I should have known I wasn’t well. Maybe I did and I was in denial. I’ve felt myself slowing down for the last few months – having less energy, less drive. I was foolish to think, or hope, it was merely my age.

Time is running out and I don’t know what’s ahead of me. Will it be a painful death? Will I just slip away? What will be waiting for me on the other side? I’m a believer, of course. I believe in a God who forgives all sins when the sinner repents, but is there is a cut-off point in His tolerance for wrongdoers? Are some sins unforgivable?

Ciara has been so cold with me. I’m not sure what I expected. A hug? A tearful reunion? It’s been almost ten years or more since we last saw each other. Ten years since she said I was no longer part of her life and never would be again.

I suppose I expected some sign of love. That she cared. She’s not the thirteen-year-old girl I moved out on any more. She’s a grown woman, old enough to know that adult relationships aren’t always straightforward. She should have a bit more savvy by now. Then again, maybe I don’t deserve to be forgiven, by Ciara or by God.

Maybe I’ll ask Heidi to call Father Brennan for me. Get him to come to the house and provide some spiritual counsel. I’m too sore and too tired to get out of this bed save to shuffle to the bathroom and back again. I’m definitely too sore for a trip to chapel.

What will he think, though, if I tell him? Will he stay impartial as priests are supposed to? Will he dole out the penance of a couple of Hail Marys and Our Fathers and all will be forgiven, or will he never think of me the same again?

The clock in the hall is ticking loudly. I used to find it a comfort – a constant companion on quiet afternoons in front of the fire, reading my books with a cup of tea at hand.

Now, though, it’s just reminding me that every second passing is one that I won’t get back, and brings me one second closer to facing the judgement of God.

Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.

Chapter Eight

Heidi

Then

Ciara’s face was incandescent with rage. Her blue eyes narrowed. Her mouth set in a snarl. She was lashing out, swiping at him with her arms while he tried to subdue her.

I was standing in the corner. If I could have pushed myself further into it, disappeared through a crack in the plaster, I would have. I was cradling my favourite doll and trying to understand what was happening. My mother was trying to coax me to come and sit beside her, but I’d never seen such rage before and it scared me.

Ciara was angry and Joe was doing his best to mollify her. Although she was thirteen – tall and lanky with a smattering of teenage acne – she started to cry like a baby. To cry the way I wanted to cry at the sound of their raised voices.