What if instead of fighting my nature, I gave in? I giggle at the foul water.

It says back just two words: Join me.

I strip off my shawl and my clothing. Goose pimples spread across my naked skin from shoulder to ankle. I step over the stone ledge, one leg and then the other, full into the fountain.

There’s a certain comfort in rules. You know if you’re good or if you’re bad. And even if you’re bad, you know where you fit. You belong. But I don’t want other folk’s rules to say if I belong any more. I want to say for myself.

I look round at the houses on the square and hear more than one shutter clap shut. Good, folk are watching and will spread the word of what they’ve seen.

I sit down slowly in the water, feeling its cool go up my legs, over my thighs, into my cunny and bottom. I curse this fountain, I think to the square. I curse its water. I gaze from shuttered window to shuttered window. From this time forth, it will be known as the Sin Eater’s Fountain. None shall drink from it or wash in it or touch it again. Except me. Because I can’t be cursed. I am a curse.

16. PICKLED CUCUMBER

THE SHAME AND grief that were in my chest are gone. And I feel an odd thing. I feel just a little bit free. I shan’t be my father’s daughter any more. What has it got me? I will look to my mother, the proper tutor for a sinner. The proper tutor for a curse.

A memory comes into my heart. One from a long time ago. We had gone to the market, my mother and me. Before buying anything, she had me pick up three rotten carrots that a vegetable vendor had thrown into a ditch because they couldn’t be sold. She told me to wipe them clean and hide them in my apron. Always be looking to your advantage, she said. Then, when she bought some carrots, she took three and had me switch them subtle-like with the rotten ones in my apron.

‘You’ve sold me rubbish, you cheat!’ she cried to the carrot vendor, loud enough that folk turned to see who was selling poor goods. He looked at the mouldy carrots and offered to replace them. Mother accepted, and we walked away, three new carrots in her hand, the three good ones she’d bought earlier still hidden in my apron.

I remember Da was calm when I told him all about our clever trick. When he confronted my mother, she got rigid where Da was smooth. ‘They’re all cheats and swindlers. I cheat them before they do to me,’ she said.

‘Mayhap that’s why they cheat,’ Da said back.

I never wanted to be like the Daffreys, but I certainly know how.