
CRADLE

Tom Hampson
© Tom Hampson 2020. All Rights Reserved.

Email: tgwhampson@gmail.com
Chapter One

Firings happen on Fridays. It is the easiest day. No subsequent gossiping perched around the coffee machine. A fresh, unblemished start on Monday. A perfectly executed exit. Amy knew he wouldn't have the guts to do it alone. Tony would want complicity, associated guilt, bodies to hide amongst. Dan, his secretary, came over.

'Amy, do you have a moment? Tony would like to see you?' Dan shook his head, flustered. 'I mean _Anthony_.'

Amy smiled to herself. Tony's name had burnished somewhat since he entered the glass corner office four months ago. He had also grown a beard. But she had decided that she wasn't going to make this easy for him, even if technically it _was_ her fault. She rubbed her neck and looked at the computer screen. She hoped she looked concerned. 'Hi Dan. I have a client call in five minutes – is it urgent? I know Tony likes to leave early on Fridays so I am happy to come in early Monday if it would suit him better?'

Dan scratched anxiously. He had a lanky, youthful look, with abounding, curly brown hair. She guessed he was a fresh-faced twenty-seven. He wore thick-rimmed glasses which Amy thought looked tasteful and suspiciously expensive. 'I think he would rather do it now.' He said. 'What is the client call?' Dan looked at her computer screen. It had precisely zero applications open. 'Your diary looked empty when I checked. Is it urgent?'

'So urgent.' She said

'Could it be delayed? By just a few minutes?' He scrunched his face when he said 'few', mangling the word into a whine.

Amy sighed. 'I don't want to mess a client around like that, Dan. It wouldn't be fair. I committed to this time already. They prize punctuality.'

'Okay.' Dan said. 'I'll ask Tony. _Ant_. Anthony.' He bustled across the office, his leather shoes slipping on the frayed grey carpet. She watched as he got a static shock on the door handle. He never learned. People were watching her too, from the corner of their eyes, pretending to be pre-occupied with absent work. Tapping mindlessly at keyboards, scrolling through internet pages. She saw them. It's not as if the company had much on. Amy had assisted in creating that absence herself. Hence the Friday meeting.

Dan shuffled into the glass office. Amy could see Tony crane his neck upwards to look towards her. They made eye contact. He looked away immediately and began to whisper to Dan from the corner of his mouth. Perhaps he did not realise the door was closed? Amy was sure the beard would absorb most of the sound anyway. It had grown bushy.

Dan nodded; orders received. He set off briskly from the desk. He surged towards her.

'Anthony asks if you might delay the call by a few minutes. He says it will only take a few minutes.'

'I have already asked them Dan, and they have said it has to be now.' She gestured at her computer screen emphatically.

He looked at the screen. It still had precisely zero applications open.

'He says he will smooth it over with them. He says you can blame him.'

'Blame him?'

'Yes. You can say it's his fault.'

'I don't believe in attributing blame, Dan. We're a team.'

'Yes.' Dan said. He breathed heavily. Amy feared Dan might have grown cynical. She thought he might even be greying. Tony had that effect. He could age a star into supernova. It was the way his instructions never tallied up with his expectations.

'Why don't we wait and see if they call? Maybe they'll forget and we can have the meeting anyway.' Dan hurried. Was he tapping his foot?

'Okay.' Amy said. 'I believe we agreed they would call at five.'

'Okay.' Dan said. 'That was five minutes ago.'

'So it was.'

'So maybe they're not calling? Maybe they forgot?'

'Perhaps.'

The phone rang. Amy looked at it. She kept her face plain. She stared at it. It rang twice. Three times. Well, this was a surprise.

'Aren't you going to pick up?' Dan asked.

'Do you want our clients to think we're dependent on them, Dan?'

He jerked towards the phone, but she beat him to it. She answered the call. 'Hello?'

'Amy, please would you come see me?' Tony said.

Amy put the phone down. She smiled at Dan. 'I guess now will work.'

She stood up and walked over to the office. She tried to walk with the grace of the dignified condemned. She passed the huddling masses, still tapping and scrolling and avoiding her eye. The weekend would allow them to forget. Only Adam looked up. He smiled, and she smiled back. Adam, tall, slender, with his broad shoulders and dense, brown hair that flopped and bounced as he moved. This was their inside joke, ridiculing the process, the charade of the mock trial. He gave her a subtle salute, she laughed. Dan glared at Adam. Amy felt suddenly fearless, numbed by the afternoon pick-me-up, no doubt, but also by the inevitability of it. She wanted an orchestral score to walk to.

In the end, she was just content that she didn't also get a static shock. Her shoes were cheap.

Tony stood up when she entered, beckoned her to a seat. 'Dan is going to take the minutes.' He said.

'Thanks Dan.' Minutes were always ominous.

'Now, Amy, I think you know why I have asked you in today. The incident with the email was unfortunate, but not - _sadly_ \- a one-off.' He really played up the emotion. It was like every word agonised him.

Amy nodded. She looked at Tony. He was a medium height, though it was hard to see behind the desk, which made him look shorter. He had a gathering pot belly and greying hair. His skin seemed sapped and worn and would flush red at the mildest inconvenience. He reminded her of a caricature army colonel, barking orders amid disarray.

'Sensitive information escaped the company. Their whole strategy was in one document, and sensitive personal data was in another. And you just sent it straight to a competitor. Anyone would have been bad. But a _competitor_?'

This was true. However, their strategy was to 'sell more', and Amy did not think this particularly enlightening. Dan was scribbling away.

'And I think we know why this happened.' Tony continued. Was he going to say it? Maybe he could even smell it on her breath now. She would almost be impressed if he mentioned it plainly. Tony always took the scenic route to the point.

'Amy, you have been _distracted_ recently.'

Oh, _Anthony_. 'Distracted?' Amy asked, querulously.

'Distracted.' Tony said, nodding. He looked pained again. 'I think we know what I mean.' Amy said nothing, and a torturous silence thrummed about the room. Dan recorded this silence diligently.

'The drinking.' He finally said. Tony looked down at the desk, his feet. 'It seems to have become all consuming. It's not right. Everyone has noticed it, and many have mentioned it to me. We can't have it. Not any longer. The company is suffering because of it. And this is only the most recent example.' He paused. Rubbed his beard. He looked stoical. 'I'm afraid we have decided to terminate your contract.'

He stopped. Finally, he looked up at her. 'Is there anything you would like to say?'

Amy lent back in her seat. The pick-me-up was percolating through her. Her head was becoming muddled, a cloudy murkiness was beginning to disperse across her consciousness. Blissful. But she needed to think clearly for a minute. Her future would hinge on this conversation.

'Professional.' She said. She let the word diffuse.

'I'm sorry.' Tony said. Dan jotted down the word. Nice guy, Dan. Attentive. She could see why Tony liked him.

'You used the word professional. You said I was no longer professional.' She said.

'Yes,' Tony replied awkwardly. 'You have been unprofessional.'

'Yes.' Amy said. She paused. 'But if I follow the tone from the top, surely that makes me professional?'

'Well, yes, I suppose.'

'And I think I have followed the tone from the top.' She looked between Dan and Tony slowly. She smiled. Dan looked away. He had realised she knew. Her eyes landed on Tony. 'Or should that be tone from the bottom. I'm not sure.'

Tony looked confused. Then his face paled slightly. 'I don't think I understand you.'

'I think you understand perfectly well.' Amy said, battling back the fug. 'You and Dan are seeing each other, are you not?'

'No.' Tony stuttered. 'Why would you suggest such a thing?'

'Tony,' Amy said, leaning forward. 'You have just generously said I'm an alcoholic. Some of us have a particular advantage. We sit alone in bars. We watch.' She leaned back, waved a hand. 'I have seen you two.'

Tony grimaced. He was silent for some moments. 'We'll give you four months notice... as a _courtesy_. I know you're a new mother. It can't be easy for you.'

She swallowed hard. It was a good offer. Three months for her silence. 'Thank you.' She whispered.

'We have disabled your computer. You just need to get your things.'

She nodded. Stood up. Her brain was sweltering. She left the office. Her eyes were beginning to feel heavy. Her skin had iced, her scalp was prickling. She reached her desk. Fortunately, she had packed already. She grabbed her bag. On her computer monitor was a post-it note.

Usual bar. Adam x

She arrived within five minutes. She saw Adam sitting in the corner. He had a beer. He had bought her a glass of wine. He stood up and waved. She hadn't been beckoned over like this in a bar for a long while, since before Rose, before Lyle. She felt so nostalgic it was heart-breaking.

'I got you dry white wine.' Adam said. 'I hope I remembered that right.'

'Absolutely.' Amy said. She swallowed a large gulp. It was slightly warmed. She wondered how long he had been down here. 'Thanks for coming.' She said.

'Not at all. How did it go?'

'The usual. Here is the offence. Here is the hush money.'

'Did you mention that you knew about the two of them?'

'I may have dropped it in.'

Adam laughed. 'I wonder how many times he will be faced with it. _Everybody_ knows. It should be a generous bonus season.'

'I'm still fired though.'

'Liberated.'

'Freedom doesn't taste as good as I hoped. It doesn't taste sweet.'

'You shouldn't have asked for dry white wine then.' He paused. 'Are you going to be okay?'

Amy shrugged. 'They gave me a good pay-off. It should tide Rose and me over for a bit.'

'Do you want to talk about it?'

'About what?'

'About Rose. About everything.'

She shook her head. 'I don't want to bore you. I don't think it'll help.'

Adam looked at her. He gradually reached over and took her hand. 'Is this okay?' He asked.

She nodded and squeezed his hand back. She felt the wine warming her, the soothing, numbing, blanketing richness of it. Once it had sent endorphins buzzing. Now it brought serenity, peace.

'Is she with Mary?'

Amy nodded, and swallowed hard. 'Yes.' She said. She felt a sore throat building.

'She's good with her.'

Amy nodded again, took another large sip of wine. The truth was Mary was agonisingly good with her.

'Now you get to spend more time together. That'll be good for you both.'

She needed more wine. 'Do you want another drink?' She asked. She looked at his glass. His beer was three-quarters full. Adam looked at her emptying glass.

'Sure.' He said. 'Thanks. I can get it.' He began to stand up.

'No.' Amy said frantically. Her knees bumped the table, and the glasses shook. She stumbled to the bar. It was still quiet, but it wouldn't be for long. The bartender had to lean close to hear her order, which she shouted into his ear. Her words were already garbling. The bartender looked at her uneasily, came to terms with making the drinks. She stumbled the glasses back.

Adam took a sip from his old beer. His new one sat untouched. They were silent. The bar was piping out sugary pop and belting anthems. It was early Friday evening, but the giddiness of escape, the musical ascendancy, the chemicals had pushed the crowd into rampant ecstasy. They were singing. Amy would usually find this infuriating, but it filled the conversational void.

'Amy.' Adam said, eventually. He had been chewing over the point for some minutes. 'You know it's not uncommon, don't you? It's perfectly _natural_. You don't have to be... _ashamed_.'

She took another sip of wine. She was close to finishing her second glass. She should have just bought the bottle. She was on a budget now. She had to learn prudency.

'Amy.' Adam persisted. 'Amy, please talk to me.' Her head was dense and cloudy and swirling. Adam took her hand again. She had held such few hands since Lyle. Children scared everyone off. One date, maybe. Perhaps sex. Then nothing. 'Amy.' Adam said again. 'You'll feel better if you tell me. I promise.'

Did she trust Adam? There was something suspiciously easy about him. They had got to know each other oddly quickly. He had barely been there two months. One whole month they exchanged zero words, but yes, she noticed him. Then he surprised her at the coffee machine. She had left her book out. It was an obscure title from University she was re-reading. He had not just read it but had opinions. They moved into discussing how Adam had done some writing himself. He had even had a story published. They joked about how he had actually made the first line: 'It was a dark and stormy night'. He went all shy when she probed further. Quite suddenly, their coalition had formed, the two of them against everyone. Against the office sniping and back-stabbing. They would make jokes about the characters they knew hated them, or at least loathed _her_. The office lothario, did he not know he was balding? The spinster high-fliers who combated loneliness with achievement. _At least they combated it with something_.

She had more wine. At least Adam was onto his second beer now. Her dignity remained intact.

'What are you doing for the weekend?' She asked. She heard herself slurring. Her hand juddered to her glass; she had to concentrate on grabbing the stem, on lifting it level, on bringing it to her lips without spilling.

Adam dropped her hand. He looked into his beer and cradled it with both hands. He shrugged. 'The usual. Wake up on Saturday. Make coffee. Look at the internet. Make more coffee. Maybe see one of my single friends. Go outside and try to dodge the prams. Go home. Coffee. Beer. What about yours?'

Amy laughed quietly. 'Is it bad that I'm jealous of your plan?'

'Honestly.' Adam said. 'Yes. Nobody should be jealous of my plan.'

She brought her glass to her lips. The taste was gone. The liquid was flushed down her throat without savour or pause.

'Well I am. There I said it.' She said. 'It's out in the open. Let's toast honesty.' She raised her glass, sloshing wine onto the table.

'Amy. You have so much going for you. You have Rose.'

She glared at Adam. She hissed: 'Don't say her _name_.'

'Sorry.' He gripped his beer again. 'Please – just – just tell me what's wrong?'

She finished her glass. She stared at the golden droplets trailing down to puddle at the bottom of the glass. There was another sip there. Budgeting.

'I just don't know her.' She said finally. She said it so softly that Adam struggled to hear it above the overwhelming reverberations of the bar; demobbed workers howling, the rattle of cocktail shakers, the affected merriment and laughter of colleagues and couples on first dates.

_'Know_ her?' He sounded confused.

Amy looked down at her glass, which she had pulled beneath her and now grasped with two hands. 'Yes. I don't _know_ her. Not like a mother should anyway. She never stops crying. What kind of mother can't stop her baby girl crying? It's like she knows I'm a fraud, like she's calling me out.' She finished the last drops of the wine. 'It's so lonely, all the time. Rejected by her, by any guy I happen to meet because of her, by her Father. I shouldn't say that. It's not because of _her_. But it's a fact.'

Adam reached out and took her hands again. 'You're not alone. Many women feel depressed when they have a baby. But it mostly goes.' He waited. Squeezed her hand.

'I can't explain it. It's like I don't deserve to be happy with her.'

'Do you want another glass of wine?'

'I shouldn't.'

'You've had a rough day.' He paused, brightened. 'And you know I read the other day that alcohol is beneficial. Humanity wouldn't have developed without it. It eases stress, brings enemies together... it's _delicious_.'

Amy laughed between muffled sobs. 'I think it causes more fights than it heals.'

'But it gets things out in the open.' Adam said. 'And that is valuable. Don't you feel better for just saying what you felt?'

She shrugged. 'A little, I suppose.'

'Then let's drink to that. Let's toast honesty.'

He disappeared to the bar. She fiddled with her glass. She checked her phone. Mary had texted her. ' _Little one is asleep zzz. Staying in all night so just swing by when you're done. Any news yet?_ '

Mary made it seem effortless. Her phone screen was cracked. When had that happened?

Adam reappeared. She saw what he was holding.

'What have you done?' She said, forcing levity. He was carrying an ice cooler; a green bottle crowned with broken gold foil wound around the rim. Luxurious ice cubes tinkled against the bottle, jangling with the metal. He held two champagne flutes.

'We're celebrating.' He said. He lifted the flutes in triumph. 'Your newfound freedom. Just think – no more listening to Tony, watching him flirt with Dan, listening to Jo's loud eating, no more filling in those bloody expense forms just to get back three pounds.'

Amy forced a smile. She took a flute, but she knew she was reaching her limit. She never liked to get too drunk. She preferred constant stupor, desensitisation. Blind, toppling, black-out she tried to avoid.

They clinked glasses. The bubbles sparkled on her tongue, pricked her gums. She swallowed. Adam put his glass down and took her hand again. She smiled at him. It felt ugly. She was lucky to have him here. What was he doing with her? His presence felt unsustainable. She felt obligated to entertain him. She knew he would leave soon, and she wanted to expedite it, so that she could face the disappointment on her own terms.

'I want you to know that I think you're wonderful. Really wonderful.' Adam said. 'And you don't deserve it. What happened today, you don't deserve that. And there are people who know that.'

She let go of his hands and took another sip. 'Is this the real stuff?' She asked, tilting the glass. Her eyes threatened tears again. Her nose was running a little, and she rubbed it with her sleeve.

'Only the best. I told you it's a night of celebration.' Adam said.

'That is very kind, but really - what do I owe you for my share? I don't want you to be out of pocket. You need it for when you see your friend tomorrow. Coffee can get expensive.'

Adam laughed. 'I'll manage. I'll limit myself to one cup. That'll allow my balance to recover.'

Amy nodded thanks, wiped her nose again, took another sip.

'Where are you going to go with your friend?'

'That depends.' Adam said. He went to top up her glass. Then he took her hands again, holding them both across the table. 'It depends where I wake up, I guess.'

'What do you mean - won't you be at home?'

Adam blushed. 'Yes. I guess so.' He stayed quiet. He let go of one of her hands and glugged his champagne.

Amy moved to take his free hand, squeezed it tight. 'Sorry. I get you now.'

He pulled away. 'Sorry, I was being an idiot. I misunderstood. I don't want to make you feel awkward.'

'No. Adam you didn't.' She grabbed his hand again. Then she leant over and kissed him. He was reticent at first, but he gradually kissed her back. The glass and bottle pressed against them. They pulled apart and he smiled at her, and tightly clenched her hands across the table. She felt warmth seeping from him, the weight of his gaze. She didn't want to look at him. She went to kiss him instead. She suddenly had memories of previous nights in these bars, with Adams and Lyles and nameless faces, when life seemed infinite.

'Let's go back.' She said. 'Shall we try to smuggle out the champagne.'

Adam smiled. 'You are on a budget now.'

She grabbed his hand, and they walked out of the bar. She texted Mary. She was a good friend. She was lucky to have her. She would look after Rose for the night. They found the bus, and they reached her small flat half an hour later. They went to her bedroom, undressed. She lay down on the bed, reached out and pulled Adam towards her. She saw the champagne out of the corner of her eyes on the bedside table, gold foil unspooling, bubbles effervescing in the green glass.

'How decadent.' She said. 'My best redundancy yet.'

Adam laughed. He kissed her and reached over to turn out the lights. 
**Chapter Two**

She kept the aspirin in the bedside drawer. They were rarely required, because she typically limited herself. She knew how far down the bottle to drink to. An inch further and she would have a morning headache. Another couple of inches and she would feel nauseous. This was an aspirin morning. She blamed the champagne. She wasn't used to bubbles. They caused a frenzy in her head.

Adam was wrapped around her. He was snoring lightly in her ear. His stubble scraped the skin of her back. He had stayed until morning - this was progress. Amy reached for her phone. A text from Mary: ' _Shall I bring her around? Hope you're feeling okay_.' She dashed off a reply. She crushed open the aspirin foil and swallowed down two tablets dry.

'Morning.' Adam murmured. His voice was croaky and deep. Amy thought of when Lyle would wake up with his sandpaper voice, scraped raw from drinking down the pub and shouting at the football.

'Do you want an aspirin?' Amy said gently.

'Is that the first thing you offer all your guests? Is there a recurring theme to how you meet them?'

She could feel his morning erection pressing against her back. She shifted slightly in the bed.

'Either that or coffee.' She said breezily.

'I wouldn't say no to coffee.'

'I didn't offer coffee. I said I _either_ offer aspirin or coffee.'

'Keep your pills. I'll make us coffee.'

He swung his legs around and stood up. He was shielding himself from Amy's view, and fumbling for his boxers amid the strewn debris on the floor. She had a faint recollection of last night, fragments of lucidity glimmering out from the blurred chronology. This was more than she could say for other partners, who remained permanently dreamy and insubstantial, like holograms. She supposed this resilience meant she had enjoyed being with Adam more. This seemed logical anyway.

'Do you have a coffee machine?' Adam shouted from the kitchen. She could hear cupboards being pulled open, drawers clattering closed. Who would keep a coffee machine in a drawer?

She rubbed her temples. The aspirin hadn't taken effect yet.

'Do you just have instant?' He shouted, the disappointment tangible. Wait till he saw the limescale in the kettle.

'Sorry.' She called back. She paused. 'It is _premium_ blend.'

Silence.

Adam came back into the bedroom. He looked ashen. This made Amy instinctively clench. Her mind began to crank with schemes to rectify his mood, to make him stay. _It was premium blend_! He pulled out his phone. 'I'll get us breakfast,' he said. 'Given I have no plans and nothing to spend money on, I think it can be permitted. Don't tell my financial advisor.'

She wondered if he had a financial advisor.

'No, you don't have to do that.' She protested. She had pulled on clothes and caught sight of herself in the mirror. There seemed to be new bulges, tighter seams in every reflection. She once avoided mirrors for three months, and even now she could walk into a room and identify instantly every reflective surface that threatened her. She stared at her dirty blond hair, her eyes – blue, like her daughters, but without their stark intensity.

'I want to.' Adam said, scrolling the app menu. 'I told you last night – breakfast is the only highlight of my weekend. What do you want?'

He over-ordered. They had waffles and bacon and fresh fruit. There were scrambled eggs, slightly cold but salty. Coffee too. Adam took it as she did, strong and black. She had stopped having milk when she had Rose. This saved precious seconds. Plus she had read that milk contains hormones that can screw the system.

'What are you doing today?' Adam asked, between gluttonous mouthfuls.

She shrugged. 'Looking after Rose. I think I will take her somewhere nice. Make some memories. I don't know where.'

'There are a million options in the city.'

'A million options if you have a million pounds. Fewer when you're on a budget.'

'What about the zoo?'

'That's a _billionaire_ option.'

'Really? It's near where I live. It never looked that expensive.'

'Have you looked at the prices or are you basing this on your general sense of zoo economics?'

'No, I haven't.' Adam said, looking suddenly shy, which Amy thought made him look innocent and sweet. 'I guess not. I meant based on the size of the crowds it can't be that exclusive. Does she like animals?'

Amy shrugged. 'It doesn't matter – we can't go anyway.'

'Come with me!' He said brightly. 'I live there so I'm going that way. And don't they give discounts if you happen to be in the typical nuclear family unit?'

Amy laughed. 'They might offer a Nazi discount, yes.'

Adam laughed, a little generously. 'Honestly, I want to go. I think my credit card even gives me a discount. It'll be nice to actually _do_ something on a Saturday.'

A loud metallic buzz erupted. It was like a grater rubbing the eardrum. Adam winced. 'Is that Mary?'

Amy nodded. 'I suppose.' She went to the kitchen, unlocked the front door via the buzzer without inquiring. Who else would be visiting her?

'Should I wait here?'

'Probably for the best. I'll try get rid of her quickly. I'll say I'm going to the zoo to meet a friend and that I can't wait around long.'

'Does this mean I can come? In that case I don't mind being shamefully hidden.'

'Not shamefully.' Amy said. 'I just don't want to make her jealous.'

Adam laughed. 'Free compliments, free aspirin. I feel I'm somehow incurring debt.'

She went to the door and opened it in preparation. She heard footsteps from down the hall, nothing else. No crying. Contentment. Mary always got it right. She understood Rose. Did she still have the vodka? She came around the corner. 'Hey you.' Mary said. She was bouncing Rose gently, a backpack slung over her left shoulder. Effortlessly chic, with her tall, thin frame, and great bushels of auburn hair that she lugged around by curling across a shoulder. She looked like a mum influencer. 'You doing okay?'

Amy shrugged. 'Thanks for looking after her. Sorry. It was a tough day. They called me in right at the end. Dropped the news.'

'I'm sorry.' She said. Mary could convey earnestness. It was a real skill. She stood awkwardly, still holding Rose, who was sleeping. 'I don't want to wake her.' She said quietly. Amy glanced at her daughter, contentedly snoozing on Mary's shoulder, her little face scrunched up and covered by her slight blonde curls. Amy didn't move. 'I think I should just put her straight down.' Mary added. She waited. 'Unless you'd rather wake her up? Just she didn't sleep much last night.'

'Oh.' Amy said. 'Sorry.' She stepped aside, and Mary hurried into the flat. She went straight to Rose's bedroom and laid her gently down in her crib. She shut the door with theatrical caution.

'You want to discuss it?'

'Not much to discuss. They sacked me. We didn't chat.'

'Did they offer you much?'

'Some money. We'll be fine.' She stopped. 'Don't worry, Mary. I'm able to look after her.'

'If you're sure. I can always help, you know. Take Rose if you have an interview.'

'Thanks.' Amy realised her tone had sounded abrasive, curt. She softened. 'Thank you, really. You have helped me so much. How are _you_ doing?'

Mary shrugged. 'Do you mind.' She said, pointing to the French balcony windows that provided the only light. Amy acquiesced, as ever, and Mary opened the white doors wide. She went to her backpack, plucked out an olive-green pack of straights and lit one. She had been trying to give up for as long as Amy had known her, but she had been unable to shake the habit. 'I've just started at that plastic surgeon. I'm building their online presence.'

'Isn't your uncle a plastic surgeon?'

'Yes, him.' Mary said. She took a drag on the cigarette. 'Not that I would trust him with a scalpel. He is a bit jittery since he cancelled his wine subscription. Oh, Mark and I broke up.'

'I didn't know you were together.'

'Well we decided against a second date.'

'I have to go soon.'

She lowered her cigarette and turned from the open window to look at her. 'Really?' She said. ' _Where_?'

'I'm taking Rose to the zoo. With a friend.'

'Does Rose like animals?'

'She doesn't not like them.'

'Who is your friend?'

'A friend from work.'

'Does she have kids too?'

'No.'

'Oh.' She took another drag. 'Does _she_ like animals?'

'No - I think they just want the coffee.'

'Huh.' She finished her cigarette and looked about for an ash tray. She always did. Then she went to the sink, dashed some cold water across the tip and threw it in the bin. 'I'll shoot off then. I'm thinking of going on a short break to make Mark jealous. What do you think? A weekend with a beach and sun and tanned surfers.'

'A full week would make him more jealous.'

'Not of the holiday. Of the fact I'm having fun without him. But I don't want to antagonise him too much. A _long_ trip suggests I'm unavailable. A _short_ one suggests I'm impulsive and have air miles.'

'Will he want air miles?'

'Everybody wants air miles. They're the only thing that make the baggage doable.'

She went to the door, slung her backpack over her shoulder. 'Look after yourself, Amy. Just remember... you're... _it_.'

Amy exhaled when she heard the lift door beep closed.

'You're it, Amy.' Adam cooed.

She turned around and smiled. 'Let's go.'

*

The zoo was rammed. But they got the discount. Adam insisted on paying. Rose managed to walk a decent distance but got tired after an hour, so Amy carried her; Adam pushed the buggy. They all ate ice creams. Amy bought them all a hazelnut chocolate lolly. Rose loved these. Her eyes were always piercing blue, but Amy was sure they still managed to gleam a little more intensely when she had an ice cream in her hand.

'Can you get a photo of us?' Amy asked. 'I want to remember today. I barely have any photos of us together.'

They scoured for a decent background. They found a raised plinth overlooking the penguin enclosure. Amy lifted Rose up and turned to the camera. Rose started to cry.

Adam snapped away.

'Can we just wait for her to stop crying. I want a photo where we're both happy. I want to claim fond memories for once.'

'Okay. Adam said. Amy began to gently rock Rose. She bawled even more. She tickled her tummy. Somehow, she cried even louder. She turned to Adam and forced a laugh. 'Just take the photo. We can edit in a smile later.' Adam took the photo. They walked away. She said to him quietly: 'Sometimes it's like I don't understand her. It's like I don't know her yet.'

Adam got coffee. They found the gift shop. Rose bundled over to a cascading display of soft toys. She picked a large penguin and began to cuddle it unforgivingly.

'Do you like that?' Amy asked her, wiggling its head. She went for the price tag. It far more than she had expected. But she looked at Rose smiling, squeezing it affectionately, and she knew she was going to buy it, even if it was extortionate.

'Do you want me to get it?' Adam said.

'I'll buy it. She said. 'I want to treat her myself.'

She went to the counter and felt nauseas as the transaction processed. She worked it out as a fraction of rent, utilities. She went to find Adam and Rose outside. She was in her pram. Amy held up the toy and waved it in front of Rose. 'Look who it is.' She said. Rose looked away uninterested. 'It's your _friend_.' She wheezed. She bent low and crouched in front of Rose. She jiggled the toy against her leg. Rose started to cry.

'Let's get something to eat.' Adam said. He started to push the pram away. Amy slunk behind.

The toy bounced forlornly against her leg. She felt her grip loosening. A gap opened between herself and Adam, which she did not rectify. She looked at the toy, with its yawning grin; its bulging, hideous eyes; its slick, tacky fur. She charged with hatred for it.

'Rose, take your toy.' She said, suddenly running to catch up. 'I got this for _you_!'

She thrust the toy into Rose's hands, tucking it under her left arm, against her chest, near her heart. Rose looked surprised at this sudden invasion and glanced at the toy. As Amy watched, her face crumpled and morphed from merriment into misery. Her eyelids fluttered and trembled, her cheeks compressed and reddened. Tears bulged and agglomerated into fat, rushing drops. She grasped the toy in both hands and hurled it. Amy watched as it spun through the air. It arched across the grey sky and dropped into a muddy puddle, throwing up splashes of brown water. The white fur on the penguin's front turned mottled chocolate.

Amy stared at the creature drowning face down in the puddle, like a society victim discovered bloody in their pool. Adam walked over and picked it up. 'It'll go in the washing machine,' he said. 'It'll survive.' Amy didn't respond. She brushed her eyes, turned away.

'She didn't know what she was doing.' Adam said.

'No.' Amy said. ' _I_ didn't know.'

He suggested food again and began to push the pram away. Amy stayed still. She stared at the puddle and wondered if she would ever get it right.

*

'Does she like pesto?' Adam asked. 'Isn't it an acquired taste?'

Amy held the pasta in front of Rose's mouth. 'Come on.' She said. 'You must be hungry after all that walking. I'm proud of you.'

She let the fork dangle. Rose frowned at it. She kept her mouth firmly closed. Amy moved it slightly closer, lent it against her lips. Rose eventually opened her mouth. She chewed for a second. Then she spat the pasta out. Amy glanced down at the slushed pasta, bubbled with saliva. She could feel Adam watching her. She imagined his thoughts: Why did you think she would like that? Do you _know_ your child? Rose was also staring. Her eyes flickered, glazed, and she began to cry. She began sobbing so loudly that neighbouring tables turned towards them. Amy glanced over, locked eyes with one of the mothers, who quickly turned back to her own child. Their child sat contentedly eating fries.

Rose kept howling. The noise filled the canteen. 'Sssh.' Amy said. She reached for a napkin and wiped at the tears. She realised the paper was rough and stopped. Rose kept crying, her hand rubbing where Amy had just applied the napkin. More tables began to look over. Frowns and furrowed brows carved up previously placid faces.

She used her fingers to wipe the tears. Rose reached up and knocked her hand away. She could feel Adam watching. _He saw that._

Amy slammed the tabletop. 'That's enough!' She said, but it came out much louder than she intended. For a second, Rose did stop crying. But Amy realised that she had interrupted all the conversations around her too. The small room hushed. Multiple faces were turned towards her, judging her, questioning her. Rose began to scream. Amy looked from Rose to the dispersed faces, all of whom swivelled away just as her gaze reached them.

