Eve slips away upstairs again.

Melissa

Melissa is slicing apples at the sink when Sorrel returns to the kitchen a little later. Now she understands why Eve cooked so much, how soothing food preparation can be, how usefully thoughts are blocked. She looks down at Sorrel. Her thumb is in her mouth and she is wearing a tiara crookedly jammed on her tangled hair. Tears are seeping through her fingers.

Melissa kneels and puts her arm around her. Sorrel leans into her wordlessly.

“Can I stay with you?” she asks after a while.

“Of course you can. Are you being a princess?”

Sorrel nods gravely.

“Where are the others?”

Sorrel’s glance slides to the door. There are children’s voices coming from the playroom on the other side of the hall. Izzy’s is the loudest, Poppy’s chiming in.

Sorrel leans closer. “I want to see the donkeys.”

Melissa takes her hand; the skin feels surprisingly rough. She turns it carefully, noting a small round area of dark crust on the palm. A healing graze, a burn?

“How did you do that, darling?”

Sorrel pulls her hand away. Messing around with candles, probably. Eve always has candles at supper; the children played with them in Greece. She’ll take them off the table, out of harm’s way. She leaves the apple slices under water and finds Sorrel’s anorak from the jumble by the door.

The donkeys are bunched together under the trees; their long heads swing to watch every movement. Melissa and Sorrel walk around the outside of the paddock hand in hand. It occurs to Melissa she should be jogging; she hasn’t exercised since the accident. She slides a hand around her waist then feels guilty. How could her body matter against the grief that presses down on all of them?

“Did they see it, do you think?” Sorrel asks, looking at the donkeys.

Melissa follows her gaze, imagining those large animal eyes turned toward the stumbling child, absorbing the flung-out arm, the fair head disappearing beneath the clear, cold water, watching impassively as the broken surface steadied itself again.

“Maybe they did, darling; it might have been nice for Ash to know that the donkeys were there with him.” A lie—he would have been terrified of the looming faces and sharp hooves; perhaps that’s why he fell.

Sorrel holds her hand more tightly. “He couldn’t breathe. He was trying to breathe but he couldn’t.” She is crying in earnest. “He couldn’t . . .” She starts hiccuping violently.

“I know.” Melissa kneels to take the little girl in her arms. “I know, sweetie. Shall we go back in now?”

Sorrel shakes her head. “I want to say goodbye to them.”

She lifts the child, surprised by her lightness. Sorrel waves at the donkeys, they stare back, and in the light of that calm gaze Melissa feels momentarily reprieved. At least Ash won’t have to bear anxiety or bullying, he will never face fear or violence, never feel anguish over a beloved child. They return to the kitchen where Eric is sitting, staring at the floor. Sorrel clambers onto his lap.