It was still daylight up above when the door opened, and the two women descended the steps. One carried a jug, the other a bowl. The girl took the jug, drank from it, leaving a white film of milk on her upper lip. The bowl was set on the middle bed, and Esther turned to see what it contained: scraps of bread and cheese, and leftover beef from the night before. The two women and the girl dipped their hands in, brought food to their hungry mouths.

“Take some,” one of the women said.

Esther shook her head and turned back to the wall.

“You need to eat.”

“Don’t want to,” Esther said.

She felt the weight of another person on her bed. A hand on her back.

“Come on. No sense starving yourself. It’ll do you no good. Sit up. Eat.”

Esther closed her eyes and wished herself away from here, knowing it was futile. But then her belly grumbled with want. She turned and pushed herself upright.

“Here,” the woman on the other bed said, and reached out a piece of cheese rolled in bread.

Esther took it, saying nothing, and as she bit into the food, tasted the salt, her stomach growled again. She shoved the rest into her mouth, barely chewing, swallowed it down.

“More,” she said.

This time, the woman wrapped some beef in the bread. Esther snatched it from her and palmed it into her mouth. The little girl passed her the jug of milk, and Esther took a long swallow. It was warm and sweet, thick with cream, and now her stomach threatened rebellion. She covered her mouth and burped, then swallowed again.

“It’s fresh from the cow,” one of the women said.

They had told Esther their names the night before, but she could not pick them out from the tangle of images and emotions in her mind. It was as if the woman had read her thoughts.

“I’m Noreen,” she said.

“I’m Joy,” the other said.

“Esther. Esther Mooney. What is this place?”

Noreen and Joy exchanged a look, an ache of sadness passing between them.

“It’s a farm,” Noreen said. “Cattle, for beef, mostly. They keep a couple of cows for milk, but just for the house.”

“How long have you been here?”

“I don’t know,” Joy said. “Twelve or thirteen years, maybe. I’m not sure.”

“A bit longer,” Noreen said.

Noreen was missing at least one tooth, and her scalp showed pink through her hair. Two fingers of her left hand were bound together with a piece of wood, their flesh puffy and bruised. It crossed Esther’s mind to tell her she should see a doctor, but she caught herself.

She became conscious of the smell once again, the entwined murky odours of this place and these women. Her stomach lurched, and she swallowed bile.

“How can you live like this?” she asked. “Like animals.”