'Let's go.' Adam said. He picked up Rose, began to bounce her. He rocked her slightly and tickled her back. She stopped crying, and the quietness in the room was palpable. Reverent. Amy looked at their faces. They were looking at Adam. They looked impressed, adoring.

*

'It was just luck.' Adam said, when they reached her flat.

'It's like you know her better than I do.'

Adam demurred. They sat Rose on the sofa. Amy put on her favourite film. It was an animation about a talking parrot. Rose stared adoringly at the vibrant colours that dashed across the screen. Every now and then a ballad erupted from the speakers, typically a joyous number about self-acceptance.

'I think she likes the film because of the colours rather than the inclusive message.' Amy said. She laughed. 'She loves colours. You know she also loves stain glass windows. I take her to see them in the church down the road and she just _stares_ at each one for ages.'

A new song came on in the movie.

'But she definitely knows this song. She hums along because she doesn't know the words.' The anthem picked up, entering the soaring chorus. Rose began to laugh and hum. She copied the birds who lifted their wings. She flapped her arms. 'She knows the dance. She flaps her wings. Cute isn't it?'

'Do you want me to stay again?' Adam asked from the kitchen. She doubted he had heard a word she had just said.

She turned around. The question had thrown her. 'Sure.' She said. _'Yes_.'

He brought over a glass of wine for her. They watched the film with Rose, snuggling up.

'So, did you make memories today?' Adam said.

Amy laughed, winced. 'I'm praying for amnesia.'

*

The next weekend went similarly, and the one after. Dinners, films, walks in the park. Amy found the days before Adam returned dull and torturous. Most nights in the week he slept at his. The absence of adult company was grinding. Amy realised she took this out on Adam. Her texts turned pointed. She bristled.

Amy went to the fridge on the third Friday. The bottle of white wine was half empty when Adam got in. 'Do you want a glass.'

'Erm – sure.' Adam said.

She glugged out two brimming glasses and handed one to Adam. It had been three days since he was last over, and hence her last true conversation. He sipped. Amy took two large gulps and slammed the glass down on the counter, harder than intended. The glass throbbed and crinkled but remained intact.

'How was work?' She said.

He was cautious. 'Fine. Jo still eats loudly. Tony is still in a mood.'

'Don't _complain_ about it.' She spat. 'You don't know what the alternative is like.'

'Sorry.' He whispered.

She reached over and glugged a top-up into his glass. 'It's fine.' She said. 'It's just indecent.'

'You know.' He said, eyeing the glass. 'I think I may have a dry night.'

She waited. Took another sip. 'Is that meant to be a comment on me?'

He waited. 'There are people who can help, you know.'

'What do you mean?'

'Amy.' He began. He sighed. 'Doesn't matter.'

Amy took another slug of her wine. 'No say what you have to say.'

'No. It was a stupid thought.'

She glugged another dose. 'You think I need help?'

'No.' He waited. 'Actually – I guess. Yes. Yes, I do.'

Amy rubbed her face. She took another mouthful of wine. 'Why do you say that?'

'I think you're depressed. You drink to block it out.'

She clutched her glass and turned away. The song had ended, and the film sagged with dialogue. Rose sat entranced all the same. She lowered her voice. 'Adam, I appreciate your help, but don't tell me how I feel.'

'Amy, that's not how I meant it.'

'Then how did you mean it?'

He looked at his feet. 'I guess I just meant I can help if you want.'

'Well I don't need your help.'

'I don't think that's true.' He gestured at the glass, already near empty.

'It's a treat. It's the one luxury I have.' She looked at the bottle, warming on the side. She began to reach for it, then dropped her hand. 'Why are you saying this now?'

'I guess because I've been with you some time now and I think Rose deserves -.' He stopped.

'Deserves what?' Amy said.

Adam shrugged. 'Forget it.'

'Deserves _what_?' She demanded.

Adam sighed. 'Deserves... _more_.'

Amy went to fill her glass. The wine began to pour. She stopped. She swiped at the glass. It hurtled into the wall. Little shards of glass sprinkled the counter. She began to cry. Rose looked over, confused.

'I didn't realise you didn't think I was enough.'

Adam exhaled. 'Of course, you're enough. I just think you're struggling, like many do.' He stopped. 'I know somewhere that might be able to help.'

Amy shrugged off his attempted embrace, and walked to the sofa, sat next to Rose. 'I want to go to bed.' She lifted Rose up and entered her bedroom. She put on her pyjamas.

'Do you want me to go?' Adam asked, from the next room.

'Do whatever you think best. You seem to know what's best, don't you?'

'I don't know what's best.' Adam returned. 'But sometimes I see what might make things better.'

Amy put Rose down in her bed and turned off the lights. 'I'm going to bed, Adam.'

He slept on the sofa. She was thankful he stayed. An isolated weekend would have crippled her.

*

He apologised the next day. Profusely. They went on more dates: dinners at local restaurants, the odd cinema flick. They slept together. Adam grew to know Rose, and she liked him – loved him even. She would scream and bounce with giddy ecstasy when he was over.

Amy had seen this happen before. There had been men since Lyle, but they gradually grew detached. They wanted children whose blood was their own, who would look like them, reflect them. They soon disappeared, flitted off to forge their own families. She didn't know if Rose remembered them. Maybe she was numbed to it now.

But Adam stayed. Amy spent hours preparing for when Adam didn't return. She rehearsed what she would tell Rose. She thought up neat justifications to safeguard her own self-esteem. Her days became longer. Rose brightened only when Adam arrived home. She would cook for him, and he would push it around his plate. She suspected he was eating on his commute. The boredom, the isolation, they were _changing_ her. She slowed. She felt more agitated, suspicious, angry – more unforgiving. But for some reason Adam stayed. She now depended on his pay-check, the way he picked up little expenses like some genial benefactor.

'How long do you think it takes before a child loves someone.' He asked her. They had just had sex, and he lay sweating beside her. 'It's not something you remember is it?'

Amy remained silent.

'It must be quite quick. Do you think Rose loves me yet?' He stopped. 'I mean, not in the way she loves _you_. But do you think she does?'

'I'm sure she does.'

Adam turned to her. 'I can smell it, you know.'

'What?'

'What do you think?'

'So what?'

'So, you said you were going to stop.'

'You bought it.'

Adam sighed. 'Amy, why do you always shift the blame onto me?'

'I don't.'

'You do. All I want is what is best for Rose, you know.'

She turned away from him. Adam spooned her. Her sleep was interrupted by his constant movement, her thirst, the jagged paranoia of her dreams. She woke up thronged with nausea and ran to be sick. Adam turned on the light. 'I can't keep doing this, Amy.'

'I'm sorry.'

Adam turned out the light without replying.

*

When she woke Adam wasn't next to her. She shouted his name. He returned her greeting quietly, from the kitchen. Mary was there too, sitting beside Adam. He had some papers in front of him.

'What's going on?'

Mary smiled at her. It sent a pulsing chill down her spine. 'Hey you.' She said. She paused. 'Adam called me this morning.'

'What's going on?' She said louder.

'Amy, we want to help you.' Adam replied. 'I've seen this before. My mother went through the same thing.'

Adam stopped, glanced at Mary for support.

'Many... _struggle_.' Mary continued. 'But only the strong ask for help. Adam knows somewhere that can help.' She looked at Adam. They had quite the double act going. He nodded. 'It's a retreat.' She continued. 'They offer support to new mothers struggling with having a child. You go there with Rose, they look after you. They give you counselling. It's a retreat. A holiday.'

'I can't afford that.'

'That's the best bit.' Mary said victoriously. 'It's totally free!' She passed across a brochure. Amy ignored it.

'Why would they do it for free?'

Adam grasped the dangling brochure, plucking it out of Mary's hand. 'Amy, this is an amazing opportunity. There are no catches. They are a community that have been doing this for generations. It's run as a charity – that's why it's free.'

Adam stood up and came towards her. He dropped his voice to a delicate, intimate whisper.

'Amy, you are an amazing mother. But we don't think it's right that Rose has to suffer this. This is something that you need to do.' He pressed the brochure into her hand. 'I just want you to love Rose as much as I do.' 
Chapter Three

Amy took a longer look at the hulk. 'I'm supposed to go on _that_? Why don't I save myself the sinking, and just _swim_?'

She had to get to Sebastian Island, which could only be reached by boat. Everyday fishing trawlers departed from the village of St. Sebastian, bound for distant shoals many miles offshore. But they dropped visitors to the island on their way - it made sense to keep the community sweet. Amy was due to meet a trawler on the dockside. Given there was only one left on the stretch of dock she had been told to go to, she assumed this boat was for her. It looked beyond worn. The sides were scuffed and corroding. There were holes.

The harbour was already quiet. Most vessels left when it was still dark. Only two individuals now remained on the quayside, mending an engine. She sensed no other boat would be leaving today. The wind battled against the clogging aroma of petrol.

Amy looked back at Adam. He shrugged.

'I'll meet you at the station in two weeks. Try and enjoy it.' He smiled at her: 'Treat it like an all-inclusive holiday. A holiday where everyone else is intrusive.' He paused. 'An all- _intrusive_ holiday.'

She found his joke un-hilarious. She waved, boarded. She nodded to the captain, who was busying himself with netting. Adam blew her a kiss from the dockside. He had driven her to the village and stayed with her overnight in the local hotel, which squatted above a pub. They shared a bottle of wine between them at dinner. The sheets had reeked of cooking oil.

She could see the monastery from here. It sheared up violently in the centre of the island. The sun was barely up, but the few sparks of daylight gilded the decaying battlements. The central skeleton appeared black and foreboding, like charred timbers. Towards the horizon the sun dappled the surface of the water and glazed it gold.

Amy clutched Rose at the front of the boat. She was wrapped up in a thick pink coat, with a woolly hat, though Amy could sense cold was breaching the copious padding. Amy watched the looming island. It made her feel nostalgic, like it triggered a memory. She thought of her mother. Her face was half memory, half fiction, accumulated mostly from newspaper cuttings. She feared these cuttings had created her reminiscences entirely. Did she have a birthmark or was that errant ink? Was the left-hand of her face an affliction, or a thumb smudge? Only snatches of memory remained. Nothing was substantive. She remembered no rooms or names. But sometimes smells and sights could trigger the sense of something, make her jump and startle at the prospect of discovery.

Rose started crying. Salt spray was splashing her cheeks. Amy placed a hand across them protectively.

'They go out crying and they come back quiet.' A voice shouted behind her. It was rasping, deep. She turned around. The captain stood behind her. He held out his hand for her to shake.

'I guess the significance of that depends on the length between trips.'

He smiled. 'They can work miracles over there.'

Amy looked down at Rose. 'It shouldn't require a miracle.' She paused and said with forced brightness: 'What change do you notice in the mothers?'

He shrugged. 'Less.'

'If I come back a nervous wreck, they've gone too far then.'

He smiled. His teeth were remarkably bright. 'Lochlin is savvy. My guess is he breaks you down for free. Then rebuilds you for cost.'

Amy laughed. The man smiled.

'Do you interact with them much?'

'Not really. We would but I don't think they're keen. Barely any distance between us, but they have their own way. They keep to themselves.'

Adam had told her about the community on the train. It was once a monastic island, but the Abbey was closed during the Reformation. The Abbey itself was left as a rump of ruins. But the surrounding community had survived. Like all rural communities, it had few young people, and seemed in perpetual decline. The island used to be dominated by agriculture and sheep farming, but the place had long been associated with healing too. This involved both curing the ailments of corroding bodies, and the restoration of spiritual health. Over time they mastered the art of reconciling mothers suffering from post-natal depressive symptoms with their children. In a way, they were visionary, way ahead of their time. They also had a long history of caring for their elderly residents, centering it in community life. The leader of the course was a man named James Lochlin.

'Have you met Lochlin much before?'

'Quite a few times. He always welcomes the guests when we drop them. He'll be on the quay today I imagine.'

'What's he like?'

'How all community leaders are. Charming. Good-looking. Remembers details about you to drop into conversation. I once told him I had a partner called Andy and he still asks how my wife is doing ten years later.'

'You're married?'

'Not quite.'

Amy nodded. 'Does she not want to?'

'He is perfectly happy as we are.'

'Oh.' Amy laughed. 'Sorry. I shouldn't have asked. I guess I just repeated his mistake.'

He smiled. 'Well, yes, Lochlin is under the impression Andy is a woman. But she is _quite_ the woman. I told him last year that she won a local enterprise award for cheesemaking. I think she might be in line for an MBE. Might delay it by a year though. I want it to be realistic.'

'Is that like Andy?'

'He sometimes eats cheese. He doesn't really win medals.'

The boat was almost at the island. The sun was gaining height and dousing the world in treacly orange. She looked ahead. She could see a man standing on the quayside. He had his hands clasped behind his back; his feet planted a foot apart. Amy had once tried to adopt a similar power stance when doing a presentation at work. The dignity of her pose had been undermined by a large tear in her tights up the inner left leg.

'That's him.' The captain said. 'He always stands like that when we come in. It makes me feel under pressure. Makes me think I'm being tested. I hate being tested. I have fewer medals than Andy.'

The boat approached the quayside and came alongside the jetty. It looked old, unstable, riven with rot. She saw Lochlin for the first time and she clutched Rose a little tighter. He had a face that seemed familiar, welcoming perhaps. Thick tufts of salt-and-pepper hair sprawled from his head. He was tall, broad-shouldered, classically handsome. His face was weathered, cut with light lines and shallow wrinkles that made him seem dignified. He raised his hand and waved at her. It took her a second to realise she was expected to respond. Her wave was panicky, and quick.

'Quite the regal wave you've got there.' He shouted at her. The boat clashed against the jetty. It juddered and shook. 'Careful.' Lochlin shouted. 'It would be an awful bad start if you dropped her overboard. Then we really would have trauma to deal with.' He laughed, jumped down into the boat and held out his hand. 'My name is Lochlin. Everybody here uses my surname. But you can call me James too.'

Amy introduced herself. He smiled as she said it. It was a magnetic smile.

'And who do we have here?' Lochlin said. He took Rose's little hand in his and shook it very gently. She stared at him quizzically. 'Well that's quite a reticent handshake, Rose. I imagine you wave just as regally as your mother. How was the trip?'

'Good thanks. We came last night.'

'It's always best to come over at dawn. It never looks better. Thank you, John, for bringing Amy over. How is your wife?' He pointed at his belly. 'She's still making the cheese, I see.'

John laughed. 'She is indeed. She actually just got an MBE.'

'Well do pass on my congratulations.' He waited. 'And you know that's all the more impressive given that tax problem of hers you mentioned.'

'Yes - indeed,' John said curiously. 'I'd forgotten about that.'

'I'm glad to hear it's resolved. Anyway, don't let us keep you.' He grabbed Amy's suitcase and hauled it onto the jetty. 'Have a good trip!'

John nodded. The engine fired up and the boat began to chug away in a burst of diesel fumes. Lochlin turned to Amy.

'What John doesn't realise I know his wife doesn't own a cheese shop because I know she doesn't exist. Every visit he tells me some new lie about her. In return I make up my own fact and pretend he told me. You have to take any entertainment you can find on an island like this.'

Amy laughed. 'How did you find out?'

Lochlin laughed. 'It's very simple. I love cheese. I was always going to find out.' He began to walk up the jetty, then stopped. 'I should have said a proper welcome.' He gestured towards Rose, then held up his hands to gesture at the expanse behind him. 'I hope you both find your stay transformative.'

*

They went to her house first. It was a small stone crofter's cottage, nestled in a thick clutch of trees. A winding stone path snaked up to a glossy blue door, that looked recently painted. Inside, there was a wood-burning stove, and a sprawling sheepskin rug. A smart grey sofa completed the living room. A small bedroom with a double bed was accessed through a low doorway. It had an oak cot in for Rose.

'I hope this will work.' Lochlin said. 'I've always been a bit unsure about that sheepskin rug though. I'm distrustful of shaggy rugs. They can hide all sorts of sin.'

Amy smiled: 'You shouldn't come over to my flat. I rely on thick rugs. Walking into my living room is like walking into a wheat field.'

Lochlin laughed. 'It should make you feel right at home then.'

'It's far too nice for me to feel at home.'

Lochlin nodded. 'You know, I find it amusing how this cottage was built for some poor shepherd years ago, now you get these as luxury getaways. You get tiny houses in cities built for factory workers, and now bankers bid for them. Sometimes you step back and wonder how much we've really progressed.'

'I can't imagine there has been much change here.'

'Very little,' he said. 'Even the people are constant. They've been here for longer than you would fear.'

'I think Rose will enjoy being out the city for a change.'

'Well she is very welcome to stay.' He took her hand again, and she laughed. 'You can stay as long as you want.' He said to her playfully. He turned to Amy. 'As, of course, can you. But I imagine you'll find two weeks more than enough. Everybody has before. They pretty much jump onto the boat before it's docked. No wonder John has a very low opinion of me.'

She laughed.

He continued: 'Shall I give you some time to get unpacked and rested. Then I can give you a tour of our community, perhaps?'

*

She was woken by loud knocking.

She was groggy, shaky. Her mind stale from the previous evening's wine. She went to open it. Lochlin stood there, beaming, with a thermos. 'I hope you don't mind, but I thought we should get going. I brought you some coffee. I hope you drink it. Last time I had one of these by myself, I went crazy. I became convinced we should open a music festival.'

'I drink it.' Amy yawned. 'We can go now if you want.'

'I'm guessing from that reaction you're not supportive of my music festival?'

Amy picked her coat up from the sofa. She turned to get Rose from the bedroom. 'She's sleeping.' Amy said.

'Don't worry. This might actually be a good opportunity to introduce Maeve.'

'Who?'

'Maeve.' He paused. He gestured to the sofa for her to sit. 'As part of the treatment it is quite important that you get some time to talk. Maeve has kindly agreed to look after Rose for little stints while we're talking. She is waiting outside. Do you mind if I introduce you?'

Lochlin stood up without waiting for a reply. He returned with someone else in tow. Maeve, she presumed. She was the same height at Amy, quite stout, with a round, cheerful face that flushed red in the cold. Her beaming smile was intimidatingly happy.

'Hi, Amy.' She said. 'So nice to have you here. I'm Maeve.'

'Hi.' Amy said. There was an awkward silence, and they all stood smiling ecstatically at each other. She finally added: 'Do you need anything from me? Do you want me to tell you about Rose? She normally gets hungry when she wakes...'

'Not at all.' Maeve interrupted. 'You just focus on yourself whilst you're here. We're here to help. I can watch over Rose whilst you take a look around.'

'Right okay.' She said. She felt like an invalid. She half-expected Maeve to start trying to feed her biscuits for sustenance.

'Shall we go?' Lochlin said after some seconds pause.

'Sure,' Amy replied. She looked at Rose sleeping in her cot, looking so peaceful and content. Maeve saw where she was looking.

'Honestly, I know it's difficult, but try to not worry about a thing. Just focus on yourself. It's what you're here for.'

Amy looked at Maeve, who was smiling at her with an overwhelming, claustrophobic warmth. She eventually nodded and followed Lochlin through the door.

*

'I thought we could take you to the Centre first. Though it's not much of a Centre. We have a small shop which is run by Ruth. It doubles as a pub. Triples as a library. Quadruples as a village hall.'

'Sounds like quite the monopoly Ruth has going.'

'She's cornered every market alright. Rumours are she once banned someone from her shop, and they had to leave the island. They were going to starve. Her one weakness is smoking. She smokes away her stock before anyone else has a chance to buy them. Oh, and nuts. She is allergic to nuts. Doesn't sell them.'

Amy laughed. 'How long have you lived here?'

'Oh.' He said. 'Too long really. Several lives worth.'

'Would you ever leave?'

'Probably not. Too late now. But we all have to leave eventually.'

'I hear you take very good care of your elderly here.'

'We do.' He looked momentarily lost and scratched his chin. 'It's the least we can do for them, after all they have given us. We're a strange little society. I think we all feel this guilt, like we've inherited a burden. Looking after them well is one of the ways we try and absolve it.'

'I can't think of a more tranquil setting.'

'Everybody says the same thing. Time seems to slow here. It begins to mean nothing after a while.'

Amy paused and considered this. 'That's because nothing ever changes. You need change to feel old. Otherwise you have no points of reference. Radicals age quicker than anyone.'

'I don't know if that sounds cynical or insightful.'

'Just as long as it doesn't sound radical. I can't be depressed and aged.'

Lochlin laughed. They reached a long stone building, which looked like a recently refurbished outhouse, or barn. It was built of large, rounded stones, with fresh mortar cementing them. Already moss was mottling the cracks. The roof seemed newly tiled, with stark, terracotta slates that stood out against the emerald trees.

'This is where they live. We spent last summer doing the place up. We even added air conditioning. There was that hot summer a few years ago, and we decided they needed air conditioning. Let me give you a tip. Never get air conditioning. You have to own an oil field to get enough energy for it. I think it was installed wrong.'

'You should ask them to fix it.'

'Sadly, I installed it and I am proving hard to negotiate with.'

Lochlin showed her to the door and held it open for her. There was a chemical smell inside, of floors slick with bleach and detergent. She could hear the air conditioning humming. The hallway was small and led straight into a wide corridor, with more doors leading off. The walls were a sickly yellow, the colour of stale cigarette smoke. Maybe she stared at them too long.

'They were painted white but then Ruth spent a day here.' Lochlin said.

She laughed. 'It's peaceful.'

'It's jaundice.'

He pointed at a door. 'They mostly sit in the main room in the daytime.'

He opened the door. Amy had only been to a nursing home once before, when she has accompanied Mary in her grandmother's final days. Given her absence of immediate family, or indeed extended, remote family, her opportunities to visit were limited. But from that one visit she remembered the morbidity of such places. She remembered the lazy schedule propped up in the main room. She assumed they laid on activities to make the day pass quickly, but these events sounded so tedious they could elongate seconds into days. People might even start ageing backwards. The air had been stale, the heating set too high, the sofas and chairs perched in front of the television permanently scared with dips and depressions from incessant use.

This scene was better. Wide windows looked out over the sea, which foamed and frothed as waves broke against gigantic granite rocks. But in others, the image was the same. Five or six individuals sat in front of a television. Some were in wheelchairs; some were in the worn armchairs. They were watching cartoons.

'This group is in a bad way.' Lochlin said, in a whisper. 'They have mostly lost their cognitive ability and are rapidly deteriorating. But everyday people come in and chat with them.'

'Who comes?' She asked.

'I would say everybody on the island tries to come in twice a week.'

'That's very good.' She paused. 'It's much more often than out there.' She gestured with her head towards the sea.

'It's what it should be.' Lochlin said. 'Death is natural. But it should also be bearable. For someone to find it bearable, they need to know that people can bear them. People ignore the elderly. They make them feel unbearable. It is wrong.'

One of the men adjusted himself in his seat. Amy heard him defecate. She looked over at him. She saw a trail of dribble slide down his cheek. Lochlin smiled sadly at her. 'Dignity has many forms.' The smell prickled her nostrils. She fought the urge to cover them.

'I need to help him now. Do you want to step outside?'

The others in the room were staring at the man. She suddenly wanted to escape. The memory of Mary's grandmother sleeping comatose as they tried to rouse her rushed back. Again, she felt that sense of lurking memories. Perhaps they called back to when she was very young, before her memory calcified.

'I'll meet you outside.' Amy said.

They were all watching the cartoons again. One of the women started crying. It was very loud for a few seconds, then she sobbed silently. She turned from the television and stared at Amy. They locked eyes. The woman had a lined face. It was weather-beaten and pockmarked. She was thin and sat hunched forward in her wheelchair. But Amy focused on her eyes. She thought they looked young. Eyes could be ageless.

She left the room. She craved fresh air. She was ashamed of how the scene had affected her, but she truly found this spectre of decline terrifying. She wondered if that was because she felt unfulfilled. She wondered if successful people embraced their end with confidence, assured in their final scored significance. Perhaps.

She thought, too, of them watching cartoons, and the circulatory of existence. People went from the arms of a mother into the arms of the carer. People returned to their infantile nature.

Since her mother had died, her existence would lack this symmetry. 
Chapter Four

Her mornings had a routine. She would wake when Rose stirred, as the first light simpered through the hatched windows. Then Lochlin would strike her door at about seven thirty, when the sky was still hazy and diluted. He brought a thermos of scalding, robust coffee, hot rolls and viscous honey which came from a clutch of beehives they kept on the island. Apparently, they had existed since the days of the monastery. Sadly, they no longer brewed mead.

Lochlin had suggested that she shouldn't drink. The suggestion sounded like an instruction. She had followed this instruction with unwavering commitment since the exhaustion of her miniatures. The sudden absence of sugar from her diet meant she spread the honey more liberally by the day. But every morning she did wake with a clearer head, and she did not miss the sweats and juddering dreams. But she still longed for detachment and release, and in the evenings, when she was alone, she craved something sharp.

After breakfast, they walked. She had already seen most of the island, except for its northernmost tip. She visited the carcass of the monastery, now just shattered walls, shelled windows, and precarious buttresses. They walked through the various farms that dominated the island. They followed the coast and shouted above the splintering waves.

She supposed this was the treatment. Lochlin asked her about herself, her childhood, her relationship with Rose. Sometimes this caused friction. Maeve looked after Rose when they were out. Sometimes this also caused friction. Rose seemed to brighten and cheer when Maeve arrived, usually as they were finishing their nuclear coffee. Amy disliked her immensely.

'Do you blame your mother?' Lochlin asked her one morning. It was a grey morning, with a slight chill in the air.

'I don't know her enough to blame her. It's like blaming a concept - or some distant grandmother.'

'What age did she die?'

'When I was four. She was involved in some shady dealings, and it was thought for my protection I should be moved far away.'

'What was her name?

'I don't remember. I was never told. I was taken in by a foster family who committed to a fresh start. They scrubbed out my past.'

'Do you blame them?'

'I sometimes wish they had realised getting a foster child would be difficult. They were like one of those families who get a dog for Christmas and take it to the pound in January.'

'How long did you live with them?'

'A few years - until I was about seven. Then I went to another family. Same issue. And as you get older, orphans become less desirable. Just like dogs.'

'You sound like a dog person. You've mentioned them twice.'

She smiled. 'Barking up the wrong tree there.' Her joke went unappreciated. Adam would have laughed. 'I don't have any pets. Although I've always thought they're good to have, particularly with children. I just felt passed-around.'

'And you don't blame your mother?'

The question riled her. 'No. I told you I don't.'

'Do you ever see Rose in the same position.'

'Why would I do that?'

This was a lie. In dark moments, her memories would unspool like little films and Rose would play her role. Sitting in grubby government offices as heated voices rose beyond cheap doors. Turning up at a new doorstep with a bag containing all her earthly belongings. Fresh faces, new families, sudden siblings, until they were worn connections, and history.

'Do you worry that you'll fail?'

'I think everyone has self-doubt.'

'What is your biggest doubt when it comes to Rose?'

She paused and walked along the path a little further, kicking the gravel with the tip of her boot. 'That I don't know her. That other people understand and know her better.'

'What sort of things do you think you don't know?'

'What she likes and doesn't like. How to make her happy.'

'Do you ever think others are better at looking after her than you are?'

She paused. 'Yes.'

'Do you think Maeve is?'

She wheeled around to face Lochlin. 'Is that question meant to provoke me?'

Lochlin smiled. 'Provocation can accelerate honesty.'

'Or it can shut people down.'

'I think it shuts down those who don't want to heal. But you're one of the strong ones, Amy.'

She nodded. 'Sometimes I think it's safer if I don't heal.'

'Why?'

'I guess I think the distance protects her.'

'Do you think you deliberately create a distance between you and her?'

She shrugged. 'Not consciously.'

'Put it this way. What do you think you don't know about her? '

She shrugged again. 'How to stop her crying.'

'All children cry.'

'She cries more than most children. I think she must be permanently dehydrated.'

'How long have you been drinking?'

She shook her head and exhaled. They walked on a few more yards. 'Since I was a teenager. I used to drink cans of cider. Now I'm classy. I nurse wine.'

'What happened to Rose's father?'

This question iced her. She listened to the crash of the waves, the gusting wind. 'He left me after Rose was born.'

'Do you resent that she cost you your partner?'

'I resent that he left me.'

'But do you resent her for that?'

She shrugged. 'I don't think so. I think I resent the fact that she won't have someone to balance me out. I hate what he did to her by leaving.'

'You think you're inadequate?'

'It's more like I know that I am - even if I don't know why. It's like I can feel this fault inside me. Like it's baked into my bones. I can only compensate for it.'

'Have you avoided getting close to her?'

'I feel this need to be careful when I'm with her. Like I need to watch what I say, check my instincts, because I can't trust myself to be natural.'

'Why can't you trust yourself?'

She threw up her hands and stared at the frothing sea. The skies were choking grey, and every second seemed to threaten hurled raindrops. 'I think that's enough questions for today.'

Lochlin stood beside her and smiled. 'We can go back if you want?' She remained still. Her eyes followed a raggedy, tarred seagull as it circled the cliff edge. She thrust her hands into her pockets and kept still. 'That's it, isn't it?' Lochlin said. 'You think you're helping her by staying away.'

She turned to face him. 'You don't understand. And what gives you the right to demand answers from me? You have spent an hour ripping away at me and what do I know about you?'

Lochlin shrugged. 'I guess I justified what I do so long ago I've forgotten the justification.'

Amy was still angry. 'You tell me something about you?'

'Like what? I think the focus should be on you.'

'I think it'll help me open up – it'll build trust.'

'Okay. I'll try anything once.'

'Have you always lived here?'

'No, I haven't.'

'Where did you live before?'

'I said I'll try it once, not twice.' He smiled. 'I was in the same city as you.'

'Why did you leave?'

'You really are dogged _,_ aren't you?' He shrugged. 'It was time for me to leave.'

'Have you ever had a partner?'

'Yes.'

'What happened to them?'

'She left me. I don't know why. She just never came back when she was due to.'

'Oh.' Amy said. This sudden exposure threw her. She hadn't expected vulnerability. He seemed so assured. 'Do you have any idea why?'

Lochlin shrugged. 'Perhaps she found me unbearable.'

'And why would she find you unbearable?'

'Perhaps it was my undimming need to help others. Either that or my sanctimony.'

Amy laughed. She waited some moments, let the pent-up distress leak away. 'I know people who have divorced because there was disagreement over stacking the dish-washer. I think the divorce was messy. The lawyers took the house.' She paused. 'And the dishwasher.'

Lochlin laughed. 'You make me laugh, Amy. Like nobody has in a while.'

They looked at each other for some moments.

'I think it was time we were getting back.' Lochlin said, quickly. 'We can walk slowly if you'd like though. We never have been an island that moves quickly.'

They followed the path along the coast. The sky opened, and fistfuls of rain came down.

*

They reached the cottage as the light was fading. The windows were dark. This was uncommon since on each previous day they had returned to find the windows glowing. The small wood burner would usually be flickering merrily. Maeve and Rose should be laughing rapturously in the living room.

Amy turned to Lochlin. 'Where are they?' She already sounded anxious. 'It's getting dark.'

Lochlin shrugged. 'I'm sure Maeve has just taken her for a walk. They will be back soon. Let's go inside and get warm.' They went inside and sat on the sofa. Lochlin began to arrange the wood burner. He struck a match and held it to tightly scrunched balls of newspaper until they ignited. The wind was swirling down the chimney, creating a melody of whirring music.

