‘So pretty,’ I say. They’re flowers that lack all delicacy, though they do bring a welcome splash of colour to the house. And I will treasure any gift from Annie. ‘Thank you.’

She slips from my knee and reaches for a cup to place them in. As she scoops water into it Mam snatches them from her.

‘Give them back,’ Annie says.

Mam turns them in her hand, tipping them upside down and splitting the stalks. ‘These’ll do,’ she says. ‘Good lass. Sap enough to add to a tincture. Cure a wart or two.’ She glances to the doorway. ‘Away, Dew-Springer, find one in need.’

I stifle a smile at the look of outrage on Annie’s face.

She crosses her arms over her chest, glowering at Mam. ‘They are not for warts. They’re to be pretty. For Sarah.’

‘Nonsense, child. We’ve no time for pretty in this house. Everything that comes through that door must have a use. The food I can buy with a coin earned curing warts will do Sarah more good than looking at these bedraggled things.’

Annie tips forward on her toes, fists clutched at her side, baring her clenched teeth and growling. Her mood sours further as Mam, John and I laugh.

‘Careful, Mam, she’s in the mulligrubs now,’ John says.

‘All right.’ Mam strokes Annie’s hair and passes her a single flower. ‘Keep one for your sister.’

She takes it, dejected slump to her shoulders as she holds it out to me. I pull her in for a hug.

‘It’s lovely,’ I say. ‘You’re lovely. Thank you.’

She sighs and scratches at the back of her hair with both hands. ‘I think I’ve got them spiders in my head again.’

I lean back just a little.

Each day I can stand a while longer, walk a few steps further, eat a little more. This day, though, I am rooted to the mat, unable to move.

The blackness takes shape. Shadow at the edge of my eye. Swelling, shifting. An image I almost recognise that transforms again into a blur. I turn my head, trying to catch it. Nothing.

Mam senses it too. She does not ask, but I feel her eyes on me, waiting for my ability to reveal itself, for my familiar to take shape. I watch specks glide and spiral in the dribble of light falling through the roof, turn away from the shade I carry. I am feared of what I have let myself become.

Annie pulls my arm. ‘Don’t sit in the dark. Come to the woods with me.’

‘I am the dark.’

John laughs, somewhere unseen. ‘You’re better looked at in the dark, at least.’

Mam frowns. ‘Annie’s right, that’s enough. You’re well now and there’s work to be done.’

The shape in my eye bristles. If I stare ahead, pretend I’m not looking, it becomes clearer.