I couldn’t explain it. Not then. Not over the sound of the storm. However bad the rain got, we wouldn’t be going in Pike’s house. He was more dangerous than the lightning. His house looked like he did. Damaged. Battered. Moody. If a house could be a bastard, that’d be the one. I can see it in my mind’s eye, clear as what I’m looking at now. The rusty bones of a tractor and plough stood in the overgrown front garden and there were tattered bedsheets hanging in the windows instead of curtains.

It was like climbing a mountain. The road to my house were never that steep but the wind was pushing us back and every step made my knees hurt and my breath catch in my throat. I hadn’t even realized I was holding her hand! It felt strange, looking back to check on her and seeing her fighting along behind me like she was a child and I was her mam and I was taking her somewhere she didn’t want to go. She looked really small like that. Huddled into herself, her arm in front of her head, clinging onto me for dear life. Maybe that’s what made me strong. It got us up the hill anyways. I’ve never been so pleased to see my own front door. The thing nearly came off its hinges when I opened it, slamming open like it had been kicked by a giant. We fell into the house like we’d survived a shipwreck, soggy clothes and muddy boots and all. It was like we’d been thrown into the hallway by the sea.

We just stood there for a moment, once I’d slammed the door behind. Just leant against the bannister and the wall and got our breath back. I don’t know if I was crying or if my eyes were just wet from the wind but when I think back I remember her all sort of fuzzy, as if I was looking at her through somebody else’s glasses. She looked every bit as bedraggled as I did. Looked like she’d swum to my door through a river and a hedge.

‘I thought I was going to be blown away,’ I said, tearing off my coat. I wanted it all to be normal. Wanted to close my eyes so tight I could wipe out what had just happened. Water was running down my neck and I was soaked to my vest. I had fears of a chill. They always went to my chest. Spent half my childhood slathered in goose grease and wrapped in brown paper in front of the fire. Weak lungs, the doctors said. Strong heart, said Mam.

She pushed her hair back from her face. Wrung out her ponytail onto my carpet. I almost told her off for that. Almost asked who she thought she was. But she was already speaking.