Thirty minutes passed. Lochlin tried to initiate a conversation several times, but Amy let his attempts lapse.

'I think we should go find them.' She said, standing up with purpose.

Lochlin sighed. 'Fine. But I'm sure everything is well.'

'If Maeve is making me worry then everything isn't well.'

They left the fire burning in the stove, took their coats and headed outside. It was now entirely dark, and the light from the windows only lit the initial stages of the path.

'Where do you think they will be?' Amy asked.

'I imagine they are in the Centre somewhere – so let's try there first.' The night had turned cold, and their breath erupted in clouds of steel.

They walked quietly to the shop. They looked in. There were a few people sat down. Most were drinking a sharp spirit that Amy had been told was like pastis. They sat at worn wooden tables. When they moved their chairs scrapped the slate floor. They could hear this even from outside.

Lochlin opened the glass door. 'Have you seen Maeve?'

One person looked around. He caught Amy's eye and smiled in a grimacing, disconcerting way. Large gaps cratered his teeth. He looked like he might start laughing. She wanted to walk away.

'I think she is with Ruth. I'm looking after the shop for an hour.'

Ruth. Amy had decided she respected anyone who could change the demographics of an island based on who she allowed into her shop. The news she and Maeve were friends was crushing.

'Ah.' Lochlin said, like something had just clicked. That makes sense.' He shut the door.

'Why does that make sense?'

'Oh.' Lochlin said. 'No particular reason.'

'Are they friends?'

'No, they're mortal enemies.'

'In that case I think Ruth and I might get along.'

Lochlin laughed, and after a second, so did Amy. 'I know it's so dumb.' She said.

'Everyone has an irrational dislike for _someone_.'

'I said it was dumb not irrational.'

Lochlin laughed again. 'I feel you are always ready to pounce on what I say.'

'That's quite the complaint from the counsellor.'

'There you go again.' He said, laughing. 'I'm constantly on the defensive with you. And I'm not a counsellor.'

'What are you then?'

He shrugged. 'Sage. Guru. Spiritual leader. I think these are more fitting.'

'I wish you would lead me to more spirits.'

Lochlin scowled. 'You are doing so well, you know that... _right_?'

She turned to look at Lochlin and smiled. She nodded. 'Yes.'

'We're here.' He went up to a door and knocked it loudly. The door sounded thin and rattled in its frame. Amy could hear laughter from beyond the door. It sounded like Rose.

'Hello.' Lochlin shouted. He pushed at the door, and it swung open on whining hinges. The open doorway unleashed more giddy laughter. From the doorway she could see straight down into the kitchen beyond. It was lit in a yellowish glow. The light looked chemical and sickly, like sulphur and mustard.

She saw then that the laughter then was not from Rose.

An older woman sat at the table. Rose was sat cross legged on the table in front of her. Amy saw the woman laugh. And then Rose laughed, as if amused by this display of revelry. When Rose had finished, the woman laughed again. It was like she was matching Rose's pitch precisely. The tone of the laugh, the inaudible parts, the way it bounced through its joyous rhythm, the woman created a perfect replica. It was a flawless, faultless performance. It was masterful mimicry.

The woman caught sight of Lochlin in the doorway and immediately stopped laughing. Amy thought she looked guilty, as if she had been caught out.

'James.' She said. 'I wasn't expecting you. Has it got that late?' She looked to the grimy window. 'Yes. It is quite dark. We were just entertaining this little one.' She looked up, and Maeve peered around the corner at them both. She had been hidden before.

'Rose.' Maeve said, to Ruth more than anyone.

'Yes, Rose.' Ruth added. 'Little Rose.' She went for her cigarette which was perched in an ashtray on the table, unspooling smoke. She took a long drag on it.

Rose saw Amy and stayed quiet. She looked between everyone in the room. Then she held out her arms towards the doorway where Amy and Lochlin stood, even though it was a good distance away and drenched in darkness. Maeve stood up and took Rose in her arms. She began to bounce her as she walked towards them at the door.

'Why did you take her?' Amy said. The words came out before she had considered them, and her tone was aggressive.

'I'm sorry.' Maeve said. Her voice was as loud, and cheery as ever, as if she could not possibly comprehend Amy's distress.

'Why did you take her? I was getting worried.'

'I take her every day, Amy.' Maeve said. 'Whilst you are getting help.'

'Not in the daytime. In the evening. We had to come out and search for you both in the dark.'

'Oh.' Maeve said. 'I guess we don't see the darkness as much of an issue here.'

'Maeve.' Lochlin said sternly. 'I think Amy just wants to know where Rose is and doesn't like surprises.'

She exhaled and paused. 'You're right. I'm sorry. We were just having so much fun with Ruth here that we lost track of time. Ruth is so like Rose in her way. They might be the same person.'

'Let's get back.' Lochlin interrupted. 'I'll bring some dinner over.' He turned to Amy, with sudden enthusiasm. It felt affected. 'Did I tell you about the dinner we will be having in a few days time? You are very welcome to come. No, I insist you come. It's to celebrate the full moon, when they would typically begin preparations for Summer.'

'The full moon is next Friday. It's when all sorts of ghouls and grisly things come out.' Maeve said.

Amy smiled at Maeve. 'You have a habit of turning up early in the mornings too.'

Maeve brought Rose over. As she handed her over, she squeezed Rose's arm slightly. Amy took her, and she began crying. Maeve looked at her sympathetically. 'Have a good evening. I'll see you tomorrow. I hope you manage to get her to settle.'

*

They went back to the cottage. The lights and emanating heat had never felt more inviting. She went inside and put Rose down on the sofa. Lochlin stood in the doorway.

'Ignore her. She wants what you have, I think. But she is very good with her.'

Amy looked into Lochlin's eyes. These eyes looked old. Perhaps eyes weren't ageless after all. He had become an ally, a partner. She felt a sense of insularity with him, the same sense of comradeship she felt with Adam in the office when battling its petty politics. They were two fighting off an affronting world.

Lochlin smiled at her. 'Look how quiet she is now. She looks so happy.' He ruffled Rose's hair and went to the door. 'Sleep well, Amy.'

He never did bring dinner.

Amy slept. Lochlin appeared in her dream. It felt so intimate and familiar it was like a recovered memory.

*

Lochlin appeared the next morning, and he looked like he had slept badly. Heavy, purplish bags sagged beneath his eyes. The coffee was weaker.

They went out quickly. He asked her straight away: 'Tell me about your mother?'

'What do you want to know?'

'Who was she?'

'I can barely remember.'

'Tell me everything that you can remember.' He looked around. 'See if you can gather enough memories to last us until we reach the sea over there.' He pointed towards the end of the path, which steered around the cliff edge.

Amy looked at their destination. 'Well either we better walk fast or else I'm going to have to speak very slowly.'

Lochlin nodded at her. He seemed frantic today, hungry for the information she might impart.

'I can remember a sitting room. And she was there. It was so seventies, and my memory may have added bits in. I think there was this fabric sofa in a horrible brown. The wallpaper was yellow, but maybe that was cigarette staining.'

'This is furniture. I want you to tell me more about her.'

'She is sitting there. She is kissing another guy. Just ignoring me.'

Amy stopped. Lochlin looked at her. 'We haven't even got close to the cliff edge.'

She smiled. 'That's all I've got. You get a cliff-hanger instead.'

'She had an addiction issue, right?'

'I don't think I mentioned that, but yes.'

'Where did you live?'

'With her?' Amy thought about it carefully, though it was needless since she had no idea where they had lived. She had been moved a significant distance to the first foster family. Later she found out there were supposed threats. People had tried to claim her who were not her family. 'I don't know.' She relented. 'It was so long ago.'

'Oh.' Lochlin said. He sounded disappointed.

'Are you okay?' Amy asked him. 'You look tired, and you seem more agitated than usual.'

Lochlin glanced up at her. 'Yes.' He said quickly. 'I'm fine.' He looked away. He turned around smiling. 'Are you going to come to the dinner?'

'Of course.' Amy said. 'I don't have any other plans.'

Lochlin gave a mock cheer. They walked on a little. He added: 'I think Rose should start coming on our walks. You can spend this time bonding.'

Amy nodded. 'I think that will be good for both of us.'

Lochlin smiled at her. 'You really are a natural, Amy.'

They walked back to the cottage early. Amy retrieved Rose from Maeve and they spent the afternoon playing happily with a boardgame. 
Chapter Five

They held the dinner in the street. Large rolls of tarpaulin were strung between the houses. They dangled streamers and tinsel and lanterns and lit the hollowed space in a tremoring, warm light. Lacquered tables stretched up the street, with benches wedged beneath them. Amy wondered what they used the tables for during the rest of the year. They seemed too decadent and sturdy to sit idle. Perhaps they served as makeshift stages for Ruth's intermittent denunciations.

Lochlin sat to her right. Rose was propped on her lap. Maeve was sat far away. Amy noticed she sat beneath a small gap in the tarpaulin, where two sheets met awkwardly. It would be a pity if it rained.

'We start with a traditional stew.' Lochlin said, as he passed a great bowl and ladle down to her. 'I don't know how it is traditional. A stew is a stew and I'm pretty sure it changes every year.'

He drew a large helping and put it in her bowl. He found a bowl for Rose and drew her a portion. Amy noticed Lochlin had a glass of red wine in front of him. She clocked it because she had not seen him drink until now. His hand darted to the glass with a frequency even she found alarming. Lochlin was evidently quite the celebrant. She thought this out of the character. He had seemed so _uptight,_ so controlled. __ Yet here he was turning rosy with wine, his laughter rising. He was _mortal_.

Amy fed Rose some stew. She seemed to like it but was unable to handle the gristly chunks of lamb.

'Looks like she enjoys it.' Lochlin said. 'You may have to learn the recipe so that you can take it home.'

'I don't think I could make this.' Amy said. 'Perhaps you have a traditional toastie recipe I could take back instead.' Lochlin had finished his dumpling. She saw him eyeing hers up. 'You're not getting my dumpling.'

Lochlin laughed. He had another sip of wine. 'Look at Rose – she seems to be enjoying herself immensely.' He tickled her tummy. She burbled with merriment, burped, then laughed again. 'Perhaps you have been here too long. She is starting to sound like me.'

Amy smiled. 'I think perhaps surpassing your eloquence.'

Lochlin laughed. 'That would not be hard. Do you ever feel like your mind is deteriorating? Perhaps it is just losing the confidence of being young and you second-guess yourself. I was young so long ago, I should be so inward-looking, so timid.'

'You wouldn't be able to do your job if you were too inward-looking.'

'Perhaps when the day finally comes you can take over for me. I feel you have a knack for asking important questions. You observe things.'

'Is there much paperwork?'

'There isn't _any_ work. You only need to enjoy walking.'

They finished the stew. She saw the main course being passed down the table. It was more meat, glistening and greasy, served with a vegetable dish that looked like ratatouille. Amy watched with growing envy as Lochlin darted his hand to the wine glass, refilling every now and then with a generous pour. She had not attended a social event without alcohol in a long time.

The others in the community seemed to love Lochlin. His jokes about past days were greeted with rapturous laughter, as if jokes of such penetrative, insightful power had never broached their ears. They looked at him with the devoted love of zealots. Amy looked at his congregation lining the benches. They were an older bunch, mostly grizzled, cratered faces worn by the sea wind. She went up the opposite bench, face by face, looking for a younger face, hell, even a moisturized older one.

'Where are all the young people?' She whispered to Lochlin. She didn't want them to hear.

He turned to her sharply, spilling a small puddle of wine that stained the tablecloth pink. He either didn't notice or affected not to.

'Youth is relative. I got rid of them so that I would always be the youngest. Smart, right?'

She laughed politely. 'Seriously though. Have they all left?'

He shrugged. 'Would you stay here? There is very little to do. We don't have a school. We don't have bars. Ruth can only provide so much. They go away and then they come back when they feel they need home. But that urge comes late.'

'I see.' Amy said. 'There are literally no young people? What about _children_?'

Lochlin thought. 'No, I suppose not. Not now anyway. But, if you decide to stay, perhaps that can change?'

'I don't think Rose would thank me. It would be a lonely childhood.'

Lochlin nodded. 'But she would always come top.'

Amy nodded. 'And she would be the most popular kid on the island.'

This made him laugh. 'Where do you see yourself living long term?'

'I can't imagine not being in the City. But when I arrived, I did feel an affinity for this place. It was homely. So maybe I want something rural, somewhere to escape, where everything slows down.'

'Where time stops.' Lochlin said. 'It's why I came too.' He had another sip of wine. He looked to his right. Yet more bowls were being passed down. 'Pudding! I think you will both enjoy this.'

Lochlin took the dessert and dished out two helpings. Amy looked at Rose, who was majestically wielding her spoon to send the pudding in every direction except her mouth. She seemed so content. Rose looked at Amy, laughed, and held out the spoon. 'Oh, you want me to take that, do you?' Amy said chirpily. 'Thank you.' She took the spoon and wiggled it until Rose giggled and held out her hands for it to be returned. Amy pretended to give it back, then pulled back at the last minute, causing Rose to descend into a merry cacophony. Amy did it again and again and the entertainment Rose derived from it never seemed to dim.

'You have mastered the art of comedy.' Lochlin said. 'You have to teach me. I've got to make a speech. I could do with a few jokes.'

Amy turned around. She lifted Rose onto her knee. 'You're welcome to borrow my material. Some of this audience may find it a bit juvenile.'

Lochlin shrugged. 'I think as you get older you find the same things funny as when you were very young. Your sense of humour simplifies.'

'You speak as if you're ancient.'

'You flatter me that you think I'm not.'

Amy scoffed. 'You are an old soul trapped in a young body.'

Lochlin laughed. 'Perhaps I am. Tell me, would you rather be an old soul in a young body or a young soul in an old body?'

'I think there is something enviable and majestic about having a youthful spirit right at the end.'

'I agree. It is a blessing to be gifted like that.'

'But it is a state of mind. A youthful spirit can always be recovered. It is never lost for good.'

The dessert was finished. The bowls were passed up the table again. In the distance, a woman pulled some dusty bottles from a box. Six in total. She placed them on the table and began to pull corks from the top. They came out with satisfying, decadent pops.

'Now,' Lochlin said, seeing the bottles. 'This is another tradition – perhaps the most important one. It is a drink that we make on the island. We have done for centuries and centuries. Before they even built the monastery. I insist you try some.'

'What is it?' Amy asked, erring a little.

'It's like whiskey, I guess. It ferments for thirty years. We serve older bottles at this dinner. The best ones. It is unobtainable.'

'I don't think I should.' Amy said. 'I am still trying to avoid alcohol.'

Lochlin nodded. 'You have done very well. But are you sure I can't tempt you? I would feel guilty if you left without trying some. It is unobtainable. And everyone has it. Even the children take some, when we have those that is. Tradition says that a year of bad luck follows if people at the table don't join in.'

Amy blushed. 'Thank you, really' She stammered. 'But I don't think it would be the best idea.'

In truth, she wanted a sip. She still felt a chemical pull that made her want to unstopper the corks herself. But she also sensed ramifications if she did. She felt she possessed a calculating foresight that was novel and powerful.

Lochlin smiled, shrugged. His hand went back to his wine. He took a luxurious sip. When the bottle of spirit reached him, he spun the crystal beaker that sat upside down on his table setting and poured himself a brimming glass. Amy had wondered what these small glasses would be for.

Lochlin had a quick sip, barely nudging the nectar below the brim. 'It is time, sadly.' He said grimly.

'Time for what?'

'I told you.' Lochlin said. 'I have to make a speech. I begged you for jokes. I need all the help I can get.'

'Oh.' She said. 'I assumed that was sometime in the future.'

He grimaced. 'Sadly, no. I _hate_ public speaking.'

She was quite taken aback by the fact he was nervous. His mouth had upturned. He seemed stiff and disjointed. It was attractive to see this vulnerability.

Somewhere a glass was knocked. The icy clink of the glassware ricocheted between the houses that comprised the walls of the space. The sound made him stiffen. He turned and looked around, as if scouting for the optimal podium. He glanced down at his feet, and evidently decided to remain where he was. He coughed, laughed nervously. The crowd seemed to pick up on his nervousness. They gave him a gradual ripple of applause.

'Thank you,' He said. 'I can't say I have much to add to what I said last year – or the year before that.' There was some laughter. Amy watched as his shoulders relaxed a little. 'Each year we have this meal, with the purpose of bringing luck for the forthcoming year. The fact I see the same people every year suggests it continues to work.' More laughter, and a smattering of self-congratulatory applause. 'But we do have an additional face here this year. She is someone I hope most of you will have met and got to know as I have.'

Amy felt her face flush. Perhaps there was another newcomer scattered amongst the crowd? She hated being plucked from the masses. Given her scan of faces earlier, this was probably a forlorn hope, unless this newcomer didn't moisturize.

'Amy joined us two weeks ago. Like many guests that we have had, she has become part of our collective family, and when she goes, I will miss her. But the time is coming for her to go, because she has surpassed what we can provide. Therefore, I want to make this toast to her, to Rose, and to their future. And I hope that they come back to visit in the future.'

There was more applause. Faces tilted towards her and began to nod. But Amy caught sight of an older man, hunched at the end of one of the tables. It was the same man she had seen in Ruth's shop, who had disconcerted her then. He was sitting with his hands clasped on the tabletop. He was smirking at her. It was a nasty, twisted smirk. It made her feel unwelcome and out of place, like she was invading a protected space. She quickly turned back to Lochlin.

He raised his glass towards her. 'To Amy. To Rose.' He called out.

The crowd echoed the toast. They downed their drinks. When they saw that Amy wasn't touching her glass, a few people began gesturing for her to drink. There were encouragements for her to join in the festivities. She blushed and laughed awkwardly, batted a hand to signify she didn't want to. But the encouragements didn't abate. In fact, they got louder and more protracted.

Amy looked down at the table for an escape. Would Lochlin not rescue her from the pressure? She wanted to avoid all their glares.

'May I speak.' A voice said. Amy looked up. It was Maeve. She had stood up at the end of the table and tapped her glass with the end of her silver spoon. Faces turned towards her warmly, leaning forward in expectation. Amy felt her jaw clenching. Her skin flushed cold.

Lochlin looked down at Amy, then back at Maeve. He hesitated. 'Of course.' He said, eventually. He looked at Amy with a look of blended alarm, surprise and apology. She smiled at him to signify that it was fine, even though really she felt harried and vexed.

Maeve took a step back from her placing.

'Thank you, James.' She started. 'I think I have seen Amy more than most whilst she has been here.' She paused. 'It is always reassuring when nobody contradicts you. Or perhaps you have already stopped listening.' People laughed warmly. Amy half-smiled. 'And I must say I feel that it has been my privilege to have been given that proximity to her.'

Maeve stopped. She swallowed a breath. Amy didn't breathe.

'People know that I have never had children myself. I always wanted them, but it never happened. And so, when people come to visit us, I am always keen to be the one to help look after theirs. I guess it allows me to feel like I am having some part of what I missed out on.'

The room was deathly still. Everyone seemed to have stopped breathing now.

'I always thought I knew just how to do it, what to say. But seeing Amy has shown me what it truly is to understand someone.' She stopped. She looked at the ground. 'Yes, I know when to feed them, when they are getting tired. But I never built the natural affinity that I see between them. So, I hope you know, Amy, how much I envy you.'

Amy glanced up and looked Maeve in the eye. Maeve smiled at her. Amy smiled back and dipped her head slightly in appreciation.

'And so,' Maeve said, lifting her tone. 'I ask her to join me in a toast. To hers and Rose's future health.' Maeve lifted a glass and tipped it towards Amy. Everyone stood-up. Benches clattered against the stone. They raised their glasses. Their eyes turned to Amy. Someone had filled her glass. When had that happened? She hadn't even noticed.

She picked it up. She felt the eyes of the room tracking every inch that her wrist progressed. She knew it was a mistake, she knew that she should have the strength to face down the hungry public expectation. But how do you reject a toast after someone makes themselves that vulnerable? She reached for the glass. She stood up.

'To you both.' Maeve stated again. She held her glass high, brought it to her mouth and knocked back the small volume in a single gulp. Everybody did likewise. Amy felt people's eyes settle on her, waiting. She took the glass to her mouth. She did the same.

She didn't realise alcohol could hit so fast. She must have lost her tolerance over the past weeks. Over the next minutes, her head turned buzzy and clouded, her tongue turned to leather.

She almost lost her balance, and she sat down. Lochlin sat down next to her. 'Are you feeling okay?' He asked.

'I think so.' She said. 'I just feel a little ill. How _strong_ is that stuff?

'Pretty severe.' He said. 'Here, drink this. Just have a little sip.'

She took the cup and sipped. 'It's red wine.' She said.

'That's why I said just have a little. The iron will help you.'

'I don't think that's what I need.'

'I'm not saying neck the stuff. I'm just saying have a little to get your energy back.'

Amy nodded. She felt delirious. Her conscious was adrift. She took another sip.

'Is it helping?' Lochlin asked.

'I – it might be. I don't really know.'

'Okay, well just sit there for a few moments. Find your feet again. There's typically some dancing after dinner.'

Amy didn't know how this ancient crowd would find it within themselves to dance. A post-dinner shuffle, perhaps. Her nausea was becoming overwhelming. She knew even a delicate and slow repositioning of her feet would be enough to topple her.

She tried to stand up, but her legs felt like jelly. They almost gave out under her. She sat down immediately. Rose came over and grabbed her legs. Amy rubbed her hair under her fingertips.

'I think I should probably go to bed.' She said. Nobody was around to hear her. Everybody seemed to have moved away. Tables were being shunted to the sides. Chairs were being stacked until soon only her chair remained. It sat obliquely in the space like an isolated throne. She looked out of place. People began looking quite alarmed when they caught sight of her.

Lochlin came over to her. 'Are you feeling okay?' He said.

She was struggling to keep her eyes open. She reached around and held Rose close to her, pressing her against her legs. 'I think I should probably go to bed.' She said. 'I'm s – s -sorry. But I don't think I'll be able to make the d-d-dancing.'

'Okay.' Lochlin said. 'Let me take you back. Can you walk okay?'

'I t-t-think so.' She stood up, but she began to shake as her legs throbbed and juddered. She almost dropped back into her seat. Lochlin caught her. He wrapped his arms behind her back and grasped her strongly. She was surprised by his strength. Then he reached down and lifted Rose up in his other arm. He lifted her with such ease she might have been a bouquet of flowers.

'Let's get back,' he said. They slowly stumbled down the street until they were in the night air. 'I wouldn't worry about missing the dancing,' he said. 'It is generally more of a shuffle. The moves you're pulling now would fit right in.'

She forced out a laugh, even though her head was throbbing. She felt nauseous. 'That's what I was hoping for.'

She felt so embarrassed.

'In fact,' Lochlin continued. 'I am thankful for the excuse to leave. As you kindly identified, I am one of the younger members of the community, but that does mean you have to dance with _everyone_. It's like some unwritten public service.'

'I would have liked to dance with you.' She said.

'Believe me, you wouldn't.' Lochlin said. 'It would have put you off dancing for life.'

'I can think of more devastating repercussions.'

He laughed. They were approaching the cottage. Lochlin pulled out a flashlight to illuminate the dark path. She felt her head was clearing somewhat. The cold night air was sobering her up, scouring out the chemicals.

They reached the doorstep.

'Goodnight, Amy.' Lochlin said. He put Rose down. She stood next to the door.

'Goodnight, James.' She said. 'Thank you for bringing me back. I enjoyed chatting with you tonight.'

In that moment, she felt like she knew him, like she understood him. She realized she was attracted to him.

Then Rose started stamping her feet.

'I better get inside before she gets cold.' Amy said. 'I really need to lie down.' She put her hand to her temple for effect.

'See you tomorrow.' He said warmly. He looked down at Rose. 'And I'll see you _very_ soon too.'

Amy went inside and put Rose in her crib. She tripped over to her own bed and collapsed across it. She fell asleep fully clothed, make-up still on – it was a problem for tomorrow. Her dreams were furious and vivid, and at one point she even thought people were in the room, scurrying around in the darkness. She woke up because in her dream she was falling from a great height. Had she heard Rose crying? She went over to her crib. She was lying there peacefully, a finger in her mouth, looking angelic and perfect.
Chapter Six

'I fear this will be our last time out together.' Lochlin said. 'Where do you want to go?'

He said this as if there was a possibility that she wouldn't be leaving, even though Adam was due to meet her at the station later that night; her taxi and train ticket were booked, and a fishing trawler was retching past that evening to ferry her to the quayside. She hoped it would be John collecting her. She had liked him. If Rose didn't cry, perhaps he would even do a victorious 'I told you they come back quieter' speech. Amy would affect to find this embarrassing, but subtly she would relish the commendation.

Amy pondered Lochlin's question, as if it were significant. 'I want to see the north of the island.' She replied eventually. 'We haven't been there yet.'

She was holding Rose's hand, but she was sure that she would soon tire, and she would have to carry her. A buggy was out of the question given the boggy muds, and steep, riveted tracks. Amy found herself staring at Rose for long extended periods, as if afraid that if she looked away, she would miss some magical moment, some precious glimpse of her growth, her story. She was happy carrying her, cradling her, just being close to her.

'Yes.' Lochlin demurred. He paused. 'Are you _sure_ – there really isn't much to see. I think the other parts of the island are preferable. The north is the other side of the tracks. Or it would be if we had railways. Ruth is yet to deliver on her promise of trains.'

Amy shrugged. 'I just think it would be nice to see somewhere that we haven't seen.'

Lochlin laughed. 'I suppose that's true. But I think you might be disappointed.'

'Yes, maybe.' Amy said coolly. 'But I'll save face and not admit it.'

They set off. The island sloped northwards, and the path was mostly uphill. The paths were badly kept, but Amy noticed that they must have been travelled a little recently, because there were snapped branches lining the route, their innards sill green and sweet. New leaves lay on the path scattered only hours before. They were yet to be punctured and nibbled and distorted into mulch.

'Why do you think this part of the island is undesirable. It must have the best view.' Amy said. She was getting tired from climbing. The steady demands of the slope were agonising her thighs. Lochlin had noticed earlier, and offered to carry Rose, but Amy wanted her to herself.

He shrugged. 'Not really. Scrub blocks most of it. We should clear it, but we never have.' He turned to her. 'You don't remember your mother's name at _all_?' He said it quite casually, but the suddenness of the question threw her. It darted out like an accusation. She hadn't thought about it since he last asked. She had a certain skill at closing this sphere of thought. This was important, since thinking about it could provoke a physical reaction. She felt a clenching in her stomach, like her heart was contracting. She missed a breath. The landscape scattered in her vision, like the precursor to a migraine.

'Why?' She said.

'I was wondering. I guess I wanted to know if I knew the name.'

'Do you expect to?'

'Stranger things happen. Coincidences occur. Maybe we were once best friends.'

'She never came here. And you'd have to be a junkie to be her best friend.'

Lochlin shrugged. 'Perhaps that's why I wear long sleeves?' He waited. 'Do you know for a fact that she never came here?'

'No.' Amy conceded. 'But I trust my instinct.'

'You said you found the island homely. Maybe you have been here before.' He said this in a gentle, teasing way, as if to remind her that she had admitted some great emotional truth before.

She shook her head. 'The island is lovely. But it is also a novelty for me.'

'Well.' Lochlin said. 'Let's see if you still find it lovely when you see our northern wasteland.'

It started to rain. The drops were hard and cold. Amy turned to Lochlin and laughed in a victorious, surprised way. 'She's not crying! She would always cry when something like this happened. I think we must be making progress.'

Lochlin smiled at her. 'It's true - she's a different person. Maybe you are too.'

'I don't know. I hope so. But nobody likes to think they can change so easily. Is it embarrassing if just a couple of weeks can change someone?'

'I think people are always surprised at how adaptable they are. Very few are set in their ways.'

'Are you?'

'What? Set in my ways?'

'Yes.'

'I don't know. I think that is a question that somebody must answer for me. Do you think I am?'

'It wouldn't surprise me to learn that you are. Do you have a morning routine?'

'Well I wake up every morning. And I don't intend to change that.'

She laughed. They were climbing a steep part of the track. 'Pass her to me.' Lochlin said, who was slightly in front and therefore had completed the difficult step. Amy passed Rose over and made the step herself. She tripped slightly, then recovered her footing. The stumble meant she continued to stare at her feet as they navigated the rest of the precipitous, tangled roots and mud. She reached a stable section and glanced up at Lochlin. He was holding Rose quite high and smiling at her. It was a taunting, giddy smile, as if playing with her.

'Are you enjoying my misfortune?' She said.

He turned suddenly. He seemed embarrassed to have been caught laughing. Was he laughing _at her_? 'We were just sharing a private joke together. We have built quite the rapport. Maybe you should leave her here with me when you go back. We could be quite a good partnership.'

'You might even have enough power to topple Ruth.'

'Careful. Treasonous talk like that could get me in trouble. I'll get banned from her shop and starve.'

They kept walking up through the island. The path gradually got steeper. There was a heavy mugginess in the air that threatened to turn the rain into a hurtling storm. She wouldn't mind. She felt dramatic weather would suit her mood.

'Tell me about your partner.' Amy said. 'What was she like?'

'She was funny.' Lochlin replied, without needing to consider. 'She made me laugh. That's the quality I remember most. A bit like you make me laugh.'

'I make you laugh politely. And I appreciate the sympathy.'

'She was also self-deprecating – but in a way that you knew deep down that she was confident.'

'Now that is not like me. People do not come here if they are confident.'

'I don't think that's true. People come here if they think they aren't. But there must be an underlying belief that it will work. I guess our job is to expose that confidence. We are only ever successful if we are given confident people.'

'So, you're saying you only take people you think will be successful?'

'You make us sound heartless. Or lazy.'

She laughed. 'I don't think so.'

'You also didn't answer my question. Do you know her name?'

She stopped laughing. 'Why is it important?'

He turned to her. He grinned in a playful, antagonistic way. 'Am I not allowed to be a little curious?'

'I have let you be significantly curious. But that doesn't explain why you want to know a trivial detail.'

'I don't think it is a trivial detail. People wear their name every-day. Or they chose not to. And that choice is interesting.'

She shrugged. The blasé movement was deceptive. 'I actually don't know it. I have no clue about it at all.'

He turned to her, a look of surprise, perhaps guilt, passing across his face. 'Oh. I didn't think that would be the case. I'm sorry.'

She looked at the sky as she spoke. 'It's fine. When my mother died, the foster family decided that I should have a fresh start and take their name. Or perhaps it was the authorities. They thought it would make me feel more welcome. I can understand the logic. I could go and find out, but why should I? Eisner is not my real name. I don't know her first name either. I have become comfortable with that.'

This was a lie. She was never _comfortable_ with the fact. But she was stubborn that it should remain the case.

Lochlin nodded. 'I understand.' He looked at the ground and refused to meet her eyes. Amy didn't think he did understand; that he _could_ understand. But she found his awkwardness sweetly vulnerable. She knew this was inconsistent. Another man could have said the same thing, and she would have found his self-confidence, his self-delusion, that he ' _understood',_ both dismissive and rude. But coming from James it was a quirk, an amusing trait.

