She couldn’t let Damien know. He would say he was right about her, about the state of her mind. That she was coming undone again. He would talk about doctors and pills, ways to dull the blades that cut at her. She couldn’t face that. Not again.

By the time the floor and cupboards were clean, her shoulders and back ached, and her knees felt as if a hammer had been taken to them. The kitchen had darkened around her, the sun low in the sky outside. She had to use the island to haul herself up on her feet, and her lower back complained at the effort. A deep quiet had settled over the house, and she imagined Damien at his parents’ home on the outskirts of Lurgan, his mother feeding him and tut-tutting about his own wife not putting a decent meal on the table for him.

The quiet pressed in on her, and her own breathing seemed thunderous. Even the birds outside had fallen silent. She turned in a circle, her gaze moving from corner to corner, not lingering for fear of what she might catch a glimpse of. Nowhere in the living world could be so quiet.

Walking on graves.

The idea presented itself again, and she became aware of her own weight on the floor, and what lay beneath. She realised then that she had not wandered more than a few yards from this house since she had arrived here, the lanes and fields unexplored. Now the walls seemed too thick, the ceilings too low, the air inside too dense to breathe.

A walk. Hadn’t she thought of that earlier? Yes, a walk.

She went to the hall and the front door beyond, outside, feeling the chilled wet fabric of her jeans cling to her legs. Loose stones and gravel slipped beneath her feet as she headed for the gateway that led to the lane. She didn’t look back towards the house, and she knew she had left the front door open. Doesn’t matter, she thought. Just go.

Cold out here. Sara shivered as she walked along the lane, avoiding the potholes and the seam of stubbled grass that ran along the centre. Through the hedgerow to her right, she saw the bank leading down to the river, the low evening sun reflecting gold on the sluggish water. She imagined wading in, letting the water swallow her. Letting it enter her, fill her up and drag her down to the bottom to rest in the silt and rocks.