I got into the kitchen as fast as my knee could come along, and put the kettle on. There was a soft explosion of gas because I couldn’t get the match to light but when it did a blue puff of heat blew into my eyes to tell me what it would be like in Hell and that I was getting close. I crept back to the door and peeked down the stairs to see what was going to happen.

There was nothing happening. They were looking down at one of the shopping bags. I saw the bag move – all by itself. It moved and made a scratching noise. I put my head out on to the landing.

‘What’s that?’ said Canon Byrne. ‘Hiding another child away from me in there?’

My dad laughed and said, ‘That’s the one we are eating for supper.’

My mum was pale as paper and shaking. She had the dishcloth folded over one hand and tucked across under her arm, the other hand was covering her eyes not to look while my dad unzipped and pulled a white chicken struggling out the bag. My mum crossed herself.

‘Just chicken!’ my dad said.

It goggled its eyes, twisting its neck round like it was surprised to be there.

‘That’s a cock,’ Canon Byrne said. ‘You’re going to kill it yourself?’

‘Take that one to the backyard.’ my dad was trying to give it to Busola, but she hid behind Canon Byrne and didn’t want to touch it. ‘What’s the matter? It can just run round!’

The white wings fluttered and settled back into his hands. My dad shrugged as if to say it wouldn’t hurt, but the chicken looked round to see what would happen next.

‘You’ve definitely your hands full,’ Canon Byrne said. He turned to my mum, ‘I’ll have that cup of tea.’

We were sitting in the upstairs kitchen, my dad banging pots downstairs and the grunts of wrestling coming off the telly in the living room. Busola was leaning on my mum’s arm, sucking her thumb across the table from Canon Byrne who was blowing on his tea and not drinking it. I put the milk in my mum’s cup and pushed it across to her, thinking I might be able to slip away, but he started before I could get the sugar out.

‘Bridie, they’re to be brought up in the faith. That was the understanding.’

My mum winced and nodded her head, ‘Yes, Father.’

‘What’s going on?’

‘Well ...’ She was lowering her voice so my dad couldn’t hear, ‘I’ve to deal with his people. He’s not very sympathetic.’

‘Is that all you’re telling me? I’m an old hand, Bridie. I’ve been with the White Fathers in his part of Africa, and I know what a white cockerel is. It’s a sacrifice, is it?’