They continued to climb the track. Every now and then, through gaps in the trees, the sea would emerge. The winds were high, and the sea was frothy and bubbling, and cut with dark, curling waves. The waves drove against the rocks at the base of the island. They clashed with a cacophonous roar that boomed like ascending airplanes. Already they were having to raise their voices, because the path moved closer to the coast. Then quite suddenly the path veered inland. They walked on together in silence. Amy thought that Lochlin perhaps felt embarrassed about his question. She wished he wouldn't.

'I'm going to miss you, and these walks. I never walk at home.'

Lochlin turned to her. She could see he was relieved.

'I'm going to miss them too. It beats walking alone.'

'I would have thought you were someone who enjoyed time alone.' Amy said.

'I do.' Lochlin nodded. 'But I have had enough of it for several lifetimes. I should share it with someone again.' He laughed to himself. 'I just need to find someone who won't disappear on me.'

'Is someone coming after me? Have you lined up my successor?'

He looked at her. Their eyes met. Did he seem sad? They continued to hold each other's gaze for several long moments, until he eventually spun away. Amy thought it remarkable that it wasn't her who had glanced away first. Most of her life she had crumbled in any instance of connection. She would be seized and overcome with an urge to dampen it. She did not understand why. Perhaps it was the fear of ultimate disappointment or betrayal. More concerningly, perhaps it was the guilt that she did not deserve it. But with James she felt she could have kept looking, for an hour, for more. She noticed he didn't answer her question.

They walked further along the path. Rose was sleeping soundly against her chest. She could feel the rise and fall, the steady thump of her sprightly heartbeat. It soothed her.

'Would you look seriously for someone?' She asked. She had barely registered the question before it emerged. It felt dangerous, skirting decency.

'Yes.' Lochlin said. 'But I have responsibilities here. And as you pointed out there are not many suitable people around. But perhaps someone will emerge eventually.'

'You need to make your own opportunities.'

'Is that what you did?'

She laughed. 'No. It's just the advice people give. I suppose I went to work. That was an opportunity. But finding Adam was more of a happy coincidence there.'

'Yes.' Lochlin said. 'Happy.'

The word hung in the air. It engulfed the conversation. Even she felt sour as she said it. The word cut the tongue on exit. This frightened her. She was happy with Adam. Distance was always dangerous in a new relationship, before the roots had set in and brought security. She needed to see him. She would soon. Tonight. And once she saw him the roots would extend a little deeper.

'Do you think you'll stay with Adam?'

This really threw her. 'What kind of question is that?' She said. 'How would I know?'

'Do you think you will? It's not a definite thing, it's a hunch. It's a question of what your sense is.'

'My sense is that I'm content with what we have now.'

He stopped and looked at her. 'I hope it is more than contentment. It should be excitement.'

They were standing close together. She could smell his breath. It was minty. He was looking at her, and she wanted to retain his gaze. Then she thought of Adam. He was good for her, stable.

She found a distraction. 'What's that?' She pointed at something in the distance. There was open space. It would give her a second to think.

'What?'

He spun around. He waited. He composed himself. 'It's nothing.'

'It's been covered over.' She said. There was a large sheet of tarpaulin stretched across what she guessed was an opening in the rock. It was pulled taught and secured with little posts that had been drilled into the rock. There were about twenty of these posts. They looked new, polished. 'It must be something. This is probably the best maintained place on the island.' She hoped a moment of levity would dispel the agitation of the last moments. But then immediately she realised she didn't want to dispel it. Really, she wanted to go back and be in front of him again. She wanted to be confident in the moment.

She paused at the tarpaulin. Would he come over and be with her? He just looked from afar. She watched his eyes. They moved from her to the tarpaulin and back again. But then they began to linger for longer on the tarpaulin. Was this a conscious thing, to stop from looking at her? Or was it because he was interested in what was beneath the sheet?

'What is it?' She asked. 'What is under here?'

He shrugged. 'It is just a hole in the ground. But I suppose we have so little here that that might make it interesting.'

She sensed this was understated. He was hiding something.

The rain was rising. It was beginning to hammer down hard. The tarpaulin rattled with the impacting drops. Rose remained quiet, still breathing gently against her chest.

She laughed. 'I know it's something. Why can't I look?'

He half-grinned. It seemed false. 'I'm not lying to you. It _is_ nothing.'

She nodded. She began to step away. She moved gradually. As the distance from the wall grew, Lochlin seemed to relax, his shoulders dropping. Amy put Rose down. She began to totter a little. She seemed more confident in this than she had before. Her girl was growing.

She glanced at Lochlin. She grinned. Then she dashed – it was a playful, teasing run - back to the side and began to unfurl the little ropes that bound the tarpaulin to the wooden rods. She laughed. 'I'm going to find out what this is, you know. I hope it's a jacuzzi.'

She rubbed her fingers against the ropes, loosened one of the cords.

A hand slammed down onto hers. The force was painful. Her palm was crushed against the stone. She felt pain darting up the nerves of her arm. She was momentarily stunned and twisted a little to stare into Lochlin's eyes. They had not been this close before. They were only an inch, maybe two, apart. But his face appeared hollow, blanched. He looked scared.

'Don't!' He screamed. It was primal in its fear, urgency. She watched his eyes trace up from hers, and linger on the grey, throbbing sky. His gaze followed the glinting raindrops as they plunged down and clicked against the tarpaulin. He stared at the rain for a few moments. Then he looked back at her. He seemed to have calmed a little, now that he had managed to stop her.

'What is it?' She said.

'I told you.' He said. His voice wavered a little. 'It's a hole in the ground. It's filled with water.'

'Then why can't I see it.' She laughed. 'It sounds fascinating.'

He kept his hand pressed against the tops of hers, exerting enough force that she could not move it.

'Do you need to?' He said.

'I want to. I want to see this place that you are so desperate to keep from me.'

He sighed. 'It's just painful. _Please_. Don't make me open it up.'

She waited. Then she nodded. She said quietly: 'Okay.'

She looked into his eyes. He seemed to skirt around her expression, looking for a reason to doubt her. She gave him no reason to. His grip loosened. His hand lifted away. But he stayed next to her, and she knew at the slightest twitch, the tiniest movement towards the bindings, he would stop her. There was a viciousness and power that she had not countenanced in him before. She was unsure if she was afraid of it.

Rose was still stumbling around. She was looking at them both from far away. Amy thought her expression odd. It was like she was comprehending everything. She was anxiously looking from them to the tarpaulin.

She went over and picked her up. Lochlin stayed exactly where he was, guarding the sheet.

'Can you tell me what it is?' She asked. 'Why don't you want to me to see it? Or do _you_ not want to see it?'

Lochlin stood up. He was facing away from her.

'It was a long time ago. People used to jump into the gap all the time. They would just fall into the water. But probably about thirty years a little girl fell down there. I think she developed amnesia from hitting her head.'

'You think?' Amy said. 'Surely you would know.'

Lochlin stared at her. He seemed to be willing her to understand.

'I _know_.' He said. 'I know she did. Because she forgot about me. And when she was taken away from the island, she never came back. And if she remembered me, she would have come back. She would have come back eventually.'
Chapter Seven

The train entered the final tunnels. They wormed beneath the city's thicket of central streets, puncturing up in the terminus. It was the last service of the day, and so quiet. The silence was only punctuated by snoring businessmen in suits and people eating crisps. Amy never understood what it was about train journeys that made people want to eat crisps. Usually she found these little noises annoying. Apparently, this was an actual medical condition, called misophonia. Squeaks and rustles and crunches could make the back of her neck pinch and tighten. They made her stomach clench.

Rose's crying could have a similar effect. It made her stiffen and sweat. She was unable to say if this had abated because Rose had not cried at all throughout the journey. Amy spent most of the train apprehensively waiting for the tiredness, hunger, or boredom to grind Rose down. But she stayed quiet. The train jammed through tunnels and the pressure changed but she shrugged it off. She sat contentedly in her seat, looking out the window. She watched power stations and fields and wind turbines slide past. She wasn't supposed to have her own seat, of course. When the conductor passed, Amy even lifted her onto her lap despite the empty carriage. They had both eaten some crisps. Maybe this had helped.

Adam was waiting at the station. He had texted her at least ten times as she made her journey. He wanted updates on where she was, her timings, how she was feeling. She had largely ignored him whilst she was on the island. This was not deliberate, and the extent she had ignored him only dawned on her as she boarded the fishing trawler (it hadn't been John, sadly). She could say her phone signal had been dodgy. She felt guilty, but as the texts pinged incessantly onto her home screen, she also felt so lethargic. She was disinclined to reply. She just needed to see him. She would be excited when she saw him.

And there he was. He stood by the ticket barriers, craning his neck to see her. He held out some flowers. They were pink. She went over and kissed him. He was smiling broadly, like a proud father at graduation.

'How are you?' He said. He handed over the flowers. She did a half-curtsey as she received them. She didn't know why. Maybe she had seen the royals do it.

'Tired.' She shrugged. 'But fine thanks.'

'Shall we get out of here?'

They went and caught the train home, all three rattling around on the fluorescent underground. She put Rose to bed. As she was taking her, Adam took her cheek between his fingers and jiggled it gently. 'Goodnight, little child.' He said, laughing.

'Little child?' Amy said. 'Be careful you don't get too personal with her.'

Adam laughed. 'I _missed_ you both. I have been lost without you. I would wake up and there would be no cartoons on. I had to watch the _news_.'

'Poor thing. Are you all informed now?'

'Completely.'

'You are probably the first person to accomplish that.'

She went in and put Rose in her cot. She lay down and closed her eyes immediately. There was no fighting, no fidgeting, as usual. No demanding to be entertained. She must have been exhausted from the journey, poor little child! She switched off the lights. 'Goodnight.' She whispered to Rose.

'Night.'

Amy spun around. She rushed back over to the crib and stared at Rose. 'Did you just say ' _night'_?' She cried. 'You clever little child!' She had never managed this before. Amy was sure she was just repeating what she had said, parroting a sound just like the birds in her favourite movie. But it still thrilled her.

She surged outside once she had switched off the light. 'Rose, just said _goodnigh_ t to me!' She beamed. She sounded so proud it was almost embarrassing. Rose might have just written a symphony. Perhaps she was naïve, because she assumed Adam would spring up from the sofa, matching her excitement. But he looked worried.

He said slowly: 'Has she not... _before_?' He waited. 'I have heard her say it when I put her down.'

'What?' Amy stammered. ' _No_. I have not heard her say it before. Are you _sure_?'

Adam rubbed the back of his neck. 'Sweetie, I think I am. I'm certain I told you when I heard it. I guess you didn't hear.'

'Oh.' Amy said. 'I didn't realise that.'

'At least you've heard it now.' He said. 'It's so cute, isn't it?'

'Yeah.' Amy said. 'Yeah, it is.'

They went to bed. They had sex. He lay on top of her until he was finished. They went to sleep, and as she drifted off Amy thought about Lochlin. She wondered if he would be missing her. Probably not.

*

The next morning, she awoke late. The light was strong and easily pierced the thin blind. She looked at the clock. She had slept for eleven hours. Perhaps ten and a half. Adam had taken a while. She slid out of the bed and glanced in the mirror. She had lost some weight on the island. Adam was in the kitchen. Rose was propped on one of the stools. Amy thought this looked quite precarious. She went to stand behind her. Adam was mixing batter in a bowl.

'I'm making pancakes.' He said. 'I thought we could have a massive breakfast. I've got more ingredients than a hotel here.'

'More quantity or more variety?' Amy said. 'Either way that sounds perfect.' Amy said. She wasn't hungry. 'I'll have a coffee first.'

'I'll make you one.' He hurried to the corner.

'Is that a new coffee machine?' Amy said. She didn't know how she had not noticed the silver contraption last night. It was all galvanised piping and bulging buttons. It looked industrial.

Adam turned around. He smiled bashfully. 'Yes. I thought we could do with one. I mean I _love_ your instant coffee, but look at this...' He began to fiddle with levers. She heard some grinding. It whirred. She asked how much it cost, and he just batted a hand dismissively. Two minutes later he placed a steaming cup of black coffee down in front of her.

'Look at you, you barrister.' She said.

He squirmed. 'Barista.'

She shrugged. 'They both chat shit.'

She sat down on a stool beside Rose and leant over her. 'How are you, this morning?' She went to kiss her on her cheek. She sniffed. 'Have you given her _coffee_?' She said. 'I can smell it on her breath?'

'Are you sure that's not you.' Adam laughed. 'I just made you one.'

'No, I haven't drunk any of that yet. I can smell it on her breath. Has she drunk _coffee_?'

'Oh.' Adam said. 'I think I gave her a sip. She was lunging after my cup. She's going to become a caffeine addict like her old man.' He gauged her reaction. 'She didn't _like_ it though. In fact, she spat it out.'

'Good thing it didn't leave a stain.' Amy said.

Adam finished the breakfast. He made pancakes with berries, buzzed up fresh orange juice up in the blender, fried heaps of bacon. He flourished a bottle of maple syrup and they drizzled it liberally.

'I told you,' he said as he rubbed his lips with a tea towel. 'Enough for a hotel.'

'I don't want to feel guilty. Given we finished everything I hope you mean a small hotel.'

'A small, barely-occupied hotel.'

She laughed. 'Barely-occupied, and where the breakfast is expensive, so nobody has it anyway.'

'Precisely.' Adam said. 'And it's a boutique hotel for fashion people so those who do buy it, don't eat. They just have a small green tea'

They decided to go out for the day. Rose sat happily in her buggy as they skimmed past cafes and restaurants, which seemed flush with customers, many happy to brave the outside chill given the sky held the promise of later warmth. Rose spent the journey craning her neck out of the pram, watching bright shopping bags flash past.

'Is she checking that guy out?' Amy whispered to Adam, laughing.

Adam peered over and looked down at the buggy. 'I think she might be.' He said. 'She's certainly giving him a good look. The main question is whether you approve of her taste.'

Amy smiled. 'Pretty good taste, I'd say.'

'That's rude,' he said. 'He looks nothing like me.'

They strolled through the park. The warmth gathered as the day moved into afternoon. Plants were beginning to flower, and they made the park effervesce. They bought a couple of coffees from the café because Adam insisted he needed one. Amy demurred because she worried about how much money she was spending. She still had no job. Her settlement was pretty much exhausted. Adam had paid for her train tickets, the coffees, the breakfast ingredients, the absurd coffee machine with more piping than an organ. But she still had to pay for utilities, the rent, her remarkable array of neon credit cards. They went home and Amy began to make dinner. She had gone to the shops for the essentials: milk, pesto. She cooked a meal of pasta with pesto and plonked a decent bowl down in front of Rose. Rose picked up her spoon and began to eat heartily. The spillage was shockingly minimal.

'Look at that!' Amy cried victoriously from the stove, where she was dishing up two more bowls for herself and Adam. She's eating it!' She put her bowl down and watched Rose. Rose stopped eating and looked at her.

Adam looked between them both. 'You've distracted her now. And it was all going so well.'

'It's weird.' Amy said. 'She hated it before we went away. Two weeks later and she eats it like ice cream. It has only taken her two weeks to become a superfood fan!'

'Pesto isn't a superfood.'

'It is. It contains vitamins.'

'It contains half a vitamin and a gallon of oil. Air is more nutritious.' Adam took an illustrative gulp of air.

Amy ignored him. She wouldn't let his slights against pesto wear her. 'Anyway, it _is_ weird. Going from tears to eating everything in the space of weeks. Maybe she was just tired before.'

Adam shrugged. 'Taste buds change all the time. I used to hate mushrooms.'

'You still hate mushrooms.'

'Yes, but one day I might not.'

She laughed. 'Well, I'm grateful. I want her to eat well. This is progress.'

She went over to Rose. 'Eat up now.' She said. She picked up the spoon and took it to her mouth. Rose kept her mouth stubbornly closed.

'There you go, you see.' Adam said. 'She doesn't like it, after all. She doesn't want it.'

'She just got confused because I was looking at her. She was eating it happily.'

'I get confused when you look at me too.'

'That's impossible, Adam. I barely look at you.'

She said it and then realised with horror that it was increasingly true. As the line re-circulated in her mind, she wanted to wince.

'Can I have my bowl of pasta, please.' Adam said. Was he annoyed? She could never tell with Adam. He was almost so smooth. Like a conker or something.

She wanted to make it up to him. She stayed light-hearted. 'Only if you admit that's it's a super food.'

'I'll admit it's a _supper_ food.' He said. A conker would make better jokes.

*

The next day Mary came over. She breezed into the flat, and immediately noticed the coffee machine.

'That's exciting!' She cooed. 'I saw that was on sale!' She went to the windows and opened them. She lit a cigarette and blew the billowing smoke out over the little window plant boxes Adam had installed.

'How are you?' She said to Amy when her cigarette was finished. 'I've been worrying about you. So, I wanted to get you something.' She went to her bag. She rummaged around in the cavernous space and finally produced a slightly ruffled envelope. She held it close to her chest and turned to Amy, smiling. 'Now, do you remember that conversation we once had?'

'That doesn't narrow it down.'

'Oh, you know.' Mary said. She gripped the envelope tighter. 'The conversation about how once your school went on a trip and you couldn't afford it and you felt left out.'

'Oh.' Amy said. 'Yes... that conversation.' That had been a three-glass conversation. White wine had always provoked the emotional discussions. She referred to it as therapy juice. Emotion potion.

'Well.' Mary said. 'I thought maybe it was time you did go there.'

'I have gone there.' Amy laughed. 'I went before I had Rose.'

'Well, I thought it was time you went there again. This time with a special someone. They do call it the 'City of Love'.' She handed over the envelope. 'Two tickets to Paris for a weekend next month. For you and Adam. I can look after Rose. If you need me to move the dates I can, of course. And...' She waved the envelope. 'A decent hotel too'.

Amy delicately took the envelope. She peeled back the flap and looked at the tickets. Mary had bought them premium class seats. They would have cost her a sizeable amount.

She looked at Mary. She was always a person who seemed so detached. Then just as you were reassessing why you were friends, she was capable of such great and insightful acts of generosity. These little interventions always landed with calculated precision. Amy reached out and hugged her without saying anything. Her eyes threatened tears.

Mary laughed. 'You have fun. You deserve it. If you want to thank me, I wouldn't say no to a coffee from your new toy.'

'I'm afraid I can't work it.'

'In that case, allow me.' She bustled over and began the ritual. 'Have you thought about a new job, yet. Everyone needs help with accounts. You did a bit of that before.'

Amy shook her head. 'I applied for some things but got nowhere. I send a couple off every day. Generic applications mostly.'

'I can ask my Uncle about that start-up he just invested in. They are growing. I'm sure they need help with their accounts.'

Amy shrugged. 'I'm not sure I'd fit in. I'm not exactly a tech bro.'

'My Uncle would probably see that as a virtue. He thinks hiring a group of likeminded individuals is the first step towards unionisation.'

'And I'm not sure I even fully understand profit and losses.'

'It's a start-up.' Mary said. 'You just need to understand losses.'

*

Mary stayed for hours. Amy remembered why they had become friends. She was funny. They talked about the boss they once shared, the way he used to disguise his lack of understanding with platitudes. A report would be handed to him and it would be met with one of a few innocuous, stock phrases. 'I think we just need to understand who the audience of this document is.' (You.) 'Is there something missing' (No.). 'What are we trying to say?' (What the report says.)

Mary did not last long at that company. She was fleet-footed in the labour market generally. When asked in interviews about her lack of perseverance, she would say it showed she _was_ 'dynamic'. Quick responses, coupled with her good looks, typically surmounted petty hurdles. People wanted to give her a chance.

They were laughing at the table when Adam came back. They had been talking about him. Mary said she wanted to write fiction, and Amy remembered that Adam had published a story. He had mentioned it that first time they spoke at the coffee machine.

'Tell Mary about your story, Adam.' She said.

'What story?'

'The one you published in the magazine. You told me about it. Remember, you said it even had the first line: 'It was a dark and stormy night.'

'No, it didn't!' said Mary, incredulously.

'Oh.' Adam said cautiously. 'It was nothing.'

'You said it was in _The Tadler_. That's a proper magazine.' Amy said.

'I didn't say that.' He said. 'I don't think it was them.' He sounded alarmed, perhaps fearing they had been mocking him behind his back. He would be tired after work. He paused. 'Good to see you, Mary.' He didn't sound pleased.

Mary clapped her hands together. 'Tell him, Amy.'

Amy spun around and snatched the envelope from the table by its lip. 'Oh, yes.' She hurried. 'Mary got us something, Adam.'

'What.'

'Guess.' She was still giddy and gripped by a playful mood. She knew Adam wasn't, and this made her want to press him further.

'I have no clue.'

'Go on, just have a guess.'

'I'm tired from work. I have no information. How can I guess?' He said. He slammed the door behind him.

'I think Adam may be stroppy.' Mary said. 'You may need to give him a clue.'

'I'm not stroppy.' Adam said. He pulled open the fridge, seemed to spot nothing appealing and closed it again. 'I'm just tired and not able to guess intelligently.'

'Guess unintelligently, then.' Amy said. She knew saying this would only aggravate him more.

'That's a very unintelligent comment.'

'I thought it was genius.' Mary said.

'Thanks, Mary.'

Adam was growing red. He dropped his leather satchel down on the kitchen counter. He snapped on the kettle. 'What is it?' He said.

'Well,' Amy said, standing up and handing the envelope over for Adam to see. 'Have a look for yourself since you don't want to play along.'

Adam gripped the envelope suspiciously. He prised it open and removed the tickets. He looked at the front. He even smiled a little. He blushed. 'Paris.' He said quietly. 'That's very kind Mary. We'll enjoy that a lot, I'm sure.'

Mary batted a hand from the table. 'Not at all, Adam. You both need a break. I've already said to Amy I'll look after Rose.'

'That's not necessary.' Adam said. He was busy making himself a tea. He took a teabag from the cupboard and poured over some milk. Usually he would offer her one, but he conspicuously avoided it now.

Amy stared at Adam. 'What?' She paused. He looked around. 'Mary thought it would be nice if we spent a weekend as just us two.'

'I don't think that's what we need.' Adam said.

'I agree it is not what we _need_.' Amy said. 'You never _need_ a holiday. But that doesn't mean it wouldn't be _nice_.'

'It will be nice.' Adam said. 'And we can take Rose with us so that it is nicer. There is no reason for Mary to give up her weekend looking after her.'

'Erm.' Mary said, from the table. She seemed to have sobered. 'Actually, there _is_. I'm afraid the hotel that I booked is adults-only. It's one of those retreats where they specify no children. You know the sort of place where they have loose pebbles in the lobby.' She looked mortified. Amy could tell when her friend craved a cigarette.

Adam shrugged. He took a loud sip of tea. 'Well, I'm sure we can find alternative arrangements. Paris is a city with a lot of reasonable hotels.'

'I don't want to find alternative arrangements.' Amy said. 'Mary bought us a nice gift and I intend to use it.'

'Maybe we should talk about this later?' Adam said. He took another loud sip of tea. 'I think there are practicalities to consider.'

'Practicalities?'

'Yes. Practicalities. We need to think about the fallout.'

'I'm not proposing a nuclear test, Adam. It's a one-night holiday.'

'It wouldn't be fair on Rose. She has just got used to your proper company.'

There was silence. 'That is inappropriate.' Mary said, standing up. 'What kind of thing is that to say?'

'Mary...' Amy began.

'Sorry.' Mary said, striding forward. 'But that was ridiculous.' She took another rush of steps towards Adam. He took a step away. 'He's messing with your head.'

'You're the one trying to separate her from her daughter.' Adam said. 'Not me.'

'Don't be ridiculous.'

'Mary.' Amy said. 'It's fine.'

'It's not, Amy. He is playing with you.'

Amy turned to her. She didn't want to be made to feel insignificant. 'But let me deal with it myself. I can speak.'

Mary looked like she wanted to say something else. She even opened her mouth to reply, but then thought better of it. She shrugged. She went to the table, grabbed her bag and hurried to the door. She glared at Adam. 'You drink too loudly. And I bet your story was shit.' She slammed the door.

Adam turned to Amy when she had gone. There was a deep silence. He exhaled heavily. 'Look, I'm sorry.' He said. 'I didn't mean it. You are right to be mad at me. I just got excited about us all going away together, and then couldn't handle the disappointment. You know how it is. You get a picture in your head about how something will be and then when it isn't like that, you get disappointed. I'm sorry. I'm really sorry.'

Amy was about to speak. He interrupted. 'Listen. Let me take you out to dinner, and you can decide what we do. I want to apologise properly – and we have so little food in the house.'

'What about Rose?' Amy said. 'She is asleep.'

'Can't we leave her for thirty minutes? She'll be fine.'

'No, Adam.'

'Okay, we'll order online and eat here.' He went to get his laptop. 'You can choose what you want. Charge it to my card. You know the sort of thing I like.'

He went into the bedroom. She scoured the menu and went to pay. The payment form flashed up. She clicked Autofill. Card details sprang into the empty fields.

_'Adam_ -' She began. She was looking at the data the laptop had just placed in the form. She was staring at the name field.

'Yes.' He answered from beyond the door. He was probably still taking off his tie.

She was about to ask when she stopped herself. 'Never mind.' She said.

She stared at the form again. Maybe it was a mistake.

But the surname on his card was Lochlin. 
Chapter Eight

She stared at the name on the screen. She stared until the pixels began to distort. She heard Adam closing the drawers, which typically meant he had finished changing. He always put his tie away last, despite taking it off first. She ordered the food. It said it would arrive at some point in the future. It could have been a short or long time away. Adam came into the room. He looked at her strangely. She wondered if she had adopted some twisted, bizarre look that betrayed her sudden imbalance.

'Are you okay?' He said. 'Did you order?'

She shrugged. Then she remembered that he was supposed to be apologising to her. She therefore had leeway for surliness and distance. 'Yes.' She said plainly. She decided to keep it to that.

'What did you get for me?' He asked. 'Something nice I hope?'

'I've forgotten.' She said. This sounded dismissive but was true. She couldn't even recall what cuisine she had ordered. It might be experimental. She might even have just ordered for herself. It wouldn't have been the first time she became pre-occupied with her choice and completed the order prematurely.

'Oh.' Adam said. 'Do I get any clues. Or should I just wait to be surprised?'

'So now you want a clue?' She said.

'Not this.' Adam said, straining to remain light-hearted. 'I wanted a clue _before_ , remember? I just didn't want to be guessing in the dark without any chance of getting it. I'm sorry I was tired. Can I please have a clue?'

But she didn't hear him. She couldn't get that name out of her head. Was it a coincidence? She thought of James, his appearance, his mannerisms. But there was no resemblance at all between him and Adam - which was a pity for Adam. And yet she had a primal inkling, a sense of threat. It was like a claustrophobia that made her throat constrict. She suddenly wanted to note doorways and exits. She wanted distance between her body and the world.

She stood up from the sofa and went to the kitchen. She wanted space. Was that ridiculous? Was it even fair? There might be an explanation. It might be a mistake. She began to make a cup of tea. She would do it very slowly to pass the time. She would make her cup first. Then she would say that she forgot to make him one. That would give her additional time.

What was she supposed to say to him? ' _Why is your name different to what I thought it was? Have you lied to me for months and months?_ '

But had he lied? Or was there a plausible reason? Would he be able to summon a swift little sentence that instantly sated her, made her feel dumb? She struggled with the tea bag. She was chasing it around the mug with the back of the spoon. The air in her lungs felt sparse, like they were porous and leaking. Had she ever seen his name at work? You could change your name on the system to whatever you wanted. She had never seen his pay slip. She had never spied any official record of his for that matter. Everything she had seen he would be unable to hide in.

'Do you want a hand?' Adam said from the sofa. 'Can I get you anything?' How long had she been making this single cup of tea for?

'No.' She said. It came out weakly, breathy. 'I'm fine.'

'Do you want to watch something.' Adam said. He reached for the television remote and clicked it on. 'We could carry on with that series?'

She hated that series. But it would fill the silence. 'Sure.' She said. 'I was enjoying that.'

She finally removed the teabag. She went to put some milk into the cup. Sadly, this didn't take long either. She soon found herself with a completed cup of tea. She went to the sofa and sat down. She was conspicuously apart from Adam, tucked deep into the edge. She felt like a scolded animal cowering in the corner.

They began to watch the episode. Neither of them said anything. But every now and then she could feel Adam twist around to snatch a quick look at her. Was he suspicious? Concerned? She stared straight ahead, pointedly fixating on the television. She had no clue what was going on with the plot. Then again, she hadn't with any of the previous episodes either.

There was a mechanical, vicious buzz around the flat. The intercom.

'I'll get it.' Adam said. The mechanism on the door was broken so he would have to run down to the front door and open it himself. She had been cursing the breakage when she traipsed laboriously down to get Mary hours before. Now she was on the verge of sending congratulations to the engineers.

He came back after several minutes. He laid the food out on the kitchen counter. The plastic pots were filled with luminous, vivid colours. They might be paints.

'Well,' he said. 'You ordered a feast. You have about every colour going here.'

'They say a multi-coloured plate is healthy.' She mumbled.

'I don't think that applies to neon colours. These will probably glow in the dark.'

She didn't respond. She waited for him to dish up the food.

He passed her a plate. She returned to the sofa. Adam sat next to her. He began to eat with a ferocious appetite. His hand moved from mouth to plate without stopping. The motion was constant, like a locomotive mechanism. He would always eat with his mouth open. She tried to eat a small appetiser, something fried to crispy oblivion, but her stomach churned as she swallowed it. She pushed around her food with her fork, doing little circles, folding it and turning it. Adam must have seen this out of the corner of his eye.

'Are you okay?' He said. 'You're not eating.'

'I'm not really hungry.'

'But you clearly were. You ordered enough food for our fashion hotel.' She did a half-smile. He wasn't contented. 'I said I'm sorry.' He said. 'I really am. I want to go away with you. I just want to be a family.'

_Family_. The word scorched her. She felt trapped. She felt she was being locked into a devasting course. She wanted family too. Finally. But not like this. _Not with him._

She turned to him. 'What is your _name_?'

He laughed. _'What_?' He squinted. 'What do you mean? You know it's Adam.'

'Your surname?'

'You know that too. Are you sure you're feeling alright?'

'Don't.' She said. She was shouting. She stood up. Her plate clattered to the floor, spilling its toxic sauce across the wood. 'Don't ask me if I'm feeling alright.'

'You're right.' He said. 'It's meaningless. You clearly aren't. You'll wake Rose.' He was speaking loudly, growing agitated too.

'Your surname is Lochlin. I saw it on the website.'

He looked at her strangely. Then he grinned. His voice went high, and he held up his hands in mock surrender. 'You got me. You can tell your detectives to stop digging. Might as well save yourself some much-needed money.'

'So it is?'

He laughed. It was manic, mocking. 'Yes. It is. Or it _was_ \- before I changed it. But originally... legally still... it is still Lochlin. I don't use the name, but it is on my credit cards.'

'Why wouldn't you tell me.'

'Because it was unimportant. It's a relic. It's just a legal thing. It's a nuisance to change your name legally. You have to change passports, bank accounts, everything.'

'His name was Lochlin.'

He waited. 'Whose?' He said.

'The man from the island. The island that _you_ found.'

'Was it?' He said. 'I didn't know that.' He smiled. 'Who knows... maybe we're related. Do I look like him?'

His sarcasm dented her attack. She felt herself deflating. She felt stupid. But she was unprepared to cede yet.

