Eve can hear Charley calling and Blake calling back; Poppy shouting at them to shut up, she wants to do her homework. Sorrel will be telling Noah not to worry, that this kind of noise is normal in families. Charley and Sorrel go to school in Broad Chalke; Poppy and Blake catch the bus into Salisbury. It’s quieter on a weekday, Eve tells the sleeping baby in her arms.

The dark green sage has the scent of Greece. She holds a crushed leaf under the baby’s small nose. ‘Your mother is sleeping,’ she says, ‘she’s tired out. Well, you did keep her awake all night with your antics.’

A car enters the gates and begins to drive slowly towards the house. Eve is surprised. They weren’t expecting anyone. The car stops and two men get out and walk towards the house. They haven’t noticed her. The taller man has the swinging gait of someone who spends much of his life outside, a wind-tanned face, a face she has known for most of her life. He looks round at the grounds, interested, as you’d expect him to be. The other is shorter, with grey hair straggling over his collar. His face is tanned. She knows him too, of course. She bends to pick another handful of sage. She’ll have to make more stuffing now.

The baby sneezes.

She hears Grace calling the children down and then she goes inside.

Epilogue

Grace sits back, puts her pencil down, stretches and shakes out her hand. She walks to the window and opens it as wide as she can, which isn’t that far. The new locks allow eighteen inches; Eve measured.

She looks at the photos on the floor, the old newspapers. It looks like a crime scene and in a way it is.

She walks back and sits down again then downloads a new document. She calls it Aftermath for now. She starts to type, copying from her notebooks, slowly at first then faster, warming up.

It was surprising how quickly things took off in the end, like a bonfire, one of those big ones the children loved so much. Some nights I hear that sound of crackling again, like a bomb ticking down. I catch the roar and see those flames, the scent of scorching fills the air, I feel that searing heat.

The children danced round fires all summer, lit up and yelling like wild things.

The attic is quiet, apart from the tapping and the birdsong that comes through the window along with the noise of sheep. Some of them have tiny lambs already; she can hear them in the fields, calling for their mothers.

Acknowledgements

Warm thanks are due to the following.

Women’s Aid staff: for information about admitting procedures and the running of refuges. This crucial charity provides vital support for countless victims of domestic abuse.