‘You did well, son. There’ll be more to come too. Broth from the bones. The blood I can use for curses and the money will buy us more food.’

John lets out a long, loud belch. Annie laughs and even Mam smiles.

‘How did you come by the lamb?’ I ask.

Silence for a moment. Mam rises and begins to gather the bowls, her movements swift and jarring.

John shifts in his seat, looks down at the back of his hand and scratches it. ‘Took one of the Taylors’, didn’t I? Out on the path, anybody’s to keep.’

‘Stolen.’

‘Of course stole, did you think I’d found fairies’ gold to pay for it?’

‘Didn’t work for it, then?’

‘It was on the track, free for the taking,’ Mam says.

‘Not free, stolen. He could hang for this.’

‘They won’t hang John,’ Annie says, chewing on a grimy nail. ‘We’ll never let them, Mammy will curse their eyes to fall out and I’ll feed them to the birds in the woods so they’ll not find him. They won’t hang you, will they, John?’

‘No need, little squirrel. Lamb was out of the field, could’ve been wild for all I knew. Won’t be missed, unless Sarah’s wretched conscience gets the better of her.’

‘If you worked …’

‘There’s no one’ll have me, I’ve banged on every door asking for every task and not a soul will give me one.’

‘It makes a truth of all they say about us.’

Mam slams the bowls back on to the table. ‘They say it and we must be it. Would you have me choose the other?’ She holds my gaze until I look away.

‘Besides,’ she says. ‘That Matt Taylor has plenty, he won’t miss a little lamb. And he’s a gudgeon if ever there was one, him and that mewling son of his.’

I sit at the still-cluttered table as John sharpens his knife on a stone and shadow creeps in from the walls. Mam has set the lamb’s head to boil, having saved the eyes. When the skull is clean and white we’ll take it to the village and someone shall be pleased to have it buried in their home as a charm to protect from evil spirits. The stench fills the house.

‘Mammy?’ Annie says around her thumb. ‘Tell me how I began?’

The scrape of the knife stops. Mam leaves her pot and sits with Annie. Sometimes she pushes her away when this question is asked, sometimes tells stories of sunny days.

‘Your beginning was like no other. You were a gift, sprung from the ground, filled with enchantment.’

Annie nestles against her. ‘Filled of magic, aren’t I, Mammy? But Sarah and John had a daddy.’ Her mouth droops. ‘I wish I’d a daddy.’

‘He was a good man.’