather endure this punishment than face what she asks of me. But I don’t do it willingly.

‘What about John?’

‘It’s May Day, folks won’t be so watchful. John can see what’s been left for the taking.’ She meets my eye and holds it, daring me to challenge. ‘A lamb left wandering, say.’

I keep myself still so I do not fling myself at her, fling words of accusation that she makes us what they claim we are, that what she speaks of is theft, no better, and we all know the punishment John risks. She knows my objections. Speaking them will make no difference.

‘You fetch nettles now and when night comes go to the village and bring what I need,’ she says. ‘Make sure you’re not seen.’