She is pacing the room now. Agitated. For all her bluff and blunder she knows that she can’t really expect to walk away from this.

I look at her, how she looks older than her years. How any vibrancy I remember in her from my childhood is long gone and I wonder how I never noticed it before. It’s enough to make tears spring to my eyes once again.

‘Kathleen,’ I say, my voice soft.

She keeps walking.

‘Kathleen,’ I say, a little louder this time.

She looks at me, her eyes filled with fear. I take her by the wrists, forcing her to stop pacing, forcing her to look me in the eye.

‘Did he do this to you, too? When you were small? You can tell me, you know. You can tell Heidi. You don’t have to protect him any more.’

Her eyes widen and she pulls her arms sharply away from me before raising her hand and slapping me squarely across my right cheek with a force so strong I stumble.

‘Don’t you ever open your filthy mouth to say that again,’ she hisses. ‘How dare you!’

I put my hand to my cheek, feel the heat as blood rushes to my skin, colouring my face. It stings, but not as much as her words.

‘I’m only trying to help. If the police know, they’ll understand. They’ll help.’

‘You can help by keeping your twisted lies to yourself. I don’t know where we went wrong with you, Ciara, but if there is any deviant in this family it’s you! I don’t know how you did it,’ she spits at me, ‘you and that vindictive bitch upstairs. You want everyone to be as sordid and sick as you? Well, I’m sorry, you’re wrong. He never touched me. It was a mercy killing, because I loved him. You couldn’t possibly understand. You have never loved anyone but yourself.’

She is screaming and I can see her come at me again. She’s small, no more than five foot four at most, but she is strong and before I know it I’m being pushed backwards, losing my footing and slipping, my head banging off the hard wood floor so hard that I bite my tongue. I taste the metallic tang of blood in my mouth, try to scramble backwards to get away or get to my feet or just to shield myself from her.

She pulls a book from the bookcase, a thick, heavy hardback, and throws it at me. The sharp edges of the spine hit me right in the stomach, making me retch, the effort sending blood spraying from my mouth on the floor. I can’t speak as I curl up and feel another book land and another … and another. And all the while Kathleen is ranting. No, she’s not ranting, she’s praying. The Hail Mary over and over again.

Pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death.

Pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death.