The door slams somewhere below, and I freeze, my entire body tensing. I wait for a moment before the panic kicks in fully, my breath rasping in my ears, my heart pounding as the blood courses through my veins. Quickly, quickly. I have to finish this, before it is too late. They are coming for the children, for me. My steps are silent across the floorboards, as I hurry across the room towards the bed, towards the humped mound beneath the duvet. Her shoulders rise and fall with every breath and I stand for a moment, mesmerized, knowing that that rise and fall will soon stop, that the body will become still and the light will go out for good. And with no light, there is no threat, no fear, no pain. There is silence now, no sound of footsteps, no more slamming of doors. I imagined it, I think, blinking slowly, feeling as if I am underwater, fighting against a tide that no one else knows is there. The smell in the air is thicker now, heavier, and my temples throb, a wave of nausea rising in my stomach. I am so tired. My eyelids are heavy, my limbs like lead. I just want to sleep, the image of my bed in my mother’s house rising to the front of my mind, the thick blankets, the soft, downy pillow, the way it feels to sink into that bed. But I can’t sleep. Not yet. There is still too much to be done. Once I am finished, when this is finally over then I can sleep, for the first time in so long. As my hands reach for the pillow, cast aside at the end of the bed, it’s as if my arms are moving independently of my body. I am not really there, my body just a shell. I pick up the pillow, hold it to my chest, digging my fingers into the soft feathers, feeling the sharp press of a stray quill against my palm. Will they fight? I wonder, as I draw the pillow to my own face, gently pressing it against my nose. I can still breathe, for now. Will they scratch and bite? Will they struggle and try to push me away? Or will it be peaceful, a tiny movement beneath my hands before the breath runs out and there is only stillness? Clouds thicken and gather across the moon and the room is pitched into darkness once more. I let out a breath, my throat sore, my chest restricted. It’s better in the dark – I can’t see their faces in the dark. I lean down over her dark head, sleeping soundly, the pillow gripped tightly in my hands and I begin to lower it, my arms rigid to stop the trembling. They shouldn’t have cast me out. It’s time for all of this to be over.

Chapter Thirty