He doesn’t know how to look after me. He doesn’t give me cuddles like Mammy did. He doesn’t bake me cookies like Granny does.

My lip wobbles. I feel tears settle in my eyes and I’m trying so hard not to blink and let them fall.

‘Your grandad and I will always, always be here for you, darling,’ Granny says, her voice cracking a little. ‘But we’re not as young as we used to be. And Grandad doesn’t keep well. I’m sure you’d much rather stay in your own house, among your own things, anyway. All your toys. Sure, Grandad and I don’t have room for toys.’

‘But if you got a new house …’ I say, trying to keep the pleading tone from my voice.

I watch as Granny shakes her head. ‘I’m so sorry, pet. We can’t do that. I wish we could, but you will be fine with Joe and we’ll always be close by. Always. I promise you.’

‘But Joe’s not my daddy,’ I stutter. ‘He wasn’t even married to Mammy. He’s not my family. I can’t stay with him!’

I notice she’s crying and guilt swoops in. I don’t want to make her cry any more, so I stop talking.

‘It will be okay, my angel,’ she says through her tears and I will myself to believe her.

Click.

‘You have to be brave now.’

He’s sitting beside me. My little hand dwarfed in his. His hand is clammy. Sticky. People have been coming and going to the house all day and it’s stuffy in here. There’s a smell of strong tea and cigarette smoke. People keep looking at me with funny expressions on their face. Telling me I’m a great girl. They bring me sweets and treats as if it’s my birthday.

I want to ask them why.

Click.

Granny tucks me into bed. I don’t want to sleep. Not with Mammy downstairs in that box. Who is sleeping in her bed? Is Joe there? Who will be there if I wake up in the night? I lie awake, afraid to close my eyes. Will they put me in a box like Mammy, too? Tell everyone I’ve gone to heaven?

Click.

I’m sitting on my bed and my grandmother is pulling the hairbrush through my hair. She’s distracted. The brush keeps catching on knots. It hasn’t been brushed properly in a few days. Still, I’m a brave girl. I don’t cry out. It seems such a babyish thing to cry about. Especially now.

She has a new dress for me to wear. Black. With ribbon. I hate it. Mammy would never have made me wear something like this. She knew I loved running about in jeans and a T-shirt. Playing in the garden and getting covered in mud.

Click.

A church. It’s cold. Everyone is crying and looking at me as if I’m the one making them sad. I want to tell them I didn’t do anything wrong. I didn’t hurt Mammy. I swear I didn’t! But Granny has told me to be on my best behaviour.