'Why did you change your name?'

'Honestly.' He said. He laughed to himself. 'Is there much point telling you? Will it calm you down?'

She stood still. He waited for a reaction. She delayed giving one, it would be a gesture of surrender. Eventually she gestured for him to continue with a very slight nod.

He nodded. 'I wanted to become an actor once. The rules state that you must have an independent name, a name that nobody else has. So, I changed it. To something more....' He grinned. ' _'Showbiz_.' He waited, shrugged. 'And I liked it. So, when I gave up my dreams, my delusions, I kept the name. And I like to think that my showbiz name has helped my accounting career.'

She looked at him, pondered the excuse. The words sounded plausible. But his tone was so smooth, rehearsed. It was like he had always been ready with it, just in case. He was _insincere_. Wasn't he always? She considered that she never felt like she knew the real Adam. She always assumed his surface would crack and she would get a glimpse of his core. But months passed and she forgot that she was supposed to be digging for it. She got used to the exterior. That person became who she... _loved?_

That thought burnt her. She _should_ love him. He was right for her. But she didn't. Perhaps she had. Perhaps she might again. Her instincts were always oscillating, spinning like a scrambled compass.

'Now.' Adam said, cooling his voice. 'Does that explain things?'

She nodded.

'Good.' He said. 'Can I have a hug? Put this behind us?'

She stayed still. She found the idea of hugging him repulsive. Adam held his arms out. 'Please.' He said. She turned away to reject him.

Rose had opened her door. She stepped out of her room. 'Hi sweetie,' Amy said, honeying her voice. 'Sorry did we wake you?'

How had she got out of her cot?

Adam turned to Rose. He held out his arms. 'Can I have a hug from you then, Rose.' He said. 'I'm being left unhugged.'

Amy turned back to her daughter. 'Come here, sweetie.' She said. 'Come over and see Mummy.'

Rose took another step away from her door. She looked from Amy to Adam. She went over and hugged Adam.

*

'Did you smooth things over?' Mary asked the next day on the phone. 'I'm sorry about how we left things.'

'I wouldn't say smoothed over exactly.' Amy said. They had gone to bed soon after Rose came out from her room. Amy had slept so far over to one side of the bed that she woke up several times in the night on the precipice. In her dreams, she was about to fall. 'I dreamt of my mother last night. I haven't done that in about ten years.'

'Oh.' Mary said. 'I thought you barely remembered what she looked like.'

'It's weird- I don't. I knew in the dream. I can't remember her now though. It's like she only exists in my sub-conscious. But I woke up this morning and I've decided: I want to find out more about myself. I might even have a wide family out there, dispersed across the world.'

She knew this was a response to what Adam had said, really. He had said _they_ would be a family. It had made her recoil. She began to think: why did her new family need to be new at all? Maybe there were already relations out there? Aunts and uncles and cousins for Rose. A structure. Scaffolding.

'I hope this doesn't mean you're trying to replace me as Rose's proxy aunt.'

Amy laughed. 'Competition is healthy.'

'You're going to bankrupt me every Christmas. You know I can't stand not being the favourite. Most kids beg their parents for a sibling. I basically bought mine protection.'

Amy laughed. 'I'm going to go to the Council. I'll see if they have any information. I should have done this ages ago. It's worth a shot at least.'

'You're doing it as soon as you're ready.' Mary said. 'That _is_ as early as possible.'

*

She took Rose to the park. As they walked around, Rose craned her neck out of the pram to look around.

'You're curious today.' Amy said.

Rose giggled. It was high, cheeky, almost like she had understood.

'Yes, very curious.' Amy continued. She saw an ice cream van and they went over to it. The sun was out. Whilst not hot, it was sufficiently temperate to justify the treat (it could have been Artic and Amy would have said the same). She ordered two of the lollies that Rose had devoured in the past. Chocolate ice-cream, with a chocolate outside with flakes of hazelnut in the coating. She passed one down to Rose.

Rose took it then took a bite. She was staring out across the cityscape and didn't seem particularly interested in the ice cream. Then she suddenly spat it out on the ground. She dropped the lolly on the grass. She began to cry loudly. Amy looked down at her. She stared at the lolly, already melting and bleeding cream into the mud.

'What's wrong.' She said gently. She hadn't opened her own lolly and put it into one of the pram pockets. 'You've always loved this flavour.' She said this to both justify the purchase to herself, and to defend herself to the ice cream seller. He was looking at her with a savage mix of pity and embarrassment.

Amy laughed half-heartedly and glanced at the seller. 'Clearly I don't know my daughter as well as I thought.' She said.

'Maybe she's allergic.' The man said. 'These things can suddenly come on, you know.'

But Amy was pushing the pram away. She didn't want to harm his trade with a screeching child.

Rose calmed down. Amy was thankful that she only had to push the pram down the hill on the way back. A crying child and an incline would have finished her.

As they walked towards the flat, they passed the large, ornate church that had the stained-glass windows in that Rose loved. She made a quick decision, turned into the church. It was unlocked, and they went inside. Empty churches always seemed so still and timeless. She never felt a connection to the divine when she went to a church service. But when she went into an empty church, she felt more. There was a presence that made her sense the infinite.

She waited for Rose to gawp at the stained glass. She usually pottered around the empty church, staring for several moments at each window, at the way the light poured through the various tints. The windows depicted graphic scenes; the crucifixion, judgement; Amy hoped Rose didn't pick up on these violent connotations.

But Rose didn't move. Amy went and picked her up. Strode around the church, trying to jog her interest. She stared pointedly at the floor. Amy put her down on the floor. She sat cross-legged and continued to stare at the ground. Then Rose stood up and walked back to her pram. She climbed in and sat back, as if ready to move. She didn't look at the windows once.

As they left and walked down the pavement, Amy remembered the lolly in the pram pocket. She dropped the melted detritus in a passing bin.

*

Amy decided that she wanted to get a dog. She had been thinking about it since she had discussed it with Lochlin on the island. She decided to rescue a stray. It would be a trial run.

She told Adam. He shrugged. He didn't seem overly bothered.

*

'The thing is record-keeping is a marathon sport, and we are not even sportsmen.' Alison said. She had a blouse on, flecked with little stains from lunch. 'We have faced various problems over the years. Mould. Floods. Ineptitude. Laziness.' She smiled. 'But I will see what I can find for you. You never know. We do get the odd survivor.'

Amy smiled. She had come to the council offices by train. It was on the other side of the city, requiring four changes. Each change brought deterioration in the transport. Fraying seats, decaying suspension, slowness.

She had been shown upstairs finally to a little, poky office that had dust mites abounding in the slants of sunlight that penetrated the dirty windows. Amy had emailed ahead so they were expecting her. Alison ran the adoption department. Amy sensed she had entered the profession with an eager desire to help and do good. Contrary to the stereotypes, her passion was undimmed, despite what Amy presumed was decades of thwarted effort, pushback, hurdles. Amy warmed to her instantly.

'You might have to tell me some more information. What is the name of the original adopting family?'

'Eisner.' Amy said.

'And the second?'

'And the third?' Amy said.

Alison smiled. 'You must get lost in a lot of systems. But yes, every name to the very end.'

Amy told her. There were four. 'I will look at the files and see what I can find. I will try and find out if there were any other relations described in the files. Sometimes we keep correspondence on record. I'm not sure if we're supposed to anymore. Sometimes we have it anyway.'

Amy thanked her. She saw the gold necklace hanging around her neck. It was gold plate and studded with three gold diamonds in a non-linear fashion.

Alison saw her looking at it. 'It's Orion's belt. Or it's supposed to be anyway. My husband bought it for me.'

'It's very pretty.'

'People always find the placement strange. They wonder why the diamonds aren't straight. They assume the maker was drunk or mad.'

'Creatives should be mad. It means what they make is interesting.'

She laughed. 'I think there needs to be a balance. Enough sanity for common understanding. Enough madness to make it stand out.'

'Why Orion's belt?'

'It was our fourth date. We had cider under the stars.'

Amy smiled. 'Why the fourth date? What about the first dates?'

'Smoking behind dumpsters. It doesn't translate as well on a necklace.'

Amy laughed. She wondered what would be on her and Adam's necklace, if such a piece were ever made? The office? How depressing. Wine. Blank to reflect the absence of memories. At least that would save on engraving.

'Do you have a partner?' She asked.

Amy shrugged. 'Yes.'

There was a pause. 'What does he do?' She asked.

'Accountant.' She said. 'I helped out with accounts sometimes. It's how we met.'

'The stuff of poetry.'

Amy laughed. 'Maybe one day someone will be mad enough to make it romantic.'

'It could be you.'

Amy shrugged. What she didn't say was that she had no desire to make it romantic. That creative urge would have to come from some passionate place within. She did not possess such a store. She shrugged and said: 'I have no job. I suppose I would have the time.'

Alison was distracted by something on her computer. 'We had an accountant who wanted to work here, you know.'

'That's a significant career change.'

'And a large salary knock. He said something odd. He said he wanted to help young children in broken homes. I suppose it is not odd when I say it now, but usually people who want to move into social work focus on children _without_ parents looking for homes. People want to help find them parents. Nobody focuses on taking children away. I just said I would take his information.'

'And that information went straight into the shredder.'

'Even easier than that. He emailed it. _Delete_.' Alison laughed. She emphasised this with a press of her finger against the battered wood tabletop. It was scuffed like a school desk.

They both laughed. 'I don't know if Adam would change careers. I suppose accounting is a safe career. There will always be numbers.'

Alison nodded. 'They're just too damn numerous to disappear now.' She looked thoughtful. 'His name was Adam.'

'I suppose there are many Adams who do accounting in this city.'

'Yes.' Alison said. They looked at each other. The look held for several moments. ' _Many_.' Alison repeated.

'Shall I show you a picture?' Amy said.

'I thought you'd never offer.'

Amy withdrew her phone. She began to swipe through photos. They were mostly photos of Rose. Some were of Adam. 'I'm just looking for a good photo.'

She found one. Held up her phone. Alison stared at it. She stopped smiling.

'Maybe there aren't as many as we thought.'
Chapter Nine

'There are free snacks. If you don't have free snacks, you're not a start-up. We allow dogs. It's a start-up thing. We have free beer. We need the alcohol to cope.' Billy said, laughing. 'I think start-ups typically have an alcohol problem.'

'They attract a unique crowd.' Amy said, smiling briskly.

Billy had collected her from reception. The start-up was in a trendy part of town, where old factory floors and terraced houses burst and strained with technology firms. This area of the city was rundown, yet expensive. Decaying brickwork was held together by steel lattices engineered at significant cost to preserve the ramshackle aesthetic. Billy was young and had thick geeky spectacles. He worked in sales.

Mary had come through with the job. Amy had taken it because the company provided free childcare in their 'coding creche'. This was also a start-up thing. 'You used to do accounts?' Billy asked.

'I helped with them. I did a range of tasks. Secretarial too.'

'Sounds like you're someone with many talents. Businesses like ours need such people. Everyone chips in with everything.'

'I can chip in with running the company too.' Amy said light-heartedly.

Billy flashed her an alarmed look. 'James runs the company. It's his fiefdom.'

'It would be ironic if I stole it from him, then.'

Billy didn't laugh. Amy didn't mind. The mention of that name transported her. She thought of the island again, with its monastic shards and endless paths. What would he be doing right now? Would there be someone else in her place, walking alongside him along those paths? Maybe he had forgotten her? She decided that she would message him.

Billy showed her to her desk. 'I suggest we let you log on. There are trainings that need to be completed. That should take up most of this morning. Let me know when you're done, and we can get lunch.'

He disappeared. She took out her phone and sent Lochlin a message. It was innocuous, but it invited reply. Adam had texted her. ' _Hope your first day is going well. Xxxxxxx'._ Amy had always thought there was an inverse relationship between the number of kisses a couple sent each other and the health of their relationship. She had mentioned to Adam that she had gone to the Council. She had watched his face for a flash of panic, a reaction. But he took the news calmly.

'It's funny.' She said, after an afternoon of frosty waiting. 'We got talking, and she said that you had gone in there looking for a job.'

'What?' Adam said. 'Are you sure? Why would I want to work there?'

'It's what she told me.'

'But it makes no sense, sweetie. I'm an accountant.'

'That's what she said. She said that you had said you wanted to change careers. Do something meaningful.'

'Huh.' Adam replied. 'I never expected I would be so conscientious.'

'So, you deny it?'

'Denying suggests it's somehow shameful. I wish I were this person. They are a better version of me.'

That closed the conversation down. Did she believe him? Well, she trusted Alison. She struck her as someone who gauged people quickly. She had faith in her assessment of characters and memory of faces.

*

She did the training. Billy nipped past at lunchtime as promised, and they went out together. She didn't want to spend much money, so grabbed something small. She planned to hit the free snacks later. As they walked back to the office, her mobile rang. It was Lochlin.

She stared at the name for several moments. 'Can I catch you up.' She said to Billy.

She took a breath, answered the call.

'Hello, Amy.'

She swallowed. 'Hello, James.'

'How are you doing?'

''I'm slowly readjusting.' She said. She was walking in little circles around the pavement. People were giving her dirty looks as they skirted her. 'I find the city chaotic compared to the island.' She waited. 'I guess I miss our walks.'

'I miss our walks too.' He said. 'I find myself saying things to you every now and then and then I realise you're not there. People think I'm going crazy.' He stopped and neither of them said anything for a while. The silence was claustrophobic. Why did she message him? Why did he have to call back instead of just messaging? Why was this so _awkward_? Lochlin eventually broke the silence. 'I can't imagine being in a city again.'

She laughed. She could hear the undercurrent of relief in it. 'It's chaotic. I want to shut everything down. But it is slightly more difficult here. We can't just take out Ruth.'

'Ah.' Lochlin said. 'If only we still had such an opportunity, but sadly Ruth has taken herself out.' He said. 'She has gone into the retirement home. And with my senile conversations I may not be long behind her.'

'Oh.' Amy said. 'I'm sorry.'

'Don't be. It's the circle of life. We all need to escape our failing bodies eventually. Of course, it has left our entire economy up for grabs. Things might get ugly. I might become collateral damage in the turf war over the village shop. How is Rose?'

'As curious as ever. Not always in the ways that I expect but oh well.'

'She gets that from you.'

'I'm not sure. But there are worse qualities to get. Have you got anyone else on the island? What are they like?'

Lochlin laughed.

'Why are you laughing?' She said, a little too defensively.

'Have you become preoccupied with your successor? Like some medieval king fixated on their heir.'

She laughed. 'I guess I've always needed to know what follows me. I've always had this fleeting feeling. I feel so strongly my lack of permanence.'

Lochlin went quiet down the other end of the line. 'Are you still there?' She asked, after the silence extended beyond comfort. 'Well, if you are, I hope my successor is wonderful.'

This seemed to work. Lochlin laughed. 'Do you? That's remarkably charitable for you. To think this is the same person who refused to share their dumpling with me.'

They laughed together, until the silence took hold again. 'Can I ask you something?' Amy said. 'How did you meet your wife?'

Lochlin waited. 'That was always an argument.'

'What do you mean.'

'She says that we met somewhere. I say we met somewhere else. Apparently, I may have forgotten our first meeting. That annoyed her greatly.' He laughed sweetly down the phone. 'It would always be a good way to wind her up.'

'I'm surprised she didn't pretend to forget you too.'

'But she did, Amy. She did forget me. She left.'

Amy breathed. She listened to the crackle of the wavering line. 'Sorry,' She replied. 'I forgot. That was unkind of me.'

Lochlin paused. 'I think you're very kind. I think you're remarkable.'

Amy did not think she was kind. Hearing that someone else thought she was kind was revelatory. It made her swell. It made her feel entitled to life.

'I think you are a remarkable person too.' She said quietly.

'Just not kind. He said, laughing. 'You can't pass the compliment back and omit half.'

She laughed. 'And kind.'

'I'm not sure I agree. But I suppose self-centred is just personalised kindness.'

Did she want to ask the next question? 'What if I wanted to move back?' The thought had just appeared in her mind and then she asked it. It was entirely novel. But the island suddenly seemed like an escape, a way to shatter the monotony. Going there would be brave and fearless; it made her excited. She had not been excited for so long.

She heard him swallow a deep breath. It sounded muffled down the phone line. 'I think you'd get bored. I think you would hate it very quickly.'

'Did you?'

'Yes, I did. I adjusted. But I didn't have a child telling me how much they hated it too. That would have been unbearable.'

She exhaled. He had turned the idea down. That was that. She felt dumb. She had never become so attached to a crazy plan so quickly. It had flared into being and she had instantly cradled it. He had doused it, and now she felt entirely extinguished.

'Okay.' She said.

He breathed down the line heavily again. 'I want you to be happy.'

She had to say the next line quickly. If she thought about it, she would get scared. 'What if I thought being happy was being with you?'

He waited. 'Do you think that?'

She paused. 'Yes.

'I need to go.'

'Wait-.'

'Amy, I feel like I know you already. That scares me.'

'You do know me.'

'No.' He took a very long pause. 'You remind me of her. You remind me of her so much.'

He hung up the phone. Amy moved the phone away from her ear and stared at it. She held it in her palm in hope that he might ring back. She sensed after five minutes that there was going to be no resolution. She traipsed back to the office. She clicked mindlessly through trainings, thinking about Lochlin. About Adam. She tried not to think about Adam. She felt terrible when she did. He was good to her. He provided for them both. He was her _age_. Any audit of the facts would tell her to go for him. To stop being selfish, to think of Rose. She tried to think logically, rationally. But she would just see his face again. She would hear his voice. Then she would remember how he had just humiliated her. She should hate him. But she didn't. He made her impulsive and then crippled her.

*

She watched the clock. It hit five thirty and nobody moved to the doors. They sat hunched over computers, tapping and clicking, eating the free snacks and spilling crumbs into the grooves of their keyboards. She messaged Billy on the instant messenger.

'What time is acceptable to leave?'

He replied: ' _It's your first day, so now! But usually people hang on and leave when the work's done.'_

She sat there for another twenty minutes. She opened and minimised programs, changed various colour schemes. Productive, honourable work. Then she clasped her bag and headed for the door. She said goodbye to people as she went. They grunted from their desks as they stared at their juddering laptops. Most didn't hear her because they had their earphones in.

She took the train home. Then another train. Then a bus. She thought about the conversation the entire journey. She thought of Lochlin on the island, alone, brooding. He would be inside right now, sitting at his window. She imagined him watching the wind, thinking about her. Romantic illusions. Childish delusions. But she held them uncompromisingly. They were not drifting fancies or fleeting humours. They felt true and right.

*

She reached the flat. Christine from upstairs was returning with her grocery shopping and held the door for a few moments as Amy caught up. Grocery shopping for Christine meant a ready meal and two small bottles of beer. She picked the items up like clockwork when she finished her shift as a paramedic. Every day it would be a different ready meal, and more strangely, two different beers. When her days had stretched out emptily and grim, Amy lived vicariously for her nightly selection. Who was she kidding? She took interest now.

'What have you got tonight.' Amy said.

Christine showed her, smiling. This conversation had become a running joke.

'You had that one last week.' Amy said playfully. 'I hope you're not becoming a creature of habit.'

Christine nodded, smiling. 'But this time I'm going to oven cook it, not microwave. Totally different taste. It's like a different meal.'

'And the beers?'

She held them out. Two different countries. Two different types. 'Do they pair well?'

'Together or with the meal?'

'Together.'

'No.'

'With the meal.'

'Also no. The secret is you make the meal so hot and the beers so cold that taste becomes secondary to sensation. They pair well as sensations.'

'You have clearly thought it through.'

She laughed. 'It takes a while for a beer to become a sensation in the freezer. You can think.' She paused. 'I saw Adam take Rose out earlier. How is she?'

'Yeah.' Amy said, shrugging. 'She's doing very well. Growing up fast.'

'I think she's forgotten who I am. I waved to her, but I got no response.'

'I wouldn't take it personally. I think she forgets who I am sometimes. Children are fickle. They're like you with your beers.'

'You know, I walked past them again when I was going to work. They were sat at this coffee shop and I could have sworn Rose was properly reading the newspaper. She was hunched over it, studying it like she knew what it was saying. She's going to go on to great things if she's already reading the newspaper!'

'Depends what newspaper it was.'

She laughed. 'Well you're clearly doing something right. Or Adam is.'

She said goodbye at her doorway. Amy went down the corridor to the entrance to her flat. She got out her keys and opened the door. Adam was seated at the table.

He was smoking. He blew out a burst of smoke and it poured over Rose.

'What are you doing.' She said. alarmed.

Adam jumped out of his chair. 'Sorry.' He said. 'How did you get in?'

'What?' Amy said. 'Why are you _smoking_?'

'I – I.' He stubbed the cigarette out on a peppered, ashy saucer. 'I gave in.' He said. 'I'm sorry.'

'But you don't smoke. And you just blew it over Rose.'

'That was a mistake. I'm sorry. The noise startled me.'

Amy wasn't sure she believed this. In fact, she was sure she didn't. She had happened to open the door so quietly that he hadn't noticed she was there. He had blown it across her purposefully. She was sure. And Rose? Her poor girl hadn't even known to flinch. She breathed it all in.

'But when did you start smoking?'

'I gave up years ago. But I relented.'

'Why? What made you?'

'How did you get in? They changed the locks downstairs.'

Amy ignored the question. Adam stood up. He took some moments pacing about the flat. He opened a window and gesticulated widely to disperse the smoke. It drifted and drooled aimlessly as his arms sliced it. It continued to dangle petulantly, persistently in the air.

'Well?' Amy demanded. 'Why are you smoking?'

'It's the stress.' He said. 'It's this. It's just this!'

'What do you mean?'

His voice tacked louder. 'It's you, Amy. I can't deal with the way you look at me. The way you treat me like I'm a threat despite everything I do.'

'I don't.' She said. 'I don't treat you like a threat.'

'You do. You come in suspicious every night. The other night when you found out I had changed my name, you looked at me like I was a serial killer.'

'That's ridiculous. Not a _serial_ killer.'

'What can I do to make you trust me?'

Amy put her bag down. She knew the answer already. Nothing. 'Okay.' She said. 'Just take a second.'

Adam went back to the sofa and sat down. 'I just want you to be comfortable. And if you want me to go to achieve that I understand.'

'No.' Amy said. 'No, don't do that.' Really, she wondered if this would be better. But his money helped. Rose loved him.

'Then tell me what I can do.'

She held up her hands. 'I don't know.'

He stood up. 'Then sit down. Have a think.' He went to stand in the kitchen. He took two wine glasses from the cupboard. She watched as he placed them carefully on the side. She did not say anything.

'I think this is because so much changed so quickly.' He said, delicately. 'You went away, stopped drinking, had counselling, spent a lot of time with Rose. So much change can strain anyone when it happens in seconds.' He went to the fridge and removed a bottle of wine. He had bought it that afternoon. They had not had alcohol in the house for a long time.

'I think I can manage the change.' Amy said cautiously. She tracked the wine as he took it from the fridge and placed it on the side. Condensation coated the glass, cloudy and thick. Beads of moisture licked down the side.

'I know.' Adam said. He unscrewed the bottle. 'I don't know anyone more resilient.' He smiled.

Rose started crying. 'She must be hungry.' Amy said. 'Which is odd because smoking normally kills the appetite.' She shot him an accusing look, but he didn't seem to clock it. 'Give her one of those breadsticks.'

'She's not hungry, she's tired.' Adam said from the kitchen. 'She's eaten loads.'

'It's not late yet. If she goes to sleep now, she'll be up at five. Give her a breadstick.'

'She doesn't like them.'

'Yes, she does.' Amy said. 'I've seen her eat them. She loves them. Give her one.'

'Fine.' Adam said. 'You try.' He passed her the breadsticks. Amy pulled one from the box and handed it to Rose. Rose swiped at it. It cut in half and the top piece fell to the floor. It exploded in a cascade of crumbs. Rose began to bawl even louder. The cries echoed in the small flat.

'Just put her to bed.' Adam said.

'It's too early. I'll put on her favourite film for a bit.'

Adam shrugged. 'Fine. But she's tired.'

'This film always resurrects her. She loves it.'

She went to the film catalogue and brought it up on screen. Rose did not look at the opening titles as they began to play. The birds came on the screen, colourful and perky. Usually she was rapt from the beginning.

'Tired, see.' Adam said. 'She doesn't want to watch it.'

Amy fast forwarded a few scenes. The opening was boring. She found a scene that she knew Rose enjoyed. The parrots were caught in a cage and had to escape. She let it play. Rose looked at the screen for a few moments. She began to cry again.

'Doesn't seem to be working.' Adam said. She could hear his satisfaction.

'Well, watch this.'

She slammed down the fast-forward button again. It had become personal. She knew the film so well, every line of dialogue being spoken even as it zipped past at lightning speed. Two minutes away. She slowed down. She clicked play.

The opening bars of the song began. She began to hum it under her breath. It was like a drug. A viral earworm. The birds began to flap their wings. Rose watched the clip in total silence. She didn't even seem to clock that the song was playing. Then she looked away, back to Adam. She began to cry again.

'Tired.' Adam said.

Amy resignedly picked up Rose. 'I'll take her to bed.' She said.

She carried her straight into her bedroom and laid her down in the crib. She had fallen quiet, and Amy looked at her from the doorway for a while.

She turned back to Adam. 'Sometimes, it's like I still don't know her.' She said.

Adam smiled sadly from the kitchen. He poured her a glass of wine and handed it to her. 'Things have just changed very quickly.' He said. 'Sometimes it makes sense to take things slow,'

She took a drink.

*

Her phone rang. She woke up on the sofa. She had fallen asleep watching some cruddy B-movie. Her phone was ringing. She didn't know what time it was. Probably midnight or so. She answered.

'It's Alison.'

It took her a moment to realise who Alison was. The social worker.

'Hi.' She said.

'Sorry to wake you. I've been in the archive all night. I was desperate to give you some good news.'

'I appreciate it.' She said. Her voice was groggy, thick with alcohol.

'I said I was desperate to give you good news. But I don't know _what_ this news is.'

'What do you mean?'

'I called you this late because the news is... _strange_. It might just be a coincidence.'

Amy waited.

'When you were first put up for adoption a family member, or someone who claimed they were a family member, came forward. But the officer doubted whether this 'family member' was actually your family. Their claims just couldn't be verified. They were thought to be a threat given what happened with your mother. So you were given a new name, put into a sort of protective custody and moved across the country. But this person who came forward....' Alison paused. 'Their name was Lochlin. Just like his.'

Amy went cold. Her skin felt like it was a sheen of glass.

'That's not it.' Alison said. 'I shouldn't tell you this... are you alone?'

'Yes.' Amy said. Adam had gone to bed.

'A report has been made about you. It says you are unfit to look after your daughter. They are trying to take her away. I wouldn't tell you...' She breathed heavily. 'But you know I don't trust _him_.'
Chapter Ten

They agreed to meet for coffee the next morning. Early.

Adam was sleeping as she slipped out of the bedroom. She carefully pulled her coat from the cupboard, wincing at the clattering coat hangers. Adam usually snored, but he was lying peacefully. Was he asleep? She wrote him a note, laying it on the kitchen counter. She said that she was going out for the whole morning. She would be back in the afternoon. It was Saturday.

Alison had suggested the location. It was a café open in the early hours. It was beside a meat market. Builders in lumbering luminous jackets cradled slopping vats of black tea at the small tables. Amy could hear great slabs of bacon crackling on a griddle in the back kitchen. The room swirled with steam and the smell of fried fat.

Alison had a manila folder with her. It did not look thick. It might have contained only a few sheets of A4. They ordered two cappuccinos. They sat quietly at their table, not speaking for a while. They watched the foam collapse into the espresso in their cups. They were at a table in the back, beside the kitchen. Their coats already felt tacky with grease.

Alison began looking around the room cautiously. She slid the documents over to Amy. Then she seemed to think better of it. She slammed her hand down on the folder just as Amy was reaching over for it.

'Let me tell you.' She said. 'It'll be quicker. That report is a mess anyway.'

'Okay.' Amy said. She was shaking a little. It felt like withdrawal. The coffee wasn't helping her jitters.

'It says you've started drinking again. It says you're unsafe for her.' She took a breath. 'Adam wants to be granted custody.'

Amy swallowed hard. She went to take a sip of her coffee for something to do. She was struggling to process everything.

Alison took the report and opened it. Amy could just see the manila card carrier. She cast her eyes down the pages, searching for the key morsels of information left. Amy began predicting every barb and jibe. Every fault she had ever felt suddenly plagued her brain. She felt Alison could share even the blandest sentence and it would shatter her. She found the whole situation bizarre. She struggled to accept that she was facing a sheaf of paper whose sole purpose was crushing her.

'What evidence do they have?'

Alison took a few pages from the wallet. 'Signed testimony from Adam. Photos of inebriation. Photos of Rose's bedroom in disarray. Testimonies from neighbours.'

'Neighbours?' Amy said, incredulous. ' _Who_?'

Alison shook her head. The movement said: _You don't want to know._

'It's not _Christine_ , is it? I asked her about every single one of her damn meals.'

Alison shook her head again. Amy didn't know if this was denial or avoidance.

Amy swallowed. She needed to ask the key question. 'Does anyone believe it?'

Alison looked down at her coffee. The foam was gone. 'I think evidence can be found to make anyone look like a monster. I don't trust him.' She said. 'I trust _you_. I don't know what is going on. I think he tried to come work for us to give him the influence to take Rose from you. Or to do it to other families.'

She stopped herself.

'What can I do?'

Alison took a sip of chilly espresso. She thought about her words carefully. 'Prepare.' She shrugged. 'If he gives you a drink don't take it. Don't let him build a case.' She paused. She said slowly: 'But I can't intervene anymore. I have broken protocol to tell you this. You need to protect yourself now.'

'I understand.' Amy nodded. 'I won't tell anyone. I won't let you be compromised.'

'Thanks.' Alison said. She picked up her coffee and the folder. She stood up. She was in a hurry to get out of there. There might even be time to save her coat from adopting a sickly aroma. She took a few steps away. She glanced back. She was holding her coffee in both hands, like a holy chalice. The report was tucked under her arm. 'Fight him, Amy. For all of us.'

She left. Amy sat at the table, moved her spoon through the wispy trails of remnant foam. She began to cry. She tried to hide it from the other people in the café. Either she was successful, or they found it too awkward to look over. It only took a minute and she recovered herself. She had clarity and a mission now. The sun was up as she left the café. She realised she had not seen a single page of the report Alison had brought with her. It was probably for the best.

*

She walked back to the flat and paused outside the front door. She looked at her watch. It was still early, hours before she had said she would come back. She thought about what she would say to Adam. She could not outright accuse him. She didn't even have a wad of pilfered evidence to brandish, and even if she did, he could head straight to Alison's superiors. She would have to be subtle, _watch_ how Adam was _watching_ her. She would be alert to how he might twist her words and actions. She would ensure Adam did not take photos or make recordings. Was she becoming crazy? No. She was just protecting herself.

She opened the door.

Rose sat watching the television. She was watching the rolling news channel.

'You really are becoming a newshound, aren't you?' She said. She shouted a hello. It echoed. The walls of her flat were bare and always reverberated sound. She went to the bedroom, cautiously pushed open the door. The bedroom was empty. Everything was neatly tidied. Adam wasn't in the flat. Which meant Rose had been left alone.

