I whispered to her, Don’t.

She didn’t hear me or she didn’t listen, I don’t know, but she lifted that knife in her hand and my heart dropped down into my stomach. She turned around to face Daddy Ivan, the knife in her hand, helt out in front of her. Mummy Joy stepped away from her, soapy water dripping off her fingers. She put her back into the corner as far as it would go, afraid to look at anybody. Mummy Noreen stayed down on the floor where she’d been scrubbing.

Daddy Ivan looked up from the numbers in his book. He squinted his eyes at her.

Says he, What have you got there?

Esther lifted the knife higher, turned it so the blade shone in the light from the window.

Says she, I’m going. I’ll cut you if you try to stop me.

Daddy Ivan sat back in his chair and watched her, his mouth tight shut.

Esther says to Mummy Joy, Come with me.

Mummy Joy shook her head and looked down at the floor.

Esther turned to me. Come on, says she, we’ll get help.

I helt my whisht, stayed down by the stove, on my knees. So did Mummy Noreen, with the scrubbing brush in her hands. The safest place to be is on your knees.

Esther started to shake, that blade glittering in the air in front of her. She knew she was on her own, no one was going with her. She took a step closer to Daddy Ivan.

I’m going and you can’t stop me, says she.

Daddy Ivan sat still, looking at her like she was nothing.

You’d better go on, then, says he.

16: Sara

16: Sara

Sara sat on a stool at the island, her arms wrapped around her middle, her sleeves damp with mud. The same mud blended with the milk on her jeans, the denim pulling at the skin of her thighs and calves. She could smell the earth on her, a deep and ancient scent that reached down inside her.

Damien stood at the sink, leaning back on it, the dying day’s light making a silhouette of him against the window. She could barely make out his features, but she imagined his face blank like a doll’s, his eyes a channel to the empty space at his centre.

“So?” he said.

Sara didn’t answer. Words drifted beyond the reach of her tongue.

“Am I talking to myself?” he asked.

She shook her head.

“Then answer me,” he said, his voice remaining low, like a stalking dog. “What were you doing out there?”

She found her own voice, small and weak in her throat. “I went for a walk.”

“Is that what you call it? Look at the state of you.”

“I fell,” she said. “I wanted to see the river and I slipped.”