I am no more guilty than the so-called God-fearing, according to the tales John brings of those lying with others’ wives, beating their children and placing pebbles instead of coins in the collection plate. Yet they condemn us. If this is what it is to be church folk I would rather be cast out.

Growling, low and quiet, rolls through me. I could lay a curse on this woman and let her feel the cost of her cruelty, send a pestilence through her house, sink her husband to the bottom of the sea. Words sit on my tongue, never before known and perilous, tempting me. A show of my powers will turn her scorn to fear.

I teeter on the brink, caught between two lives. I can embrace he that chose me, use the gifts he gave and become, fully, my mother’s daughter. I’ve used the potion. The power is mine. But the stories Daniel spun through the night shimmer in my mind, a life of light that leaves no place for such darkness. The sound of snarling mingles with the shifting of the sea and I am suspended in the moment before choosing which world to embrace.

With the taste of ash comes the scent of smoke and I remember a fire on the riverbank, sweet pie and the warmth of a neckerchief. I close my eyes. Step back. I don’t know if I shall ever truly find a place in that world of light that others live in. But a piece of it has been offered to me, and I will take it.

‘May I have one?’ a soft voice asks from behind us. Turning, I see a girl, her eyes red-rimmed and her skin a sickly tone. I recognise her as one Mam trusts.

She crouches down, taking the flowers from Annie and burying her nose in them. ‘Though I fear luck has already failed me,’ she says, as she hands over her coin.

Annie tugs on my petticoat and I take her hand. We run from the village, happy with our success, though I cannot help but feel some disquiet. The girl Phyllis is kind and has bought our wares before. I fear something ails her.

I walk down the steep path to the shore, Annie running ahead, light and swift as a little grey cloud scudding across the sky. She has no fear. We don’t often come to the sea, and when we do must find a place not favoured by others, stony and unwelcoming.