I can feel the speed building up inside me. I don’t remember ripping off my shoes but I must have, because I’m bare-footed, the damp sand rubbing between my toes, and I’m running towards the restless water. I run, the wind pushing against me, salty gusts slapping my face, I run. Here it would be easy. The knot at the back of the sling starts to loosen and I pull it free with my good arm. I run, pushing against the clouds as they gather round me. Mama is calling me on the wind, or is it Lou’s voice? ‘Nicoleta, come back, come back.’ I wade in, the freezing water lapping at my ankles, my knees, stomach, arms, ribs. I hold my breath and dive down, cradling my arm close, feet towards the sky, tumbling head over heel, tumbling, like I’m in a washing machine, soap-soaked, bubbles rising, dirty thing being washed clean. Sammy’s laughter fills my ears, her face floats before me, her hand grabs mine. ‘Hello, Roomie,’ she mouths at me, bubbles flying from her mouth. A fish-baby. She squeezes my hand, then drops it, and dives to the depths, waving bossily at me to go back, go back, go back to the light.

The water refuses to let me stay down, and like a giant hand lifts me up to the surface. Each time I try to go under, it pushes me back up, and so I lie there, floating. I am held by the sea and the clouds, which have dropped from the sky and merged into one. I let go of everything I was clinging to and spread both arms wide. Look: no hands! No pain. The sea-sky is piebald-grey on grey and becomes the shape of a horse. I climb on top and I am trotting, then cantering, galloping along the plains. This time, Sammy, this time.

Author’s Note

Author’s Note

Although Harvesting is a work of fiction, it was inspired by my involvement in the Stop Sex Trafficking of Children and Young People campaign run by the Body Shop, ECPAT International, and the Children’s Rights Alliance in Ireland. At the launch of the campaign in 2012, I was invited to read first-hand accounts of some of the girls that had been trafficked for the sex trade. Until that day, I had no idea of the extent of the industry in Ireland: the fact that it is considered a destination point for traffickers, that some of the girls are Irish, or that some of them are as young, or even younger than Nico.