A memory comes upon me, so swiftly here and gone that I barely feel its presence, of his warm hand resting upon my head, of the scent of salt-soaked clothes.

In the gathering gloom Mam’s expression is hidden, but the way she tips her head tells me that she’s losing herself into the past. I try to catch John’s eye but he is busy smoothing his sharpening stone on the cloth of his tunic.

‘He was tall,’ Mam says. ‘High as a tree with arms thick as branches.’

I hold myself tight, knowing she skims her memories and chooses the brightest to share now. Others may come later.

John snorts. The knife scrapes again. He was five when our father died, the age Annie is now. There cannot be much he remembers.

‘That’s just his look,’ Annie says. ‘What was he like?’

‘His hair was curly, black and shiny like a pebble wet with seawater, and his eyes were the colour of the sea itself.’

Mam’s face is turned away from Annie now. ‘He called me beautiful. My skin was the prettiest ever seen, he said. Smooth and fair as fresh-churned cream.’

Annie’s thumb leaves her mouth with a pop. ‘But what was he like, Mammy? You’re not hearing.’

‘She’s tired,’ I say, standing. This nonsense must stop. ‘And so are you. Bed. I’ll fetch the bell.’

‘I don’t want to.’ Annie crosses her arms, dips her chin into her chest.

John taps his knife against the rock, holding it close to his eyes so that he may see it in the fading light. He does not look up.

‘Darkening out,’ he says. ‘Night’s come. And you know who comes with it, looking for new blood.’

I smack my palm across the back of his head. ‘Stop that, goffy.’

Annie is across the room instantly, little hand slipping into my own, and John sits back, eyebrows raised, feet on the table.

Mam stays on the bed, arms about her knees. Annie and I take the bell, her hand over mine. Three rings in each of the eight corners of the house, then we place it back on the floor by the fire.

‘There,’ I say. ‘Safe now.’

‘Will you lie with me?’

I glance at Mam. Her body stays as before, her mind trapped in memory.

‘All right,’ I say.

We study the ring around the bed before lying down. Unbroken. Tomorrow I shall sweep it away and make a fresh one as I always do, trickling ash from the fire through my closed fist, steadily, so the loop remains constant. It is all I can do to keep her safe, and this is all I wish for. It is there to protect Annie, not me, for he does not make return visits, I’m told.