She listened for a sign that the others were alive, for a breath or a moan. She was certain she could smell other bodies and feel their warmth. Perhaps she should say something. But, no, this might be the wrong time. Besides, her mouth was dry as chalk, and she wasn’t sure her voice would work. She was amazed that no one could hear her heart. It was in her throat, her ears, everywhere.

The boat swayed again, the movement more dramatic.

She attempted to move, only there wasn’t enough room. It was cold, and she’d lost the feeling in her legs. Pins and needles ran up and down her arms.

Her breathing was shallow now, and she worried that there wasn’t sufficient air to fill her lungs. Fear wrapped itself around her. They had been warned that the crossing might be rough, but this was the first time she’d realised they might not survive.

Don’t fall asleep, she told herself. If you do, you might not wake again.

What she had to do was keep her mind active. She tried to visualise where she was going, what she would do there, whom she would meet, how her life would improve. She thought of streets, buildings, people.

It was no good. All she could picture was home.

Part One

Chapter 1

April 2019, Clooneven, County Clare

Jessie

Jessie Daly had promised herself that she’d spend the journey from Dublin to Clooneven preparing her answers. By the time she reached home, every sentence would be honed, every possibility covered.

She should have remembered that bus trips made her sleepy. Barely had they passed the turnoff for Naas than her eyelids became heavy, and her head lolled to one side. She woke two hours later to the sound of rain rattling against the window and the suspicion that the lattice texture of the seat’s cloth had been imprinted on her face. She ran a finger down her right cheek. Suspicion confirmed.

Waking up was always the same. For a moment, everything was bright. Then it would all come back to her, and the clouds would roll in again. She’d tried telling herself not to dwell on what she couldn’t change, but it hadn’t worked. Apart from sleep, nothing worked.

After two bus changes, and a further two hours, she arrived in Clooneven. The number of passengers had dwindled to six. Alongside her, there were two women with hessian shopping bags, a man who’d spent the journey from Ennis telling the driver about his cataracts, and a German couple who slouched under the weight of their rucksacks. One of the women looked Jessie up and down before tapping her companion on the arm. In the sort of whisper that could be heard two streets away, she said, ‘You know who that is, Martina, don’t you?’