‘No,’ he says. ‘You must hear me. That night was so clear that stars reflected on the surface of the water, and that water was so still I felt I floated in a world made of the tinted glass of fine cathedrals, a looking glass world, and the lake lived with a thousand glowing minuscule things. It was alive, and the white sparks danced and danced and it was as though they were calling to me, and I was so in love with the world I knew it was no easy thing to die, but I plunged into the water because my shame was so great and it was like I was diving into the stars. But in the darkness I remembered you, and I remembered you would not fare well without me, so I crawled along the floor of the lake, strange fish and underwater grasses caressing my ankles, until I was able to breathe once more, and soon after that I took the wife you told me to, though I could not desire her, just so as you would be proud of me.’

The vividness of this story has left Raghnailt confused as to what emotions she should feel amidst so much creeping anxiety; and still her neck pulses with fear.

‘You tell stories just like your grandfather,’ she says. ‘And yet you have never told me any stories.’

Colca puts his hands together and shakes them at her, pleading. ‘I can tell you more stories, Mother, but I was afraid to tell you; afraid you would hate me,’ he says. ‘Love me, Mother. I am alone in this world, and I am your boy.’

‘I have always loved you,’ she says, ‘and I always will, but if you ever do touch an animal again I will die of heartbreak. I know it. All my dreams do say it.’

‘I swear I won’t; on my life,’ Colca says.

She throws herself on him with the energy of a child. He wraps his arms around her and she feels the chains draping off her shoulders, cool against her back. The fear has moved upwards through her body, past her chest, and is now in her head.

I love him, she thinks, I love him so much. I must believe it, but fear does not allow love, and all I am now is fear.

Saint John wonders …