She went back into the next room. Rose was staring at her. She held her bottle in her hand. It was filled with water. She had a bar of chocolate, half eaten. Amy walked across to the kitchen. Rose followed her with her eyes as she walked around the flat. Every step was tracked, like a TV camera following the football. Amy looked away from Rose. Then she glanced back at her. She was smiling strangely. It was knowing, exclusive. It was like someone had told her a secret, or told her not to laugh, and she was struggling to suppress one. Surely she was too young for secrets.

Amy made herself a cup of tea. She hoped the tea would calm her, sedate the rattling chemicals from the coffee. It had been too strong. She felt radioactive. Her heart was pumping rapidly. Where the hell was he? She looked at her phone. He hadn't texted. She didn't want to text him. In a way, she wanted to set a test. How long was he going to leave Rose alone for? She decided to make a video recording of the empty flat. She lingered on Rose sitting alone on the sofa. Miraculously, none of the chocolate was smeared across her cheeks. That would make scintillating evidence before the court. He even stuffed her full of sugar, Judge!

Rose stared at her as she made the recording. She looked worried. 'It's okay, sweetie.' Amy said. She took the bar of chocolate, broke off a square and handed it to her. She wrapped up the last of the bar.

She heard keys in the lock. She spun around as the door opened. Adam stared at her.

'Yes, I'm back early.' She said. 'Where have _you_ been?'

'I popped out.' He said. He held up some milk. 'Just downstairs. We ran out.'

'You left her on her own!'

'It was five minutes. She was happily watching the television. She had her chocolate.'

'That doesn't matter. Anything could have happened. She might have injured herself. What would you have done then?'

Adam shrugged. 'Fled the country.' He said.

'Don't trivialise this.'

'A ridiculous complaint means a frivolous response. She is a smart girl. We don't need to wrap her up in cotton wool. She's not made of porcelain.'

Amy went and sat with Rose. Adam began to make himself a cup of tea with the milk. They didn't exchange any words for a while. A frostiness settled across the room.

Amy spun around. 'We had milk! I just used it to make my tea.'

'Did we?' Adam said. 'I couldn't see it. I may have made a mistake, I suppose.'

'How long were you gone?'

'Minutes.' Adam said. He smiled. 'I've taken longer breaths.'

'If only you had given your brain more oxygen before you decided to leave her.'

'Ha.Ha.' Adam said, sarcastically. 'Would you like another cup of tea? I'm making one.'

'No' Amy said, indignantly. 'I want you to apologise for leaving her.' She reached for her phone. She hoped this would work. She surreptitiously clicked record. The audio file started growing.

Adam sighed. 'Fine.' He said, not looking up from his tea. 'I'm sorry for leaving her on her own. I shouldn't have done.'

She smiled a little to herself. She stopped the recording. Another snippet for the judge. 'Thanks.' She said. 'Maybe I will have another cup of tea. This one's cold.' She knew Adam had just put away all the apparatus.

'That's fine.' Adam said. He was smiling at her. 'Oh, I forgot.' He reached into his coat pocket. 'I also bought us some wine.

*

She woke up in the middle of the night. Her bedside clock sat on the table. The red digits burnt red-hot in the dark. They could scorch retinas, particularly when the alarm blared in deep winter.

She listened to the wind outside. A car alarm was screeching. Dogs were howling. She wasn't sure what had woken her up. She was thirsty; dinner had contained an excessive dose of salt: Adam gritted rather than seasoned. The wine had numbed her, but her sleep had been restless and contorted. Adam was asleep beside her. He was snoring tonight. She stood up quietly, went to the door and delicately pressed down the handle. The door clicked open.

Moonlight slicked the living room, and she paused to observe the peaceful scene for a moment. She stopped. Rose was stood at the French windows, staring up at the stars.

Amy stared at her. She stood pristinely still. She didn't want the creaking floorboards to give away her position. It was shock more than anything that made her want to observe her. What was Rose doing? How had she got out of bed? Adam had put her down.

She watched as Rose breathed out a cloud of condensation. Amy remained static. Then she realised... it wasn't remotely cold in the flat. She looked at the windows, very closely at Rose's reflection. There was a glowing, amber tip perched near her mouth. Was it a... _cigarette_? She breathed out. Another burst of condensation erupted. Was it condensation, or a small cloud of smoke? She thought she could smell burning.

Amy ducked back into the room quickly. She needed to reset. She had imagined it. The wine was wiring her brain strangely. She stood up, and snapped down the door handle, harder than she meant to. It echoed. She marched back into the living room. Rose stood at the windows, facing her.

She looked innocent. Her hands were empty. There was nothing discarded on the floor. The air smelt of cigarettes. But didn't it always smell like this, a legacy of Mary's exhausting visits.

She walked over and put Rose to bed. She must have climbed out somehow. She needed to stop drinking.

*

She woke in the morning with a headache. She reached for her aspirin, then remembered she had thrown them away in a triumphant daze when she got back from the island. It had seemed a sensible, cathartic thing to do at the time. She reached for her phone instead.

It wasn't on the bedside table. She usually left it there to charge overnight. She searched in the drawer, under the bed. It hadn't slipped down behind the drawers.

'Adam.' She shouted. She quickly got up, dashed into the kitchen. 'Where's my phone.' She spied it on the kitchen counter. 'Why is it there?'

Adam looked over from the sofa, where he was sat with Rose. 'Sorry. An alarm was going off and I thought you were sleeping. I took it out to let you rest.'

'I didn't hear an alarm.'

'That's because I turned it off and took it out the room.' Adam said. 'Did you sleep well?'

Amy shrugged. 'Well, enough.' She didn't want to think about what she had seen. How had Rose climbed out of her bed? She thought about the condensation. The smoke. She had imagined it. Hallucination. Drunkenness. It had been dark. The moonlight barely illuminated the room.

She had no notifications on her phone. This was odd. Not because she was the most popular person with endless communications, but typically there was the occasional news flash, a group text, a calendar alert. Only her background was visible: a photo of a beaming Rose. In the photo, she was holding up one of the signs bearing her name. She always wrote it in the same haphazard way.

Had someone opened her phone? She went through her messages. There were none. No calls had come in or be made. She went to put it down. Then she remembered the recordings. The video of the empty apartment was gone. The clip of Adam admitting he had left Rose on her own was gone.

She remained quiet. Locked her phone. She put it in her pocket. Adam and Rose were staring at the television still. It was a morning news show, some light-hearted fare involving making a brownie. She told herself not to react. She kept her face blank. She looked at Adam. He was staring implacably at the television. Nothing could possibly be on his mind.

'Did you open this?' Amy said.

'Huh?' Adam said, without looking up. 'What do you mean?'

'My phone? Did you open it.' She kept her tone level.

'No, why were you expecting something?'

'No.'

'Some secret admirer?' Adam joked. 'A romantic tryst? Has he not called you back?'

'You assume it would be a he?' She said.

She put the phone down and joined them on the sofa. They had moved on to a segment about airline fraud.

*

She dropped Rose at the creche then went upstairs to the office. Billy waved to her from his desk.

'Excited for your first full week?'

She put on her toughest smile. 'I'm eager to get stuck in.'

'We have work drinks every Thursday. Just so you know. We turn on the beer tap.'

She nodded slowly. 'What do people do about their kids? If they're _downstairs_.'

He shrugged. 'Typically have a quick one then go down, I suppose. We don't really see the parents to be honest.' Billy lit up. 'I'll fill you in every Friday with what you missed. So you have the gossip.'

She smiled sweetly. 'Thanks.'

The day passed excruciatingly slowly. At eleven they did a 'silent hour' where everyone knuckled down to work without speaking. It was supposed to enhance productivity. She spent most of the hour stifling a sneeze. She thought sneezing was a second week luxury. She might risk a cough in a few days.

She went to pick up Rose. The office was full when she left for the day. The creche manager was a smiling woman, rake thin with bountiful hair, brandishing lots of beads.

'How was she?' Amy said. 'Not too much of a handful I hope.'

The woman looked at her sympathetically. 'Not at all. But she didn't really engage with any of the other children, to be honest. I imagine it's a first day thing. She'll get less shy and grow out of it.'

'Did she have a nap?'

She shrugged. 'I don't think she slept. I saw her staring at me at one point. Kind of creeped me out.' She laughed easily, but it carried an edge.

'Probably just perturbed with everything changing.'

The woman nodded. 'For sure.'

'Did the others try to include her?'

She nodded. 'They tried to involve her in games. We tried too. But she wasn't having any of it. She didn't even play with the toy you put in her bag. She just sat in the corner. Did a lot of thinking.' She did her laugh again.

They went back to the flat, navigating the tangled commute. Adam was in the flat when they got home, already preparing dinner.

'How was it?' He asked.

She was taking of Rose's coat so took some time to respond. 'She didn't play with the other children.'

'Probably just a new kid thing. I'm sure that will pass.' Adam went to kiss her. Amy tensed upon contact.

'You seem agitated.' He said. 'I'll pour you a glass of wine.'

She stared at the glass as he poured. She remembered what Alison had said. Don't let him build a case. He pressed the glass into her hand. The glass was very full.

'Thanks.' She said. She took it to her lips, tipped it back. But she kept her mouth closed so that no liquid went in. Adam couldn't tell. He watched, then smiled. 'Better?' He said. He raised his own glass in a toast.

*

She went back to the creche at the end of the week.

'Any better?' She asked. It was Friday, and Amy sensed the creche manager was demob happy. She probably had a weekend of blissful peace, revelry, friendship and self-focus ahead. Amy felt so envious.

'Better.' She said, cautiously. This did not fill Amy with hope.

'Did she get involved with the others?' She asked.

'She is still a sole agent.' The woman said carefully. 'An _independent_ spirit.'

The woman was clutching some A3 paper. The pages looked rough and grey: art materials. She handed them to Amy. 'We asked them all to do their name. Things got glittery.'

'I've had many of these before.' Amy said. 'I can add them to the collection.'

*

Adam was cooking again. He served pesto pasta for dinner. Rose ate it all. Adam had a temperature and said he had to go to bed. Amy put Rose down at the same time. She found herself in the kitchen on her own. She had not had some alone time in the flat for a while.

She turned off the television and sat quietly. It was raining outside. She listened as heavy droplets pounded against the panes of the French windows. The drops looked like quicksilver. She had always loved listening to rain. The security of being inside during a raging storm awakened a primal pleasure.

She stared at the windows. They were rattling from the impact of the rain.

She remembered Rose reflected in them. It was a haunting image. Her mind was already debating what was fiction and warped. The light could be a trick of refraction and glass. The smoke was simply the steam of chilly breath.

She traced a droplet as it knocked the glass. It trailed down through the honeycomb condensation. She watched as it fell a full metre. It disappeared behind the leaves of her potted plants. She stared at the plants. No matter how much she watered them, they always seemed to succumb. This one already had brown stems and wilted leaves. Maybe she watered them too much.

She focused on the pots. She stood up and walked over. She began to pull dead leaves from the stalks. She brushed the top of the soil. Little beads of plant food were yet to be digested by the soil.

She scooped her fingers around the edge of the pot. Her fingers touched something hard. Something was tucked down the edge of the pot. She plucked at it with her fingertip, until she managed to pull it loose. She held it up to the moonlight.

It was a cigarette butt.

She stared at it for some time. It must be Mary, getting lazy one day and stashing it beneath the soil. She should ask her to stop smoking inside. She went to the sofa and sat down. She still held the butt. The white cylinder was tarred and yellowing. A little stub of tobacco was left at one end. It hadn't been entirely finished. She carried it to the bin and threw it away. She hovered in front of the fridge. She knew there was a bottle of white wine standing ready, cooled and fresh. She imagined it hitting the back of her throat. She could taste the tartness, the sweetness. She craved a gradual loosening of faculties.

She should walk away. She saw Rose's art sitting on the kitchen counter. She went over to look at it. It was a welcome distraction. She leafed through the pages. The teachers had written 'My name is...' at the top of each page, and the children had got creative beneath. Little flecks of glitter swept off the page and landed on the floor. Her fingers rubbed against coarse paint. Rose had changed how she wrote her name. It looked neater now. Rose was learning fast.

She reached the last page. She stared at it. Paints and glitter and sparkles had been applied like all the others. Pipe cleaners skirted the edges, bordering the page.

But there was a difference. She must have picked up another child's accidentally.

This one said her name was 'Ruth'.
Chapter Eleven

She was first to get up the next morning. She hadn't been able to sleep. All night she churned in her bed, twisting the sheets into a claustrophobic cocoon. She eventually abandoned them. She delicately double-layered Adam. It was warm in the flat. He would bake slowly.

She made herself a coffee in the machine (she had taught herself) and watched the dawn. Pollution pickled the pink sky, made it appear hazy and sick. She sipped her coffee and glanced every now and then at Rose's door. It was shut. She wanted it open. She wanted to watch her daughter. She considered taking her to a doctor. But what would she say? Perhaps she could go to a psychologist and ask why Rose struggled to make friends at the creche? But she feared the outcome of any consultation. She sensed prescriptions would be written for _her_. She would be handed fat, sluggish pills for depression. She would be dosed with long stints on some scratchy counselling couch. She sipped her coffee.

Adam opened the door. He was sweaty.

'Morning.' He yawned. 'Did you sleep okay?'

She nodded. She smiled at him gently and took another sip of coffee. Adam went into Rose's bedroom and got her up. Amy watched them come out the room. He was carrying her, but he seemed preoccupied. There was none of the usual morning affection. The perseverant doting had vanished. He put her down on the sofa and clicked on the television. He found the morning news.

'The news again? Maybe she wants to watch cartoons.' Amy said.

'I think she likes this. She always sits quietly when it's on.'

Amy nodded and had another sip of coffee. 'Let's try the cartoons.'

Adam shrugged and changed the channel. Rose began to cry. Adam raised his eyebrows and clicked back to the morning news show. They had a politician on discussing some tawdry scandal. 'I guess she really likes their political coverage.' Adam said. 'It must be its' nuance. It doesn't talk down to the viewer.'

Amy began to make breakfast, scrambling eggs with paprika. Every now and then she peered backwards from the stove at Rose, at Adam. They kept sharing glances, little guilty looks. Every now and then Adam would smile and Rose would smile back. Sometimes she would laugh. It was clubby, exclusive. She served breakfast and Rose ate hers quickly. She had made it salty.

'You've seasoned this nicely.' Adam said. Amy was certain her scrambled eggs could explode slugs. 'What do you want to do today? We could go somewhere.'

Amy shrugged. 'Sure.' She knew where they were going. 'I think we should go to the park.'

It was a nice day and the air was warm. The grass had recently been cut and there was a pleasing aroma of mulchy sweetness. Adam was pushing Rose and Amy decided to walk ahead. She kept looking back at Rose in the pram. She was staring at her. Every time Amy glanced back Rose smiled.

'Does Rose seem strange to you?' She said to Adam.

'No.' He said, nonchalantly. 'No more than usual. She is her mother's daughter.'

'Huh.' Amy said. 'I think she is acting strange.'

'If you get that in your mind, then you are going to start acting strange with her. Then she will act strange with you. It's a vicious cycle.'

'Huh.' Amy said. 'Maybe.'

They went to the park cafe and sat outside on the terrace. The terrace acted as a suntrap. The flagstones heated up and resonated with warmth. Amy went and got Rose an almond ice cream, the one she had enjoyed before. She rejected it again, just like the previous occasion. Adam ended up eating it. Amy got her a juice instead. She drank it quickly, smacking her lips as the last of the fruit zest slipped into her mouth. Amy smiled at her when she handed over the finished bottle.

'Good girl.' She said to her, tickling her belly. 'You normally throw it far away into the distance and make me pick it up.'

They continued their walk. Amy said loudly: 'I think we should go to the Lido. It's such a nice day, and Rose nailed her doggy paddle last time we went.'

'We haven't got our costumes.' Adam said.

'I brought them.' Amy replied, slapping her bag. 'I always like to be prepared. Just in case.'

'I think it's too cold.' Adam said.

'Well then you can sit on the side and cheer us on.'

They went to the Lido. Adam paid their entrance fee. Amy and Rose went to get changed, and they appeared on the poolside. Adam had found a lounger and lay luxuriously across it.

'Good luck.' He shouted from the edge.

'We don't need it.' Amy said, breezily. 'We've done it before. It went really well.'

They got into the pool. The water was surprisingly warm. The tiles made it glint emerald in the sun.

'Let's do this,' Amy said to Rose, kissing her forehead. She let go off Rose. She sank two inches, then immediately broke into a doggy paddle. She swam a metre then bobbed on the surface, half treading water, half paddling. Amy swam over and picked her up. She gave her another kiss. 'Such an expert.' She said triumphantly. 'You could start teaching me.'

They paddled around some more. Rose grew more and more confident and began to swim for significant stretches of several metres. The sun disappeared behind some clouds, and Amy felt the wind chill. They climbed out, and Adam rushed over with towels. 'Two future Olympians there, I think.' He said. He had somehow acquired a coffee.

They changed and left the Lido. 'She was swimming strongly there.' Adam said, as they walked back across the park, the sun setting behind a hill. 'I didn't know you'd already taught her to swim.'

Amy looked at him. She kept her face plain. 'I hadn't.'

*

They went back to the flat. Adam had barely said a word on the walk home. He traipsed a metre behind her the whole way. They sat in the living room, not speaking. Adam eventually put on the television when the silence overwhelmed him. They watched the news. Adam then made dinner: pesto chicken. It could have done with more salt.

Rose sat in her highchair at the table, carefully consuming her plate. She polished every piece off, then mopped up the remnant sauce with pasta. She licked her fingers clean.

'She enjoyed that.' Amy said.

'You sound disappointed.' Adam said. 'I thought you would be delighted that she's eating pesto. It's a superfood, remember?'

Amy shrugged. She went to the fridge and plucked a small bottle of orange juice from the fridge. She had bought them on the way back from the park. She handed it to Adam.

'Do you want one?' She asked.

He looked at her suspiciously. 'Sure.' He said. He opened the bottle. He cautiously took a sip. He seemed to roll the juice over his taste buds. He eventually swallowed. He smiled and took a more confident sip. 'Lovely.' He said. 'It's good juice.'

'You don't think the arsenic makes it too sharp?' She said.

Adam laughed. 'You should have used cyanide. Almond and orange might even go together.'

Amy took a bottle over to Rose. She opened it for her, and Rose guzzled down the juice.

'Someone's thirsty.' She said chirpily. Rose drained the bottle. She lifted it high and hurled it across the room, laughing mischievously. It clattered against a wall, then rolled across the floor before coming to a stop in front of a set of shelves. Amy stared at Rose. It was just as she expected, as she feared. 'No.' She said to her sternly. 'You shouldn't do that!' Once she had rebuked Rose, she picked up the bottle. She then waved it in front of Rose's face. She was still laughing manically. 'I don't know why you just did that. You've never done it before.' Rose stopped laughing. She looked confused.

Amy smiled and went and put the bottle in the recycling bin.

They watched television for a bit. It reached early evening, Rose's bedtime. Amy took her to her room. She pulled the sides of the crib fully up. She went over and ensured the window was locked. Then she said goodnight and clicked off the light.

Adam wasn't drinking. Sometimes he decided that he needed to let up on the booze. He was determined to avoid a paunch. He had also taken up running again. 'Don't let me stop you though.' He said to her. 'In fact, I insist you have a good time without me. I don't want your boredom sitting on my conscience.'

'Didn't know you had one of those.' Amy said.

'It's there.' Adam joked. 'But nothing much clings on for long.'

Amy handed him another orange juice. 'I took your advice and put cyanide in this time.'

She had fetched herself a glass of wine. Adam glanced at it and smiled. 'Oh good.' He said. 'I'm relieved that the party continues without me.'

'Has a party ever not?'

'I stormed out of my birthday party once.' Adam said.

'Did it stop the party?'

'No idea. I stormed out.'

She laughed. He began to drink. They were watching the football. Adam didn't really talk about it much, but he was oddly passionate about his team.

'How come you support these guys?' Amy asked. His football team was not anywhere near the city. It was half a country away. It was quite near St. Sebastian.

Adam shrugged. 'Not sure, really. I've just always supported them. I guess I may have formed a weird attachment in my childhood. Maybe I watched them once and decided I was going to support them forever.'

'I guess a lot of people inherit their team from their father.'

'Well, I would have needed my father to hang around for that.'

Amy nodded. 'Maybe you can give your team to Rose.'

'I doubt she'll be interested.' He said.

'How do you know? She used to love the football. I think she quite enjoys watching it.'

'Maybe then.' Adam said, preoccupied with the game. 'But I doubt it.'

Amy watched him drinking the juice. He lay his head down on the side of the sofa, watching the game. 'I think the heat has wiped me out.' He said. 'And I didn't even swim. Strange how Rose picked it up so quickly. She must be a natural.'

'That's one word for it.'

Adam lifted his neck and looked at her. He was getting very sleepy. 'You sound suspicious.'

'You know, I am. I think I just realised something.' Amy said. She took a nursing sip of wine.

Adam yawned. His eyes were struggling to stay open. 'What's that.'

She smiled down at him. 'That girl isn't my daughter.'

*

Adam woke up about five hours later. The cold water tipped over his head probably helped. He looked around a little. He rolled his eyes. He would have a stinging headache. His mind would feel cloudy and congested. He was still waking up, gathering awareness. Suddenly he began to thrash. He must have realised that his hands and feet were bound.

He saw Amy.

'What the _hell_ are you doing?' He said. 'Have you gone _crazy_?'

Amy still had her glass of wine. She was sipping it very slowly. 'That would suggest at some point you thought I was sane. I don't think you've ever thought that.'

Adam didn't say anything. He struggled against the cable ties, flexing his wrists. She prayed they would hold. They looked tough. Eventually he rested and exhaled. 'Do you want to explain this.'

'I think you are the one with some explaining to do.' She said.

Adam waited. 'In what way?'

'Ah. Amy said. She tipped back another gulp of wine. 'It's quite simple.' She went and crouched in front of him. 'I want to know what you've done to my daughter.'

Adam stared at her. He looked dumfounded. He shook his head. She didn't know if this was to disperse the fug, or to stress that he found what she was saying to be absurd. 'I don't know what you're talking about. Rose is Rose. She is sleeping in there, same as ever. What do you even think I've done to her?'

Amy looked at the door. 'I don't know what you've done to her. I think you've brainwashed her somehow. I think you've changed her.'

'But... _why_?'

Amy laughed. 'Her sudden change in tastes, moods. Her new skills! She is a different person, Adam. I know that much.'

'It's called growing up.' He said. 'It's called development. You've changed as a person too. Then you start to notice different things when you change. You influence the child. You turn them into a different person too.'

She just laughed.

Adam looked down at the floor. He took a deep breath. 'Okay.' He said slowly. 'Tell me. At what point do you think she changed.'

Amy moved closer towards him. 'It was after we got back from the Island, Adam. You did something after we got back.' She thought about it. 'Or maybe it was _there_. I don't know. I want to know how you came across St. Sebastian.'

Adam sighed. He looked like he was in pain. The headache would have soared to serious decibels by this point. 'I found it online, when I was researching my undergraduate dissertation. It was a historical place of interest. I looked into it.'

Amy laughed. 'Your dissertation was about the Russian Revolution. You've told me about it. How is St. Sebastian relevant to that? Did Lenin pop by?'

'It was whilst I was researching topics.'

'That's a lie Adam.' She went to her handbag and removed the object she had concealed there earlier. She went over to Adam. She jabbed him between the ribs with the taser. Mary had given it to her years before. It had sat gathering dust in a drawer. Adam screeched in pain. 'Shall we try again.' She said. 'Why did you send me to that island?'

'I thought it would help.'

She nipped him again with the taser. He screamed.

'It is really quite simple. Rose changed after we went there. Something happened either there or when we got back. Then I find you have the same name as one of the people on the island?'

Adam glanced away.

Amy waited. 'Was James involved?'

Adam returned his gaze to her. He just smiled.

'What did you give her? A _drug_?' She went to the sideboard. She picked up a knife. 'Adam, I know you know something. And you're going to tell me. She wheeled around to face him. 'What did you give my daughter?' She went to stand in front of him.

She saw him glance behind her. She twisted around. Rose's door was open a crack. She was sure before it had been completely closed before. She had checked multiple times. She had wanted to limit her exposure to this as much as possible. She spun back to Adam. He was smiling.

'You're going mad.' He said. 'Grade-A psycho.'

Amy turned back to Rose's door. It unnerved her. She delicately pushed it open. The hinges whined. The sides of the crib were up. But in the dark, she could not see much of the bedding. She could make out a tangle of blankets. Was Rose in there? She glanced back at Adam. She made sure he was secure. Then slowly she crept over to the crib. Her heart was filleting wildly. She stopped and listened. She didn't hear any breathing. She carefully moved over to the crib, taking care not to press too firmly on the floor. The last metre she took in a single stride. She leant over the side of the crib. Rose wasn't there. She dashed a hand through the assortment of blankets, made sure she wasn't buried in their folds. Nothing.

She spun around and ran into the living room.

'Where is she?' Amy demanded to Adam. He was still propped up in the sofa, hands behind his back. She rushed over and slapped him hard across the cheeks. It left a red sweltering mark immediately. He just grinned.

'Check again' He said. 'I told you. You're going mad.'

'I just looked.' She screamed at him. 'I just looked!'

He rubbed his cheek against his shoulder. It was the most movement he could manage with his hands bound. 'I said...' he stopped. ' _Check again_.'

She still held the knife in her hand. She walked over to the kitchen counter to collect herself. She saw the knife in her hand and dropped it onto the counter. It felt horridly heavy in her hand. She saw the taser on the side and put it in her pocket instead. Carrying something more inconspicuously felt better, acceptable. She passed Adam on the sofa. He continued to smile disconcertingly, provocatively.

She went back into Rose's bedroom. She stared at the blankets. They seemed to have moved position, flattened somewhat. Then again, she wasn't entirely sure how she had mounded them before. She walked over to the crib slowly. She heard something in the kitchen, wheeled back around. The doorway was empty, framing the light spilling in from the kitchen. She turned back to the crib.

She walked the last steps. She reached for the blanket, yanked it back. Rose opened her eyes at the sudden intrusion. She was so shocked she didn't even cry. She just stared at Amy.

'I'm sorry.' Amy said. She almost shouted it. Her voice was high and faltering. She reached out to stroke Rose's face. It was beginning to blanch and clench, the precursor to a storm. She pulled the blanket back over her daughter. She patted it gently in a pathetic attempt to soothe her. 'I'm so sorry.' She whimpered again.

She stepped away from the crib. She turned around.

Adam stood in front of her. Amy screamed.

He put his finger to his lips. _Sssh._

He moved towards her, hands outstretched ready to grab her. He had little back streaks sticking out from his pocket. They were the cable ties, all prepped as restraints.

'This is for your own good, Amy.' He said. 'We're going to get you some help. But I just need you to come with me.'

'Get away from me, Adam.' She said.

'Please Amy. You'll wake Rose.'

He suddenly lunged at her with his right hand. She slapped it away.

She was backing herself slowly towards the crib. Adam darted his hand out again, this time his left. She thumped it with her fist. It seemed to hurt him, because he grasped and twisted his wrist. He stopped.

He laughed. 'Fuck this.'

He outstretched both his hands and crouched slightly lower. She knew he was about to charge at her. He was getting into position for a rugby tackle. Barely moving, she dipped her hand into her pocket. She felt for the taser and gripped it. Adam suddenly sprang up and charged at her. He was two metres away, suddenly one. The distance was melting away. She pulled the taser out of her pocket and swung it blindly towards his oncoming mass. She felt it connect with flesh. There was a flash of light, the crackle of voltage. Adam crumpled in front of her. His hands slipped down her front as he unspooled on the floor. The weight of him made her fall back slightly. She caught herself on the crib. She looked down. Adam lay sprawled unconscious on the floor. Or was it more than unconscious? Was he breathing? She didn't care.

Then she thought: how the hell did he undo the cable ties? They would have to be cut loose, with a knife or scissors.

She turned around slowly. She wanted to use the precious seconds to plan what she would say to comfort Rose. What soft, cushioned noises could possible undo this trauma?

She stopped.

Rose was standing up. She held the blanket in her hands. She stood on the bars of the crib. She was staring wildly at her. Her balance looked precarious. She suddenly leapt from the crib. Her mouth was twisted into a grin. Her fist flashed silver, and Amy realised that she was holding a knife. Amy threw herself back, onto the floor. Her head thudded against the carpet.

Rose landed on the carpet. She walked unsteadily towards her with the knife.

'Baby, put it down.' Amy said. 'Put the knife down, Rose.'

Did she understand? Could she hear?

Amy continued to scramble back. Her left hand collided with something solid. She saw it out of the corner of her eye. Rose raised the knife high as if preparing to plunge it. Amy grabbed the object with her left hand and wildly swung it at the knife. The collision was perfect. The knife tumbled out of Rose's hand and hurtled into the wall. Amy stood up, still holding the dog cage in her left hand. She stepped towards Rose.

Her blood felt hot. Her heartbeat was surging. This wasn't her daughter.

She reached over and unclipped the front of the cage. She ran at Rose, who tried to turn and get away but fell forward, her little legs unable to fully support her. Amy picked her up and put her in the cage.
Chapter Twelve

She took out her phone. She dialled Lochlin. It was late, nearing midnight. There was a risk that he would be asleep or away from his phone. The phone rang once. Her breathing paused. She looked out the window. The moon was full. Bleached light drenched the glass of the French windows.

He picked up on the second ring. She knew he would.

'Hello Amy.' He said. 'This is a late call from you.'

She tried to decode his tone. She had hoped for an edge of suspicion. She had wanted him to be surprised. It should be there. This was an unexpected call. It was late. She had never called him before. But his tone was smooth, faultless. It was like he had always expected the call. The absence of surprise confirmed her fear. He knew something.

She took a deep breath. Hearing his voice had made her thoughts calcify. Her mind lost its' rapidity, its' spontaneity. It felt like a hardening liquid. She had played his voice through her mind so often. She had unspooled his little accented phrases during fleeting daydreams. The voice had become totemic. She thought it hinted at knowing things you didn't know. Now it chilled her.

'Hello.' She said, after some seconds. She waited. She glanced down at the dog cage in the corner. It was a good thing they had not rescued the dog yet. What was she doing? She knew the words would get stuck in her throat if she didn't push them out quickly. The absurdity would overwhelm her if she waited too long. She would lose faith in herself. Her newfound clarity felt fragile.

'I know you've done something to my daughter.' She said.

Lochlin breathed heavily. He took some time to respond. 'What have you done to her, Amy? Is she safe?'

'What, you think I'd _hurt_ her.' Amy snapped. She waited. 'She just attacked me. So did Adam.'

'I'm sorry to hear that.' Lochlin said, plainly.

'Who is Adam? You're related, aren't you? I know you have the same name.'

'Many people have the same name. It doesn't mean there is a conspiracy.'

She laughed shrilly. 'There have been too many coincidences. You did something to her. You've changed her.'

Lochlin waited. He was calculating. 'Adam is my brother.'

'You don't look anything alike.' Amy shot back. 'He's half your age!'

'Don't rub it in.' Lochlin said. He paused. 'It's... _complicated_.'

'What have you done to Rose?'

'Look at her, Amy. She's still your daughter. Look into her eyes.'

