And then Mum entered the kitchen behind us, and Bette dropped her arms in shock.

‘Cathy?’

Mum ignored her and turned to me. ‘Where are your things, Anna? I’ll help you get them together at least. It will be quicker.’

The kettle was rattling away on the stovetop, the lid doing a merry clattering boiling dance, ignored or unnoticed by Bette. I walked gingerly to the kitchen bench seat, needing suddenly to sit down for a moment, the skewer in my abdomen making itself felt.

‘Cathy?’ Bette said again.

‘Is the rest of your stuff in there?’ Mum pointed to the lean-to and I nodded. ‘And what about in here?’ She walked straight past Bette and opened the double doors to the Dutch Room. ‘Were you even allowed in here?’

‘Cathy, I want to talk to you,’ said Bette. ‘I want to see you again. Please?’

But Mum didn’t respond, she walked back past Bette and into the little bedroom. ‘Come on, Anna, come and make sure we’ve got everything. You’re never coming back here.’

Bette moved suddenly towards the bedroom door. ‘No, Cathy, no, don’t take her.’ And she began to cry again. ‘Please don’t take her. Don’t take her away, please.’ She reached out and touched Mum’s shoulder and Mum yelped and slapped her hand away.

‘Don’t you touch me.’ Mum spat the words at her.

Bette hugged her own hand and from then on only watched as Mum returned to picking up all my clothes and shoving them under one arm. Bette cried quietly. How could Mum be like this to lovely Bette? How could she? She was so callous. So selfish. Mum pushed past her, trailing my things, putting them by the back door.

She started ushering me to grab any other things I had in the kitchen. ‘That jumper, that yours?’

Sitting there, I ignored her bustling and closed my eyes. I put my hand low down on my abdomen and tried to breathe. I was so, so tired. I felt like my body was leached of every spark of energy: my exhaustion seemed to inhabit my very bones, it was in my cells, my blood, behind my eyes. Even my skull felt tired.

‘I’ll just –’ Mum started, but then stopped. I opened my eyes again to see her staring at the jumble of stuff everywhere, under the table and on the floor, as if she had just noticed it. For a moment she looked wild – afraid – and then it was gone and her clipped angry efficiency returned. ‘I’ll check in here for some more of your things, and then I guess I’ll head off and leave you alone in this wonderful new life you’re planning.’

‘You don’t have to help, Mum. I can do it.’

But Mum had already moved away through the house, up the hallway to the front rooms. ‘There’s nothing up there of mine,’ I called, but she didn’t come back. Bette and I were alone in the kitchen. Bette looked up across the room at me sitting there, holding my middle. ‘You okay, sweetheart?’ she said.