“I see you,” he said in a sing-song voice through a lopsided smile. “I see you.”

Down below, when they’d eaten the scraps that Ivan had allowed them and extinguished the lamp, they went to bed. Mary crawled in with Joy, as had become her habit of late. Every night, as she wrapped her arms around her daughter and pulled her in close, she marvelled at how little there was of her. How small and thin. And every night it caused a bell of sadness to ring inside her.

Tonight, as Joy and Mary spoke to each other in the dark, Noreen remained silent. Joy could feel her there on the other bed, watching and listening, anger festering in her. But she didn’t care. Let Noreen lose herself to this place. Joy had Mary, and that was all that mattered.

“When we go away from here,” Mary said, “will the children come with us?”

Joy felt a crackle behind her eyes. “What children?” she asked.

“The other children who live here with us.”

“What children?” Joy asked again.

Behind her, in the dark, she knew that Noreen held her breath.

“There,” Mary said, “and there.”

Although she could not see, Joy felt Mary’s arm move, pointing into the black corners of the room.

“Who are they?” Joy asked, though somehow, she knew the answer.

“They live down here with us,” Mary said. “When I got terrible sick and I had the fever, I found them in that place. And when I came back, they came with me. But they’ve always been here.”

In the light of day, Joy might have told Mary to quit her auld nonsense, but here, in the darkest mile of the night, she knew Mary spoke the truth. And it did not frighten her.

Noreen spoke up, her low voice startling Joy. “Is there a wee boy with them?” she asked.

“You mean the boy I remember?” Mary said. “The boy who used to be here and then he wasn’t?”

“Matthew,” Noreen said. “His name was Matthew.”

“Aye,” Mary said. “Matthew’s with them.”

Joy felt something crack inside her as she heard Noreen’s mournful sob, and she wrapped her arms tight around Mary, her legs too, and she wanted to swallow the girl whole, absorb her, pull her into herself. She buried her face in Mary’s hair.

“When we go,” Mary said, “will they come with us? I need to look after them. Can they come too?”

“No,” Joy said, “they can’t. They can never leave. This is where they belong.”