'I've looked into her eyes. It's not her. It's like there's evil in them.'

'Maybe she takes after her mother.'

'She attacked me.'

'She was probably scared.'

'She's a young child.' Amy screamed. 'She shouldn't even be capable of it.'

Lochlin waited. She listened to his delicate breathing. 'What do you think I did to her?' He said. 'I'm curious.'

'I think you gave her something. I think you drugged her.'

'And why would I benefit from that?'

'I don't know. Maybe you didn't. Maybe you just like to see people being ruined.'

'I'm getting old, Amy. I can find sufficient ruin in the mirror.' He paused. 'Come back here. We can talk this through. We can make things right. I can help you.'

'What have you done to her?'

He waited. She heard the phone line crackling. She heard the wind chiming through the microphone. He was outside. She heard the throb of the sea. She heard the powdery explosion of the waves. He didn't reply.

'You're evil.' She said. She changed tack. 'Why did you try and adopt me? I know it was you.'

He waited. 'Because you're one of us. I wanted to bring you home.'

She let the answer settle. 'I'm not from there.'

'I'll explain everything, Amy. Just come here.'

'I'm not coming anywhere.'

Lochlin sighed. 'Then I need to protect Rose. I need to protect her from you.'

The line disconnected. Amy slowly pulled the phone away from her ear. She went over and crouched next to Adam. He was still lying flat in Rose's bedroom. She had cable tied his hands. He lips were tinging blueish. She went to his wrists and felt for a pulse. She couldn't find it. She shook his wrist violently.

'Adam.' She said loudly. 'Adam, wake up.'

His wrist slopped about without resistance. It was like stiffened jelly. She went to his head, tilted his neck to search for a pulse. His head lulled to the side. A stream of drool spilled from his mouth onto the carpet. His eyes stared out, glassy and marbled. A little scorch of fried flesh marked where the taser had connected with his neck. She did not want to think about the gush of volts that had cut through him. She imagined shattering cells and paralysed organs.

'Adam.' She said, more quietly. She went down on her knees and brushed up his neck a final time. But she knew he was dead. She could feel coolness in the skin. It was remarkable how quickly the heat had leaked out of him. She sat on the floor. She stared at the body. The taser lay on the floor. She had dropped it as soon as he crumpled in front of her. She jerked her eyes away. She could see blood draining away from the surface of his face and arms. It was retreating inwards. His skin was turning into a shell.

Rose stared at her from behind the bars of the dog cage. She was smiling. Amy glanced away. What had they done to her? She would find out. She would correct it.

She stood up and went to the door. She closed it on the body. She didn't want to see it anymore. She and Rose would stay in the kitchen. She sat on the sofa, rubbed her face. She was staring at the floor. Her breaths were short and shallow. Her skin felt clammy. She wanted to cry, but shock denied her. Chemicals, adrenalin controlled her brain. They denied emotion. Emotion impeded survival.

She stared at the door. It felt unfathomable that it disguised a parted soul. She had done that. Her hands.

*

'I see your situation has deteriorated.' Mary said, surveying the flat. She glanced at Rose in the dog cage. 'You might have to explain some things.'

'It gets worse.' Amy said, indicating towards the door. Mary walked cautiously over, her hand stretching out for the handle. 'No don't.' Amy hurried. 'Wait. Adam attacked me. I used the taser. He's lying behind the door.'

Mary turned back towards her. Her expression was non-committal. 'Is he dead?' She asked.

Amy waited. Then she nodded. Mary swallowed hard. Amy watched as she glanced towards the front door. She was sizing up the distance. She was gauging escape. Amy knew how she must look. Blood red eyes. Raw, mottled skin. She looked like madness. She had texted Mary, then cried for twenty minutes. When they finally came, the tears spewed until her whole body felt empty. Rose had remained quiet throughout. She stared out from the recesses of the cage. But as soon as Mary had come in, Rose had begun to cry. She unleashed hot, sobbing wails that ricocheted from the walls. These tears were niggling Mary's conscience. Amy could feel Mary turning more doubtful every second. She regretted coming.

'Why is she in a cage, Amy?' She said. 'What have you done.' Mary had changed her tone. She was not concerned for her friend anymore. She was afraid for herself. She was frightened for Rose.

'She attacked me, Mary.'

'She's a child, for God's sake. That isn't possible. Kids act up.'

'She came at me with a knife.'

Mary looked sceptical. She thought carefully about her next question. Amy knew that she was trying to manage her. She kept her voice neutral. 'Has she seen you holding a knife? Has she seen you fighting back against Adam?'

Amy swallowed hard. She was about to deny it then stopped. Had Rose seen her with the knife? The door had been closed, but might she have seen somehow? Could she just be mimicking her, parroting an action now instead of merely words? 'I was protecting myself against Adam.' Amy replied, quietly.

Mary nodded. She had her answer. Amy could see conclusions locking into place. Mary turned to the cage. 'She's a child, Amy. How much of a threat could she be?'

'She's not my child. Adam changed her. The people on the island changed her.'

'You're the one whose changed.' Mary said.

Amy ignored her. Mary reached into her bag and pulled out a cigarette. 'Do you mind?' She said. 'I can open the window, if you want.'

Amy stared at her. 'The smell of smoke isn't a concern, right now.'

Amy saw Mary take a long drag on her lit cigarette. Behind her, she could see Rose at the bars of the cage. She was staring at the cigarette. Her eyes were following it as it went back and forth from Mary's mouth.

'I'll get you a saucer.' Amy said. She went to the cupboard and took a plate from the cupboard. She walked over. Mary had sat on the floor. She was slouched on the rug, leaning against the coffee table. She seemed disorientated. Who wouldn't be?

Amy handed her the saucer. 'Thanks.' Mary said, tapping out some ash from the tip of her cigarette. She took another drag, and the fag flared. She put the saucer down on the floor. It was inches away from the cage. She tapped ash onto it at intervals.

'We can get you some help, Amy.' Mary said. 'We can sort this.'

'Can you check Adam with me?' Amy said, ignoring her offer.

Mary looked panicked. 'I don't really want to touch it. _Him._ '

'Please.' Amy said. 'Just look from a distance. I don't know what to do.'

She considered, then nodded. 'Okay.' She said slowly. 'You open the door.' She put her cigarette down on the saucer. It was barely half-smoked.

Amy went to the door and pressed down on the handle. The lock clicked. She noticed how Mary kept her hands at her sides. She didn't want to touch any surfaces. She didn't want any traces left at the crime scene. Plausible deniability. Amy stepped into the dark room. Mary followed at a careful distance. She stepped a metre into the room, then stopped. She wouldn't go any further. She stared down at the body.

But Amy wasn't focusing on the body. She had seen it enough. She could describe the position of every limb if she needed to. She was looking back past Mary at Rose. She had behaved precisely as she hoped. She was doing exactly what she _needed_ her to do.

'Mary,' She whispered. 'Turn around very slowly.'

Mary glanced at her. Then gradually she twisted her neck.

They both stared at Rose. She had reached through the bars of the cage and was sucking forcefully on the cigarette. She suddenly twisted her eyes. Her gaze landed on them. She instinctively dropped the cigarette back onto the saucer. She threw herself away from the bars into the shadows of the cage. But Amy knew her expression had been unmistakable. She was afraid. She had been caught.

Mary stared at the cage. Then she twisted around to look at Amy. Amy just nodded. Amy fixed her gaze hard on Mary. 'I told you.' She said. 'That isn't my daughter.'

*

Mary sat with a fresh cigarette. Smoke pirouetted above her. ' _Lochlin_?' She said. 'Who is that?'

'It's his name. It's both their names.' Amy said. 'It was Adam's name. But he didn't tell me. It was also what the man from the island was called.' Referring to James in such an impersonal way felt odd. It drew attention to their distorted intimacy.

'I _see_.' Mary said slowly. 'Why didn't you tell me?'

'I didn't think to.' Amy shrugged. I didn't think it would mean much to you.... _why_?'

Mary stood up. She had paled. She took another long drag on her cigarette. She went to lean against the kitchen counter. It was like she was weighing up her options. She was parsing a thought. She suddenly began rifling through her handbag which she had left propped on the side.

'What are you doing?' Amy said nervously. 'Please - don't call anyone.'

'I'm not.' Mary said. Detritus was spewing from her bag. She finally pulled out a black notebook. Paper spilled out from it and splayed across the counter: receipts, post-its, folded A4. 'You know Adam told us that he had that story published. Well I- I went to try and find it online.' Mary said sheepishly. 'It was after that argument. I wanted to see for myself that it was as shit as I hoped. Petty, I know. He told us the first line remember. The cliched one about it being a dark and stormy night. And you told me the magazine. So I looked. But the only story I could find with that line was by someone with the name Lochlin. And there was another reason I assumed it wasn't him.' She unfurled the A4 pages. 'I meant to show him at some point. I wanted to ask why he pretended this story was his.'

She handed the pages over. It was about four pages of dense text. It was titled ' _Cradle_ '.

'I suggest you read.' Mary said.

Amy walked over to the sofa and sat down. She began to read the story. It featured a short introductory paragraph at the top. It was supposed to tantalise the reader with a glimpse of the story to come.

It read: " _In this terrifying tale, an island community discovers a pool of water left after the wreckage of a heavenly collision. They discover it has mystifying powers. It can switch the souls of any two people who sink through the pool. Young bodies are taken by old souls. Good people are preyed on by evil.'_

Amy glanced up at Mary. The paper rattled in her hands. Mary had lit another cigarette. The smoke was thick above her head. Mary was staring at Rose.

'There's another thing.' Mary said, without shifting her glance. 'That story is from their archives. It was published over a hundred years ago.'

*

Mary was at the French windows. A sprightly cigarette was clasped in her fingers. She stood staring at the moon. The smoke was mushrooming as it curled upwards. She was exhaling it with force, as if she might expel all the pent-up, curdling anxiety along with the gas. Amy understood this desire. She felt like her thoughts were cancerous. The idea that Rose wasn't Rose did not merely hurt. It was a pain so blinding that she had ceded consciousness.

She sat on the sofa.

'He did this.' Amy whispered.

'Adam?' Mary replied. She said it quietly, from the windows, between lingering drags.

'No.' Amy replied. 'James _. James Lochlin._ ' She said his name so quietly it was like she was betraying a secret. Speaking it aloud made her feel nauseous. She had thought about the name so often to herself, and kept it buried, that speaking it aloud felt somehow significant.

Amy told Mary about the island. Every detail she could remember. As she did, she realised why Lochlin had protected that tarpaulin so carefully. She had bought his story that a girl had fallen and forgotten him. That he found it too painful to see. She had wondered if this girl had been his daughter. She had thought perhaps she had gone off with his partner and never come back. He had even wanted to avoid the north of the island altogether. Adam hadn't even changed the location of the pool in his story. His story placed it towards the north of an island, surrounded by a low wall. She almost laughed. He always was unimaginative.

'Do you trust me?'

Mary dropped her arm. The cigarette dangled by her waist. 'I don't even know what to think anymore.'

'But do you think I'm crazy? Do you think I'm mad?'

Mary smiled sadly at her. She laughed. 'Well if you are, then I am. Maybe we can bunk today in the asylum.'

'Do you mean it?'

'Amy, she hasn't cried since we caught her twenty minutes ago. She's in a cage. Every minute I become more convinced. I don't know what we're dealing with. But I think it's.' She stopped. 'I think it's devilish.'

Mary went over to the cage. She lent over and peered through the bars. 'Is she still alive?'

'What are you doing?'

'I'm asking this thing what happened to Rose. This... C _hild_.'

'She might be dangerous.' Amy said.

'I'll risk it.' Mary sat down in front of the cage. Rose stared at her. 'What happened to Rose? Is she still alive?'

The Child smiled. It was a grotesque, provocative smile.

'Are you thirsty?' Mary asked. The Child sat back. She stared at her. 'Well, are you?'

The Child nodded.

Mary went to the kitchen and fetched a glass of water. She plopped a straw in the top. She took it back to the cage and poked it through the bars. The Child slowly edged towards the bars. She grabbed the straw and drew on it thirstily. She exhausted the glass.

'Are you hungry?' Mary said. The Child nodded again.

'Well,' Mary said. 'You're going to be hungry for a long time.' She stopped. 'Unless you answer one question. Do you understand that?'

The Child nodded again.

Mary took a deep breath and glanced back at Amy on the sofa. She turned back to the cage. 'Is Rose alive?'

Amy stared. Her lungs felt as solid as cement. She waited. The Child looked from Mary to Amy and back again. A shrug. A _shrug_. Amy leapt up and darted for the cage. The Child shrunk back to the rear of the cage. It was grinning wildly.

'Is she alive?' Amy screamed at her. 'Is she _alive?_ '

'Amy, wait.' Mary said. 'Just think for a second.' She gestured at the cage. 'If Lochlin made _this,_ he probably wants to protect it. You can use it as a bargaining chip.'

Amy nodded. She collected herself. She went to find her mobile. She found Lochlin's number. He picked up instantly.

'Is she alive?' Amy said. 'Rose. Is she alive? Where is my daughter?'

'Your daughter is right there.'

'I know about the well.' She said. 'Adam wrote all about it. I understand now. I know you changed her somehow.'

Lochlin paused. She heard his heavy breathing. Then he laughed. 'Adam always was betrayed by his weak imagination. Is he alive?'

'Adam is dead.'

Lochlin laughed gently. 'You didn't disappoint me, Amy.'

'Is she alive?'

'Come and settle this. Come back home.'

'Is she alive?'

Lochlin sighed. 'I'll tell you everything you need to know. Just come back here. Bring her with you. Don't hurt her.'

'Who is she?' Amy said, glancing at the cage.

Lochlin paused. 'Rose is here. But both of you need to come back. That is the only way we can swap them back. We can solve this.'

Amy said nothing. The silence was heavy. 'Promise me that she's alive.'

'She's alive.' Lochlin said. 'But I don't know for how long. That is out of my hands.'

'I'm coming.' Amy said. 'I'm coming for her. I'm coming for _you_.'

'I know you are.' Lochlin said.

*

Mary was having another cigarette at the window. Amy had gone into her bedroom and begun to throw clothes into a backpack. She tried to ignore the body on the floor. She considered pulling a rug over it.

'Amy.' Mary shouted from the window. 'Amy!'

'What?' Amy said, emerging from the bedroom.

'A police car just pulled up outside. Do you think he could have called the police?'

She almost laughed. _Yes_. Lochlin knew her address. He knew how the scene would look to any impartial observer.

'We need to go,' Mary said. _'Now_.'

Amy grabbed the dog cage and her backpack. They rushed into the corridor. They heard the buzzer resounding through the flat. The police were at the front door to the building.

'Is there a back door... an emergency exit?' Mary said urgently, slamming closed the front door to the flat.

'This way.' Amy said. The Child began to wail and cry. No neighbour would be asleep now. They heard the front door buzz open. A neighbour had let them in.

They moved through to the back stairwell. They leapt down the stairs two at a time. They burst through the emergency exit into the rear alley. The street was lined with overflowing dustbins. The smell of oil and fryers from a nearby chicken shop assailed them.

'Tell me you drove here?' Amy said.

'My car is on the street over.' Mary said. 'We can go this way.'

The Child was continuing to cry. Her sobs were echoing off the alley walls. Amy held up the cage and glared at it. 'We're going to the island. You're going home.' The Child fell silent. They walked briskly to Mary's car. There was nobody around to notice them. Amy glanced back at her building. The police would be at her front door by now. They might even have broken in. They would be moments away from finding the body. Then they would be after her.

'Do you know where we're going.' Mary said. She had turned on the headlights. The heating erupted in gritty gusts through the vents. They began to drive. Mary picked up speed on the main road. They made their way through the suburbs onto the motorway. As the night deepened, they put significant distance between them and the city.

By morning they would be in St. Sebastian. 
Chapter Thirteen

She went up to the door. She knocked gently. She prayed he was awake. That he was even in. The street was quite narrow. It mostly comprised of undulating, rickety cottages of quaint stone. All the doors were painted vibrant colours. They faced onto a narrow street that twisted around to the harbour. She could just about make out the water in the willowy dawn light. She heard footsteps in the hall. The door opened a crack.

'Hello.' He said. He sounded surprised, which of course he would be. She had no business being here.

'Hi.' She said slowly. 'I realise this is a strange appearance.'

'You could say that.' John replied. He poked his head out of the door. He looked along the street. He tracked along the doorways opposite, looking for lingering, suspicious faces. Amy noticed he was fully dressed. His plasticky waterproofs rustled with every shift in his stance. This was a relief. It indicated he was due to sail.

'I need to go back.' Amy said. 'You took me out there first time.' She softened her voice. She slowed down. She didn't want to sound unstable, panicked. That would scare him. 'I guess I trust you to do it again. I can pay you.'

'Right.' He said, finally. He opened the door fully. He eyed her cautiously. 'I've never seen anyone go back before.'

'It isn't out of choice.'

He looked her up and down. 'You don't look well.'

'You can blame _him_.'

He nodded. They didn't need to say the name. 'Is it serious?' He said.

She nodded. 'Lifechanging.'

He leaned back slightly. He seemed to consider. Then he flashed a measly, sad smile. 'Then I guess we better go.'

He didn't even look backwards. He grabbed his coat from the brass hooks drilled into the wall next to the door, clicked off the lights. They walked to the car. Mary sat inside warming her hands against the throbbing heaters. Every now and then she brought them to her mouth to spew explosive hot breaths across them. The engine was idling.

Amy opened the back door and took out the dog cage. They had draped a towel over it.

'Do I want to know what's in there?' John said.

Amy just looked at him. He laughed, shook his head. He began to walk down the street to the harbour. Mary followed in the car.

*

It was still darkish when they motored out the harbour. The island loomed ahead of them. The jagged carcass of the monastery was black against the sky. The edges seemed as sharp as razors.

John suggested that she use the small outboard motorboat that dangled from the rear of the trawler to get to the island. This would save them having to approach in the larger vessel, which might draw attention. The plan was this. They would continue in the trawler and begin passing the island, as if heading out to sea. They would sail as close as possible without drawing attention. As they passed, Amy would lower the outboard and cut across to the island. The darkness should give her some cover, and she could use the trawler to shield herself from view for as long as possible. She would motor around the head of the island, and beach towards the north. There were no houses on the north of the island. She would hide the boat in one of the little coves that pockmarked the base of the cliffs. She would have to find a cove that also allowed access to the clifftop. She would have to scurry up a path somehow. This might be difficult, but John knew that these little paths existed. He had used them as a child, when they would break the rules and row over to the island to explore.

She would stay hidden until night-time. Mary was going to go back to the city. There was no need for her to involve herself further. She could still deny things. John was going to go about his business nearby. He would loiter, as if trying his luck for once closer to home. He knew it would make for a scant catch. The waters were barren.

Mary had protested. 'I don't think I should leave you.' She said.

'You've done everything you can.' Amy replied. 'You need to get away now and protect yourself. If they ask, tell them I threatened you. Say I made you drive me.'

Mary laughed. 'They'll see through it. We stopped at the service station. I didn't exactly make a getaway when I had the chance.'

'Maybe you had quick-onset Stockholm syndrome.'

Mary didn't board the trawler. She drove home from the quayside. As Amy lowered herself down in the outboard, John shouted: 'I knew he was a dodgy one. My wife never had any tax problems.'

*

She found a cove that allowed access to a scuffed cliff path. She waited there. The sun rose. The day played out beautiful and dazzling. She was thankful the cove provided some cool shade. She lifted the towel and let the Child feel the breeze. Every now and then she passed through some water with a straw. It was odd. She found herself having to ward off motherly affection for this... _shell_. She had to remind herself constantly that it was not Rose. She needed to be distrustful of it.

The sun began to set. The light in the cove dimmed. She reached for a torch and flicked it on. Long shadows stretched up the stone walls. John had provided her the supplies she asked for. She had a torch, tape and rope in her bag. She decided that she would take the Child up with her to the top of the cliff. Then she would hide her somewhere. She would ensure she was far from anything. She would not be able to attract any attention with her cries. When she had located the real Rose, she would come back. Then they would go to the well. She would switch them back.

She stepped onto the side of the cove. The rock was slippery from the lapping waves and rising tide. She had to be careful with her footing. The weight of the cage imbalanced her further. She gingerly stepped along the edge, until she reached the entrance to the cove. The path joined the entrance to the cove here, but there was a slab of rock between them. She would have to make a wide step around the slab of rock, over the water, to get a foot onto the start of the path. She would have to twist through a hundred and eighty degrees, whilst maintaining her balance and keeping hold of the cage. She gripped the cage tightly and stepped out. She pivoted her right foot around. Her toes caught the edge of the track. She pushed the rest of her foot forward, and it slid across the dirt onto the track. She was now leaning against the slab for balance. She could feel the water behind her. Her centre of gravity meant that if she leant back even an inch, she would fall backwards into the water. She lifted her left foot, tried to tuck it into her waist as far as possible. She tried to shuffle to the right to clear the slab.

A wave lurched up and fell on the back of her calf. It dragged her leg down slightly, and she knocked her kneecap against the stone. She lost her balance. She began to topple back. Her ankle plunged into the sea. The icy water swelled around her muscles. The cage in her left hand began to sway, and the weight unbalanced her further. Her whole left leg plunged backwards into the black water. She cursed and scrambled with her hands for grip. Just as she was falling back, her fingers clasped around some tough grass growing from the rock sides. Her fingers clenched around it. She momentarily hung there; her upper body suspended above the water.

She took a breath and pulled against the grass. Little strands began to tug loose. She heard snapping. But the grass held. She heaved herself up, until her upper body rested against the rock again. She lifted her left leg out of the water. She recovered her breath. She repeated the movement again, lifting her leg. Shuffling. Gradually she inched across to the right, clearing the slab. She lowered her left foot. Finally, she pulled the cage around.

The Child was grinning at her from the bars.

'I don't know what you're smiling about.' Amy said. She plunged the cage into the charcoal water. She pulled it out. 'You should still have time to dry before I find Rose.'

*

She left the Child hidden in some shrubs at the top of the track. She could see no light in the distance. She feared that there would be people scouring the island for her with torches. It was a risk she had to take. The Child could make noise if she took it with her. They were some distance from the village. That gave her comfort. She began to walk down towards the village, staying off the main path as much as possible. She listened for any disturbances or movement as she crept along, skirting into the undergrowth here and there when panic gripped her. The path went uphill slightly away from the cliffs, then it began to gradually descend.

She half-remembered the way, but every now and then she took a wrong turn and had to backtrack. She remembered the well had been half-way up the slope. She therefore knew she needed to descend from the clifftop.

She heard voices and ducked off the main path into the bushes. The voices got louder. She heard Lochlin. It made her neck hairs stand brittle.

'We have to be conservative.' He said. 'You know it's weakening.'

'It is my final one.' A voice replied. It sounded old, raspy. Amy crept forward and watched as they came into view down the path. She recognised the old man. He walked with a cane. It took her a second to place him. It was the one who had been smiling at her in that malicious way during the dinner. 'I know that it's my last time. That is why I chose an extra young one for it. Get as much mileage out as we can.' He laughed. The laughter made him cough. He stopped to hack and wheeze.

Lochlin kept walking. They took a right turn down the path. Amy recognised the junction. It led to the blue tarpaulin. Following the pair of them was somebody else. They came about thirty metres behind. Amy felt her blood run cold. This woman was carrying a young baby. The baby looked to be only a year old. The baby was crying.

They all disappeared down the path. Their voices and the crying faded. Amy followed them. The path twisted around. Her ankles were nicked by scraggly brambles that leered out from the undergrowth. She felt her heart beating violently. She felt nauseous.

This sickness was a mix of apprehensiveness and self-disgust. Because she knew she was going to watch. She had to. She needed to understand the process, to see how to save Rose. But she was disgusted in herself for a darker reason. She felt within herself a gruesome fascination for the impending spectacle. Their evil had magnetism. She had told herself she was a good person. She was less convinced now.

She followed them until they burst free into the clearing. She saw the blue tarpaulin. It rattled in the wind. She hung back in the shadows of the path, burying herself in a bush to watch.

'We need to do it before it rains.' Lochlin said. 'I don't want any more dilution.'

He went to the posts and began to pull them out. The sheet began to loosen, and it billowed in the wind. The winds were rising. Amy glanced into the sky and saw a gathering vortex of massing cloud. Lochlin was right. Rain was coming.

The woman at the rear placed the baby on the ground. She helped Lochlin loosen the tarpaulin. They pulled it clear and they both took a moment to peer down into the pool below. Amy couldn't see it from her position. It was obscured by the grey stone sides of the well. But she could imagine it. She saw the water swirling with ethereal majesty. Or perhaps it was murky and tarred, impenetrable, like oil.

'Let's get this over with.' Lochlin said. He went and picked up the baby. From his pocket he took out a strap. He went over to the old man and strapped the baby to his back.

The old man passed Lochlin his stick. 'It's been a long time since I went in there. Eighty years.'

'Well enjoy it.' Lochlin said. 'It'll be the last time you go in.'

The old man hobbled to the sides. The weight of the baby on his back made him unstable. A ladder had been bolted onto the stone wall. The man grasped it unsteadily. The baby continued to cry. He heaved himself over the wall with a grunt, then began to descend the ladder. He disappeared from view, blocked by the wall. He was climbing down very slowly.

Lochlin leant over the edge side. 'Just let go.' He shouted. 'It'll be quicker.'

'I'll hurt myself.' The old man shouted up. The direction of the sound meant Amy barely heard him.

Lochlin laughed. 'You'll hurt _him_. You'll soon be all sprightly.'

The man laughed. 'Are you ready? I'll let go in a second. But be ready to come down. Remember, they can never swim. I don't want to be dragged down before my life has even started.'

Lochlin stepped onto the ladder himself, threw his legs over the side of the well. He climbed down several rungs of the ladder. 'I'm ready.' He shouted. 'Let go now. I can feel the rain starting.'

Amy felt her breath catch. Her chest tugged with pressure.

She heard a grunt. Then immediately she heard a splash. She listened to the ricochet of waves bouncing against the sides of the well. The water sloshed and rolled around angrily. The noise lessened. Then it went still. Amy realised she had closed her eyes. When she opened them, only the very tip of Lochlin's head was visible above the wall. The tufts of his greying hair were turned white by the moonlight. He began to heave himself up. He pulled himself over the edge of the well. With his right hand, he pulled the old man up after him. The baby was still attached to his back. Amy didn't realise he was so strong. Lochlin lifted the old man over the edge and dropped him front first onto the ground. He fell with a hard thud. The old man heaved and lay panting. He was spluttering up water, that ran away in rivulets downslope.

Lochlin bent down and unclipped the strap. He picked the baby up from the old man's back. He stared at the baby for a moment, interrogating its eyes. The moon was full, and the light silhouetted the baby. The old man was coughing and spluttering on the ground. Lochlin did not seem to care. The baby reached out and patted Lochlin's forehead.

The other person in the group had unfurled a wheelchair. They had already begun to cover the well with the tarpaulin. When this was complete, they lifted the old man into the wheelchair.

'Take them away.' Lochlin said. 'Make them comfortable. Let it be kind.'

The baby was still patting Lochlin's forehead. Lochlin laughed. He lifted the baby slightly higher. The rain was beginning to fall, and it spattered against his face. 'Hello, Father.' Lochlin said.

The baby giggled.

*

Amy twisted around. She felt the branches of the bush dig into her back. She grasped her legs and pulled herself into a tight ball. She had seen it happen. She supposed she had still believed that Adam's story was just that – a story. She assumed there would still prove to be some rational explanation. Something else would have happened to her daughter. A technology. A drug. Anything. But Adam's story had just played out before her eyes. Every stage might have been plucked from his antique sentences. His transformations were no invention. They were the truth.

They had transformed Rose. They had stolen her life.

That thought made the shock wane a little. It was replaced by anger. Then her rage grew. It began to roil with the power of divinity. She would kill them all.

She sat listening. She didn't dare dart out yet. They were still there, milling about. But she knew they were preparing to leave. They were now facing in her direction. She heard the wheelchair scratch against the earth, as someone started to push it away. She heard the old man sobbing. But she knew the old man wasn't sobbing at all. He was enlivened.

Lochlin coughed. He was approaching her position. They would have to pass her on their way back to the village. She tried to ball up into a smaller size, even though this was impossible. It was also unnecessary. The foliage would cover her.

She waited for their footsteps to pass, then fade away. She focused on the click of snapped branches. They grew quieter, then stopped. She unfurled herself. Flexed the acid from her muscles. She began to follow them down the path. She kept her distance, always keeping them on the edge of earshot. As they approached the village, Amy hung back, shielded by a bend. She tried to peer through the bushes. She saw Lochlin was carrying the baby. He turned back towards the village. Amy knew where he would be going. To the cottage. To her successor.

The wheelchair veered right. The person had to heave it uphill. The rough track meant progress was slow. Amy felt rain sliding down her cheek. It was getting stronger. The droplets felt as large as gobstoppers. They peeled down her face and dropped to the floor. Thunder thrummed in the distance. The shuddering roll swept in from across the sea.

She followed the wheelchair at a careful distance, not wanting to lose it. In truth, she knew where it was going. She had visited with Lochlin. She had praised him for it. She had called him a good person. She had thought him angelic.

They rounded a bend. She saw it in front of her. The lights were off, but the walls and the roof caught the moonlight. The bricks were dark, still flecked with moss. They were being darkened further by the rain. The terracotta tiles were turning maroon. She stared at the nursing home. She remembered the sense of foreboding she had felt when she had first entered. She had been reticent to step inside, wanting to avoid any reminders of mortality. She had thought it a prison. She realised how apt that term was. It _was_ a prison. But their prisoners were not held by walls formed of brick and stone. They were held by failing flesh.

She watched as the person with the wheelchair opened the door and went into the atrium. A light snapped on. She craned her neck, stepped out to get a better view. They had gone into the television room, the same room she had gone into with Lochlin. The person clearly left the wheelchair quickly, because they soon emerged. Amy had to scramble to hide herself in a nearby clutch of trees as they walked back past her. They wiped their hands on their jeans as they walked. They hurried towards the village. Amy was left alone.

She ran to the door. She looked around for cameras, lights, but she couldn't see anything. The island was too trusting for that. They had never been caught, after all. How long had they been uninterrupted for? They felt unassailable. She would change that.

She stepped into the atrium. The florescent lights flickered on, stark and drenching. She walked over to the double doors. She waited outside. She took a breath, composing herself. She had suddenly realised something, with a dawning horror. She might not be able to identify Rose. What would she now look like? Would she be there to cry out to her? Would the others do the same and confuse her?

There wasn't time.

She crushed the handle. The lock clicked. The door swung inwards. The lights were off, but the hum of the air conditioner was steady. The television was tuned to some cartoon channel. The sound was on so low as to be inaudible. The screen cast a tremoring glow. It lit the sterile furniture in a washed-out, pallid haze. The light made the faces seem so pale.

Amy realised she wasn't looking at the individuals. She had been afraid to. She forced her neck up, looked around. Several faces twisted, eyes flicking across her. Some had breathing apparatus pinned into their nostrils. She saw ranks of sunken cheeks, bony features. Cans of oxygen were propped beside their chairs. She looked one of the old men in the eyes. He was crying.

She spun around desperately. How was she supposed to identify Rose? There were about ten people in the room. Some were sleeping. Those awake traced her with desperate eyes. She realised there may even be others not in the room, stored in bedrooms along the hallway. What if she was already too late?

