Mary fetched the big pot from beside the stove, brought it to the sink, and worked the pump to fill it with water. She tried to lift it out of the sink again, but it was too heavy.

“Don’t make the child do all the work,” Tam said. He got up from the table and bolted closed the door to the cellar, slid the padlock through the loop, but did not fasten it.

Esther helped her hoist it up and back over to the stove and onto one of the two hotplates. Mary lifted a smaller pot and brought it back to the sink, filled it, and carried it to the stove’s second hotplate herself. Esther remained by the window as the water heated, watching magpies pick through the gravel on the driveway. It was still light outside and she could see their white flashes clearly as they squabbled. And she could see the open gate at the end of the driveway, the narrow lane beyond. Only the glass between her and it.

An idea came to her then, bright and shining in her mind. Break the glass. With her fist, maybe, then let a jagged edge tear open the veins in her wrist. Bleed to death right here in this kitchen. Or perhaps take a piece and open her throat before Tam could stop her.

Mary touched her hand, pointed to the steaming pots of water.

They took the largest one and emptied it into the bath tub, followed by the second. Then they repeated the action, filling first one pot, then the other, placing them on the stove.

Esther returned to the window. The magpies had gone. The sun hung low over the trees. She thought of Reverend Clarke, his lingering in her bedroom as she changed, behind the door as she bathed. She wondered why men were so wicked. She wondered if her father had been like that too, had he been cruel and she hadn’t known? Perhaps if he hadn’t died, then he would have shown that side of himself, eventually.

Her brain registered the movement at the gate before she was conscious of seeing anything. A car turning in.

Esther’s skin tingled, every cell of her being suddenly crackling and alive. She held her breath. The car’s engine rumbled, its tyres crunching gravel as it approached.

“No,” Tam said.

She heard his chair fall to the floor as he stood. She heard the padlock rattle and the bolt slide. The car’s handbrake creaked as it came to a standstill, side on to the front of the house. A man inside, barely visible.

“Come on,” Tam said, a hoarse whisper. “Get down them stairs. Quick.”

The driver’s door opened, on the other side of the car, and a man stood upright. He wore a dark green uniform, a tie, silvery buttons.