Bex peered into the gloom. As her eyes adjusted, she could see a row of metal cages. The pig with the spotty face was in one. Bex breathed in sharply. This wasn’t what she’d imagined. The cage was so small, it was as if it had been built around the pig. She couldn’t even lie comfortably, let alone turn around. The bars were digging into the flesh on her back.

‘But it’s …’ Bex couldn’t speak. More detail came into view. The floor of the pig’s cage was made of slats. There was no bedding. She knew mother pigs made nests for their babies, but this pig couldn’t make a nest. She was on her side and her piglets were next to her, under a heat lamp, separated from her by bars. There were about ten – so tiny they must have only been a day or two old. Some were suckling on the sow, but she couldn’t reach to sniff them or lick them. Her face was pressed against the bars. Bex watched, feeling her breathing quickening. How could it be designed like that?

A shout from behind them. ‘Kirsty! Bex! What are you doing?’

Kirsty hurriedly slid the barn door shut and turned to their father. ‘Just checking,’ she said. ‘I thought you’d forgotten to lock up – and you had.’

Their dad was gasping for breath and he sounded furious. ‘Kirsty, you know … You shouldn’t have opened the door.’ He took a key from his pocket and locked the barn door.

‘Why do you keep them like that?’ Bex said. ‘She can’t even turn around or touch her babies.’ It came out before she had time to think. To wonder if this was the best time to ask, when he was clearly angry.

Her dad grabbed her arm and pulled her away. ‘Come on. Come away.’

They walked back to the house in silence. Their dad dragged them into the kitchen and shut the door behind them. ‘Sit down,’ he said. ‘Both of you sit down.’ Bex had never seen him like this, at least as far as she could remember. There was a coldness to his anger that was scarier than if he’d been shouting and slamming doors.

They sat in silence while he made tea, in a pot, and placed cups and a milk jug on the table. Finally he sat opposite them and looked at them for much longer than felt comfortable. Bex poured tea for herself and Kirsty, her hand shaking.

Eventually her dad spoke. ‘I’m going to tell you about an incident that happened when I was a child.’ His voice had softened. Some of the anger had drained away. ‘I was only ten. I wasn’t supposed to go in the farrowing barn, just like you’re not. My father had told me. But I wouldn’t listen.’

Bex lifted her tea and took a sip. Kirsty sat looking sheepish.