She walked along in front of the group, blocking most light from the television. The remnant light spilled across their faces and allowed her to study them. She went from one corner and moved gradually over each face. Each one, when she reached them, leant forwards slightly. They lifted their arms as much as they could manage. It was as if they wanted to be carried. No, she thought. They wanted to be held. They wanted to be cuddled.

She passed two, three. But there was no flicker of recognition, no tingle of connection. She moved along and went past another two, then three, then four. She passed the man she had seen at the well. He looked so afraid. She reached the far corner. She crouched down in front of the final person. She was a woman. Her head was propped on the chair, still asleep.

Her breath caught. She recognised her. And then it all made sense.

She was looking at Ruth, who had owned the shop. The island business magnate.

Then she remembered Rose's drawing from the creche. The scrawled crayon, the flaky expanse of glitter. She had thought she had been given another girl's drawing by accident. But it had been _her_ mistake. Ruth woke up, lifted her neck slightly. Her mouth creaked open. Her eyes widened. Amy watched as tears pearled and trickled down her cheek.

Amy looked into those eyes, past the tears. They were Rose's eyes. Rose's soul.
Chapter Fourteen

She stared at Rose.

She stared at Ruth. Her skin was sun-spotted and loose. The years of nicotine had made it yellow and ragged. Rose coughed, and Amy heard the rattling lungs, hacked and blistered by the ceaseless flow of cigarettes. Her hair was thick and silver, and it draped over her shoulders. She had a dignified beauty, and Amy imagined she was would have been stunning in her youth. Her eyes were scarlet blue. The whites were grainy and stained, but they could not diminish the raw jaggedness of her irises. Rose had blue eyes. Perhaps it was this similarity that helped Amy see Rose within. But the true tell was not the colour of the eyes. It was the way they tracked across her. Rose eyes had always pursued her in the same way. They moved downwards: Hair down to eyes, where she lingered, down to nose, where she lingered, down to mouth. Amy became attuned to it only now. Flashes of those numerous precedents flickered through her mind.

Amy saw the television tremoring out of the corner of her eyes. She wanted to be sure.

She found the remote. It was perched precariously on top of the television. Out of reach for everyone in the room. She scanned the remote, hoping they would have the streaming service – the ubiquitous one. She pressed the button and the welcome screen dominated the screen. Fortunately, it was logged in. She could never remember her own password. It had an @ sign in somewhere. Maybe it was a !.

She went searching through. There it was.

Had Rose noticed? Perhaps she had propped herself slightly further up in her chair, though Amy could not be entirely sure. She clicked play and immediately fast-forwarded. She knew the scenes as formidably as she knew the pattern of Rose's gaze. Glimpses of film flashed by in front of her. She found it, clicked play. She un-muted the television.

The music blared around the room. She turned it down slightly. Could someone have heard that?

The chords struck, the rhythm tinkled, the crescendo built. The parrots were singing, giving it their all. But Rose lay motionlessness in the chair. Was it her? Was she too tired? The opening bars were falling away. They were approaching the chorus. Rose shifted slightly in the chair. Amy held her breath. Here it comes.

They hit the chorus. The music soared. Major keys were strummed and thumped with boundless energy. The birds started flapping their wings to the beat. Amy stared at Rose. She shifted slightly again. She was staring at the television now. Did those eyes see well? Did those ears hear? Was her brain sharp? Rose edged closer, as if trying to get a better view. Amy stared. The chorus was approaching its conclusion. The flapping wings were winding down.

Then Rose lifted her arms. She smiled gently. She flapped them up and down.

*

She found a wheelchair and pushed Rose out into the night air. The rain was still driving, and any warmth bequeathed by the idling heaters of the nursing home was quickly stripped away. Rose was shivering in the wheelchair. Water ran down her breast, and her blouse turned transparent. She should have found her some warmer clothes.

The track was turning boggy as the water exploited every groove and dip to accumulate. She had to lift and wrangle the wheelchair every few yards to ensure it could continue. Eventually she realised that she could not push it any further, not with the paths wrecked by the rain. The ground had turned into marsh. Each step met suction, like the earth wanted to swallow anything that disturbed it. Fortunately, the path began to flatten, though Amy knew it would climb again before the well.

'Screw it.' She shouted. The hurtling raindrops cushioned her outburst.

She went around and lifted Rose onto her shoulders, a fireman's lift. She kicked the wheelchair into the undergrowth. It barely dented the bushes, and she knew it was entirely conspicuous from the path. If somebody walked past, they would spot it instantly. She would have to hope that nobody came past before she had finished the transformation. She would be gone by morning.

The weight of Rose felt manageable at first, but as she began to climb the hill that led to the well, she felt the weight crushing her knees. Her shoulder seared. Her feet struggled against the muddy sludge, sliding back several inches for every step forward she made. She bit her lip to distract from the pain. She pushed on, gradually progressing up the slope.

The path levelled off, then slackened into a slight downhill. She knew she was close. Suddenly it was ahead of her. She heard the rain tapping the tarpaulin. She accelerated into the opening. She went and lay Rose by the well. She would have to go and get the Child. It was still in its cage by the cove.

'I'll be back soon, sweetie.' She whispered to her. 'Just stay with me.'

She ran up the slope, disappearing up the tangled paths that led back to the cove. She ran fast, puncturing the ensnaring growth, the brambles and nettles that curdled around her feet. She reached the end of the path. The coast opened in front of her. To her right she spied the bush where she had left the cage. But slightly further around the bend, a figure was rifling through the foliage. They stopped every few steps to peer down into the sea. They were looking for her.

She knew Lochlin would be searching for her. She should have been more careful. But then she thought, what else could she have done?

She stopped. The person was yards away from finding the cage. She was thankful it was raining, because the pounding storm obscured the sound of the search. If the Child had heard, it would have started yelping and been discovered already. The figure had their back to Amy. She could not see if it was a man or a woman. She could not see their face. They looked slight, with a slim profile.

They were leaning quite far over the cliff each time they ventured across to look down into the little bays and coves. Amy knew they were trying to scour the coves for evidence of her arrival. This gave her an opportunity. The thought sickened her, but she saw no alternative. It felt unfair. But she didn't have a choice.

The figure took a step to their left. Their head was bowed over the edge of the cliff, scanning every fault and gap for disturbance. They were metres away from the cage now. They might even step through it if they accidentally took a few backwards steps into the bush. Any second and they would move inland again, and Amy would lose her advantage. It had to be now.

Amy ran at them. She went low, aiming for the back of their knees. As she darted forward, her feet slapped against the sodden soil, and this person must have heard her approach because just before contact she saw them glance slightly to their right, trying to gauge this sudden, hurtling threat. They didn't get a chance to process what it was.

Amy collided with their legs. Their knees buckled as her shoulder drove through them. They fell forward, hands reaching out to grasp hold of something. But they were too far over. There was nothing in front of them but open air. Their hands flailed around in desperate pursuit of purchase. Their body began to sink. Then they were gone. She heard them hit the stone. She approached the edge and peered over. They had fallen onto a ledge about fifteen metres down. They were badly hurt. Amy could hear agonised groaning. With the thick clouds, the moonlight was muted. But it provided enough light for Amy to see who lay on the ledge below her.

She wanted to choke.

It was Alison.

*

Alison grasped her midriff in pain. Her legs looked like they had broken. But she was still breathing, still very much alive. Amy searched for a way down to the stone ledge and saw that she could get there by sliding across from the path she had taken up from the cove. She hurtled down it, then across.

'What are you doing here?' She screamed at Alison, as she approached her. She leaned over, getting extremely close to her face. 'Why are you _here_?'

Alison sneered at her. She let out of a panting cry of pain. 'Because I come from _here_.' She shouted, struggling over the slapping raindrops. 'I was never helping _you._ It was his idea. It was for the _family_.'

'But I – I don't understand. _You_ told me about Adam' Amy said, rubbing the streaming water out from her eyes. 'You told me about _him_ trying to adopt me.'

Alison did not answer. Amy stood up and jammed her foot down on the breaks in her leg. Alison screamed. She laughed through the pain. Her leg wobbled as her chest heaved. Her laughter morphed into swallowed, heaving grunts of pain. 'You were a way to kill two problems. It was his idea.'

'But Adam was his brother.'

'Yes.' She grimaced. 'And now we save a transformation.'

'I don't understand.'

She stifled a sob. 'He said if I made you feel threatened then you would take him out. We wouldn't need to give Adam any more transformations. He was owed one more, you see. I guess he doesn't need it now though.' She laughed again. 'Thank you, Amy. You gave us another life!'

She was panting heavily. But Amy could tell she was enjoying telling her. She must have felt she was lifting the curtain on genius.

'Adam said you were getting suspicious. Dangerous. So we told Adam to try and take Rose. We then tell you about it. You turn on Adam. The Police turn on you. We step in and take Rose. Two problems solved with a single plan. He's a genius really. And they _are_ after you, now. You have no life left. You're a murderer.'

'He tried to kill me.'

She laughed. 'It won't work. Alcoholic. Depressive. So quick to attack. The lawyers will play it all. You're done. Even if you switch your daughter back. Even if you get away, the Police will catch you. And then we'll get her back anyway. Lochlin made sure we got people into government, ever since he lost his girl. We'll take her out of care. Rose always comes back to us. Whatever happens.'

'Why did you tell me he wanted to adopt me?'

Alison smiled. 'He said it might help you remember.'

The rain was streaking across her face. Her hair was like plaster. It lay glued across her cheeks and neck. Alison groaned as she twisted her body. She stared glassily up into the sky. She seemed to be losing energy. Amy wondered if she had suffered any internal bleeding from the fall. She wondered if she would see morning. 'The world knows your face now, Amy. They know it as a face of evil.' She laughed, exhaled, fell quiet. She lost consciousness.

Amy stepped back. She breathed heavily. Alison was right. Even if she transformed Rose back, she would be on the run. She would be divided from her daughter forever. No. She took a breath. Told herself to focus on the short term. She had to transform Rose back. Then she could plan.

She left Alison on the rock. As she got further away, the angle of her legs seemed more contorted. Her eyes were closed. The rain continued to pound her body.

She struggled back up the path. She reached into the bush and heaved out the cage. The Child was still in there. Her arms were so tired from carrying Rose and pushing the chair that she struggled to lift it. She had to place it on the ground again, rest her muscles. She was exhausted. No. There was no time for rest. She could rest when she had been successful. She grunted, lifted the cage again. She began to jog, found the start of the path. She made for the well.

*

The rain was striking the tarpaulin, making echoing pings that ricocheted from the sides of the surrounding rocks. Rose lay slumped where she had left her. She was soaked and shivering. Amy went straight to the well, began to jerk each wooden rod which held the tarpaulin in place from their slippery grooves. The tarpaulin began to flap in the wind, but the weight of the pooling rainwater mostly held it down. As she loosened more holds, the weight of the water bent the tarpaulin and the water trickled down into the pool below. The pool below was gradually exposed as the tarpaulin was peeled back. She heard the patter as large droplets struck the surface. She tore the last of the tarpaulin away. She let it swirl in the breeze. It was caught in a gust and snagged against some bushes.

Amy ran over, the cage banging against her leg with each step, sending a dull, bruising pain swelling up her muscle. She crouched down next to Rose. She brushed the silver hair out of her eyes, now darkened and heavy with rain. Rose lifted her arm when she saw Amy, then lost the strength and it fell back down to the sodden earth in a flurry of mud.

'It's okay.' Amy said. 'Rubbing her back. It'll all be okay, soon.' She turned and faced the Child in the cage. 'I'm getting my daughter back.' Then she realised something. It made her words catch. It made her want to cry. It crushed her in a way that nothing else had that evening. She began to whisper. 'But this isn't you either, is it? This was someone else.' She looked at Ruth's body, slumped on the ground. She thought about the child it had been stolen from decades ago. She thought about the lost years. She thought about the judicial imbalance. She thought about the depth of the wrong that she would be unable to right.

But what could she do? Her daughter needed life.

She still had the ropes and the tape in her small backpack. She removed the rope. She went to the cage, pulled open the door. She reached in and dragged the Child out from the recesses of the cage. It kicked. She felt teeth sinking into her wrists. She fought to ignore the pain. She held her out, struggling to hold the Child given its kicking and jerking. It took all her remnant energy to restrain the Child. She wrapped a single arm around it, and with her spare arm began to unfurl the rope. Amy took some of the rope and wrapped it around the Child's torso. Then she heaved her over to Ruth's body, and wrapped more yards of rope around them both, binding them together. She went around several times to ensure the bond was tight. The Child was screaming.

She dragged them over to the well. A long trail of mud marked their route. She went to Rose's shoulders, propped them against the stone sides of the well. She put her hands under her armpits and heaved. Rose's back slid up the stone. She kept pulling. Her shoulder cleared the sides, then the Child did, then her lower back did. She felt the pair's centre of gravity shift beyond the wall. Only Amy was keeping them both from toppling back into the water now. The Child was still screaming. It knew what was coming.

Amy leaned over Rose's face, looked into those bejewelled blue eyes. 'I'll see you in a second, Rose.' She kissed her forehead.

She pushed both back into the water. She closed her eyes. She prayed.

*

They sank beneath the surface for a few moments. The water tumbled around the pool. Buoyancy kicked in and they both resurfaced. Amy did not want to touch the water herself. She had no clue what scrambling might happen with three souls in there. She climbed down the ladder, until she could reach out and grab the wet ropes that linked the two together. She pulled them both towards her. She fumbled with the knots, and let the ropes unfurl. She grabbed the Child from Ruth's back. She pulled it towards her. She lifted it from the water, raising it up in front of her.

Dear God, she thought. _Let it have worked._

She stared into Rose's eyes. Rose looked back at her. Forehead. Eyes. A pause. Nose. A pause. Mouth. Rose began crying. Her face shattered into despair. Amy hugged her tightly.

'You cry.' She whispered to her. 'You cry as much as you want to. I never want to hear you do anything but cry again.'

She climbed back up the ladder. She laid Rose on the floor gently. She scrambled back down the ladder. She prodded at Ruth's body with her foot. But she was floating upside down. She had been since she resurfaced. Amy twisted her over. The stark blue eyes stared back, glassy and lifeless. She was gone.

Amy considered trying to pull her from the pool. She felt she owed it to whoever had once owned this body not to leave it floating face up. But she also knew that she didn't have the strength to pull it up the ladder, let alone to do anything with it if she got it out.

She had to get Rose away. Lochlin might have weapons. She was unarmed. She didn't know how much to trust what Alison had said. Would the Police be after her? Would she be a fugitive? She sensed it was true. It was logical, after all. She had killed Adam. She remembered the different faces from the nursing home. Who were the victims? How old were they, trapped in there? Two? Three? But she had to save Rose. She had to get her away. She could not save everyone.

She picked up Rose. She turned to the path which led back to the cove, to their boat.

'Where are you going, Amy?' A voice shouted.

She spun around. It was Maeve.

*

The rain continued to hurtle, drooling across their faces. It felt as dense as milk. Amy stared across the opening at Maeve. She was slowly walking towards her. She carried a knife in her right hand.

'He said you would come back. He knows you so well.'

Amy didn't reply. But she slowly stepped backwards, mirroring each advancement of Maeve with a retreat of her own. She gripped Rose in her arms. Would they make it back to the boat? She didn't fancy their chances, not with her exhaustion and Rose weighing her down.

'He thinks he knows me.' Amy shouted back. 'But a few weeks doesn't mean you know someone.'

Maeve laughed. 'A few weeks?' She spat. 'Do you really not remember?'

Amy stopped retreating. The gap between her and Maeve shrunk. 'What do you mean?'

'Did he tell you about the girl who fell into the well? The one who lost their memory?'

Amy glanced at the pool. She took another step back, then another. She remembered what Lochlin had said. 'He said a girl forgot him. She fell into the well. His daughter.' Her voice died away. Was the girl his daughter? This was just intuition. Maeve didn't deny it. The rain hammered down.

'She still has forgotten him it seems.' Maeve shouted. She laughed, stopped. The rain cascaded across her, dripping crystal beads onto the floor from the folds of her coat. 'It was _you_ , Amy. Can't you _remember_?'

'I grew up with foster parents.' Amy shouted, shaking her head. 'I didn't live here. I don't belong here.' She clutched Rose tighter.

'You did grow up with them.' Maeve laughed, nodding enthusiastically. She took a long pause. 'But you have grown up many times.'

Amy felt the ground lurch beneath her. Her stomach frothed like molten acid.

Maeve started laughing. 'You lost your memory that day when you hit the bottom of the pool. We didn't realise it, of course. How could we? You were so young. It takes a while before we can talk in our new bodies. By then you had gone off with your mother. You were oblivious to who you really were. You thought you were just a little girl in a broken home.'

'You're lying.' Amy shouted, struggling above the juddering wind.

'I'm not.' Maeve replied. 'You can feel it, can't you? It makes sense. You felt at home here.' Maeve began to walk towards her more quickly. 'He's coming soon. Then it'll be over. Give us back Rose. You've already diluted the pool so much. We don't have long. Let us change her back now. If we wait it might not work. Then you'll deny her even her old age. _You'll_ kill her.'

Amy took long strides backwards. She was running out of space. She would feel the bushes pressing into her back any second. Then she would have no choice but to face the knife unarmed. She heard a gunshot. It was close by. There was a flash in the bushes, about a hundred metres away.

'He's just letting everyone know you're here.' Maeve said calmly. 'There is no escape. Give us Rose.'

Amy could imagine Lochlin hurtling up the tracks towards them. He would arrive any moment. If he had a gun, she stood no chance. She thought about getting away, the obstacles she still faced. The police, the rest of the community. They would get her in the end. They would destroy her. They would take Rose.

She stopped. She looked at Maeve. She was now walking just beside the well. She held the knife outwards. Amy looked from Maeve to the well, sizing the distance between the two.

Then she started laughing.

'Why are you laughing?' Maeve shouted.

Because of the irony. Because Maeve was her salvation.

'I couldn't stand the sight of you.' Amy shouted back. 'But I'll have to get used to it.'

Maeve looked at her blankly. Amy put Rose on the floor. She kissed her forehead. She looked up and smiled at Maeve. It was cruel and purposeful. Maeve glared back, but her expression appeared more worried now, unsettled. She was right to be. Amy suddenly darted towards her. Maeve looked surprised. She lifted the knife in self-defence. It was just what Amy wanted her to do. She collided with Maeve. She felt the heat of the knife sink into her abdomen. The pain was excruciating, like the hottest impact ever to touch her skin. Her body began to seize up. But Amy already had momentum. It would be enough. Her force carried them both over to the edge of the well. They clashed against the stone. Their combined weight toppled them over the edge.

Then they were falling.
Chapter Fifteen

She pulled her from the depths.

The body was heavy and surfaced in a burst of droplets. The water was still slopping and churning, destabilised from their fall. But it was gradually settling. The body floated, dipping and bobbing delicately with the shimmying water. The head lulled to the side. Her neck was angled so that her nose lay half submerged. She saw that the body would not inhale anything again. Her eyes were closed. Her mouth was askew, allowing water to enter and puddle. The water tasted metallic, like iron. Blood.

She had made sure the wound ground deep. As they fell, she had pressed the knife even deeper into herself. No chances. She had pushed through the resistance of the muscle. The blade neatly tore through impeding tissue. Amy would die. She wanted her to die. She just had to wait until they hit the water. One second beyond impact. That was all the life she still asked for.

The last minute had passed with the languidness of an hour. Colliding with Maeve, tussling with her, the hot agony of the knife slipping into her chest – it seemed ancient. It was like it had happened to a different person. Perhaps Maeve had worked out her plan as they fell, together, into their shared oblivion? Had she understood everything in that full second of remnant life? Perhaps it was too quick for her to deduce anything at all. It didn't matter now. Whoever Maeve was had gone. Amy was dead.

The cold water had electrified her muscles. She dragged the body to the side and wrapped the two arms around her back. She was stronger now. Her lungs felt like powerful engines. She heaved herself up the ladder. The body on her back trailed long tails of dripping water. The wetness made the body heavier, but even so she was lighter than she had expected. She had wasted away in the last months.

The rain continued to hammer the ground. This was good. They would have a reason to be wet. He might not suspect anything. He would be with them within seconds.

She saw branches swaying near the entrance to the opening. Bushes rattled. He was getting near. She lay the body across the floor. The blood continued to spill as she moved her. It was warm and viscous across her hands, like syrup. Rose saw the body and began to cry. Her howls were screeching, primal. They sounded like calls from the wild. She wanted to comfort her. But not yet.

He ran into the clearing.

He held a revolver in his hand. It was a chunky metallic thing. He stopped a few metres away from her. He looked from her to the body on the ground and back again. The gun remained lowered. He saw the knife, still rooted deep in her chest.

'You did it then?' He shouted. The rain muffled his voice.

She nodded, no words. Words might give her away. She turned away slightly, rubbed her face with her hands. She felt a grim smear of blood wipe across her cheek. Lochlin slowly walked over to the body. He crouched down beside it. He reached out and touched the body with his left hand. He dropped the gun onto the floor. With both hands he rolled the body onto its back. He stared into the face. He wiped strands of hair away from her eyes. He used the rainwater to clean spots and blemishes of blood from her face. He clasped both his hands around the handle of the knife and heaved it out from her chest. It gradually slid free, scarlet and glistening. He threw the knife onto the ground. It landed between them both, about a metre away.

He turned around and faced her. He was crying. He looked like he was about to say something. She felt scared because he was staring at her with unbridled, surging hatred. But then that seemed to dim. He looked away. He just stared at the body.

'I really thought it was her.' He said. He was now slumped against the body. His voice wavered with sobs. 'I thought she had come back to me.'

She did not reply. She wasn't sure what was characteristic to say, what was appropriate. Lochlin repeated, quieter: 'I really thought it was her.'

'Perhaps it was.' She replied, eventually.

He jerked around to face her. 'No.' He spat. He gave a sad laugh. 'It can't have been. You would not have been able to kill her if she was. She would have beaten you.' He turned back to face the body. He continued to caress it, cleaning away flecks and stains of blood. Then he leaned back slightly and looked at it from afar. 'It couldn't have been her. She would have beaten _me_.'

Rose was still crying. The rain hammered against the surface of the pool with echoing _plops_. Lochlin looked up and noticed it for the first time. His face blanched. His eyes yawned wide as fear riddled his expression. 'Close it! Quickly!' He cried. 'It's _diluting_!'

He didn't wait for her to act. He ran over himself to the tarpaulin and began to drag it from the bushes. Branches snapped as the tarpaulin ripped them free. A cascade of leaves flittered to the ground. As he was freeing the sheet, she went over to the body. Already the blood had receded from the surface of the skin. The flesh was pale, ghostly. She picked up the knife. She picked up the gun.

Death became her.

'Take one end, quickly!' Lochlin shouted at her. He had freed the sheet from the bushes and was beginning to pull it over the pool. She grabbed one end of the sheet. It was wet and her fingers struggled to grip it, particularly with the wind catching and billowing it out. Lochlin rushed from post to post, slamming them into the stone holdings. She did likewise. Gradually the sheet settled as it was pinned down. They were converging on the same spot, the final post. They were only a few posts away from each other now. He pushed in a post. She pushed in a post. They each took a step closer together. In went more posts, until only one remained. Lochlin reached out for it. He lifted it up ready to jam into the hole. It plummeted downwards. He squeezed the post into the stone grip.

As he did, she brought the knife down.

It went through the back of his hand and embedded in the weak mortar that bound the brickwork. He screamed. Velvety blood flowed down across the stone, back towards his wrist. He looked up, his face pale. His eyes were wide, his mouth was open, half grimacing, half shocked.

He stared into her eyes for a few moments. His gaze went from her face to his bloody hand and back again. Then he began to smile. His face was etched in pain, but his mouth erupted in a beaming, giddy smile. It was almost childish. He began to laugh. He began to cry again.

'It is you.' He said euphorically. 'I _knew_ it was you.'

She took a step back. He tried to follow, but his hand snagged on the knife and he released a cry of pain as fresh flesh was ripped by metal. Amy felt in her pocket for the gun. It was still in there, heavy, reassuring.

'I'm not who you think I am.' She said. 'I'm not that girl.'

Lochlin shook his head. He tried to ball his hand up to mitigate the pain. He released the grip when this action just made the blood flow quicker. 'But it _is_ you. Amy. Don't you remember?'

'Remember what?' She shouted back. She curled her hands around the grip of the gun but left it in her pocket.

'Here.' He said. ' _Me_.'

'Why would I remember?' She shouted. 'I'm not who you think I am.'

'But you are.' He said, the pain weakening his voice. It sounded so high. 'You felt it when you came back. You told me you said this felt like home. Because it is your home, Amy. You lost your memory when you fell into the Well. You were so young that we didn't realise until you'd gone. And then we lost you when you got adopted. Your name was changed, and they wouldn't let us know where you'd gone. We tried, but they kept you hidden. We never knew where you'd gone.' He let out a shout of agony. The blood was stemming slightly, curdling. The rainwater was cleaning his skin, so she could see the wound clearly. It looked grievous.

'I was with my mother.' Amy shouted back.

Lochlin laughed. 'She wasn't your mother, Amy. She was someone else's mother.'

Amy breathed. She told herself to ignore the lies. He would be dead soon.

Lochlin panted. He tried to take a step towards her again, then howled as his hand stymied him. 'You lost your memory after a transformation!' He screamed it. Amy gripped the gun tightly. 'You were supposed to go away with them. Like we always did. But you didn't come back. The years went past and you didn't come back. You left me, Amy. At first, I thought it was on purpose. But then I realised that wouldn't just leave without a reason, not after so long. I realised something must have gone wrong. I guessed what it was. I saw how shallow the well had become, so I refilled it. But I didn't realise that I would weaken it.' He swallowed. The pain forced him to pause, swallow some breath.

Amy took the gun from her pocket. She held it down by her side. 'You're lying.' She said. 'I'm not one of you.'

Lochlin reached over and pulled the knife from the stone, freeing his hand. He wiggled his fingers. 'You are.' He waited. He looked at her sadly. 'Amy - you're my _wife_.'

She felt nauseous. She felt her head drain. It felt like it was filled with nitrogen. She stared at Lochlin. He held the knife in his good hand. Blood dripped from the tip of the blade, beading in tiny crimson bubbles.

'We built this together!' Lochlin screamed. He held his arms up. The blood trailed down his arms and spattered his face. The rain dragged it off. 'How could you forget all this? The battles we fought. The lives we lived. I _loved_ you.'

'How could you do that to Rose!' Amy screamed at him. 'If you knew it was me, if you _loved_ me, how could you do that to _Rose_?'

Lochlin shrugged. He softened his voice. 'Because she wasn't mine, Amy. You broke our deal. You made the rule, all those years ago. We said it would get complicated. It did.'

His words hung there. She stared at him, horrified. 'You're a monster.' She shouted. 'You're evil.'

Lochlin smiled at her. It was a sad, sympathetic smile. 'I learnt from you.' He said. 'Do you not remember what you made me do? When I made that mistake all those years ago? With my child? Have you forgotten that too?' He laughed. 'That was your _masterpiece_. You made me remember. Century after century, I remembered my misstep. It calcified my heart.' He was grinning horrifically. 'Everything you have seen here comes from you. You are our author and architect. I saw your genius. I fell in love with it.'

She lifted the gun. 'You are playing with my head. It's what you do.' She remembered what Alison said. 'You made me kill Adam.'

' _Made_ you kill him? I didn't make you kill him. I just set up the conditions. I left you to your own will - your own nature. And look at that nature.' He looked around him, pointed to the body of Amy on the floor. 'Maeve. Ruth. So many bodies.'

'They deserved to die.'

'They were your _disciples_. They had been with us since the beginning.'

Her arm holding the gun was shaking. She could hear little components, slight bolts tinkling inside. She had never held a gun, and it was heavier than she had expected. They always looked so light in movies, the way they got thrown around as if made of candy. Her mind flooded with images of the island, and she suddenly doubted whether they came from her previous trip, or from some sundered vault. She saw the island in summer and in snow. She saw it enveloped in peasouper fogs and festooned in cheery Christmas lights. She looked at the gun again. It looked like a prop from a war film, some ancient service revolver. Perhaps it was.

The pause overwhelmed her.

'Why?' She shouted, sobbing, turning her gaze back to Lochlin.

He glanced away. 'Why?' He echoed, as if savouring the word. She wondered if he had ever actually considered, or whether the justification was buried so firmly in history that he had forgotten it.

'Because we did it once.' He said, shrugging.

'And that means you have to continue?'

'We were condemned.' He said, laughing shrilly. 'It was a sin that does not clean off.' He lifted his hand up to the sky and watched the leaking blood mix with rainwater in the moonlight. 'We had to stay alive for a chance to atone.' He stepped closer to her. 'Amy, please. Come back to me. I can sort all this. We can forget it all. We'll raise Rose together, you and me. Together at last, together for the end.'

She heard the rain tapping against the tarpaulin. It struck with the remorseless beat of her heart.

She looked at Rose, crying on the floor. The rain puddled around her, marooning her on a tuft of raised ground. Her eyes were scrunched tight. She was still staring at the body on the ground. The blood was seeping from the knife wound, congealing in dark clumps. Amy saw the puddles around Rose were stained bloody red. Her fingers, her clothes were marked too.

'Come back to me, Amy.' Lochlin pleaded again. He pointed at the well. 'It's weakening. It will not last another cycle. It has a year left, little more. Let's die together, finally. We can grow old. We can watch Rose getting older. We can share the miracle. We can savour this last sip of life. We can atone. We have a chance.'

He stepped another yard closer. She lifted the gun and pointed it at him.

'What about everyone left? What about those young children? Do they just die?'

He looked at the ground. 'Yes.' He said.

Amy looked at Rose, bloodied and howling. She looked at her for long moments. He could save her. 'I can't let that happen.' She said softly.

'You can't help them. I can't.' Lochlin said. 'How will you save them? They have all left already. They've returned in their new bodies to their new homes. They are living their new lives. That is the system. They are not due back for so many years. And even if you do go and find them, you think they will just surrender their life, return it to whoever they took it from? Everyone wants to live, Amy. We built the system. We are confined by it.'

'I'll make them give it back. I will restore life to those it was stolen from.'

He laughed. 'You will _take_ it? _There's_ my wife.'

'Don't say that.'

'I've missed you. So many years. So much lost.' He stepped towards her again. He was now only a metre away. He still held the knife in his hand. The rain fell ceaselessly. 'You can't save the whole world, Amy. You can't save everyone. But we might be able to save ourselves. We can raise Rose to be good. Let her be our redemption.'

Amy glanced over at Rose again. She saw the life swelling through her like it was gaseous and effusive, like it pounded out from her uncontrollably. She imagined the memories yet to be formed, the moments yet to be. Childhood, friendships, first kisses, first loves, first break-ups, loneliness, angst, the one. Children. The surprising serenity of passing years. She thought of all that had been taken from those in the home. Those souls now shackled and declining. So much lost. She turned back to Lochlin. She was overcome by a hatred. It was a visceral loathing for herself, for him, for everybody in the cruel world.

The gun was outstretched.

'You don't deserve to live.' She shouted at him. Her fingers clenched around the trigger.

He said quietly. 'Neither do you.'

He wiped moisture from his face, a gliding sweep that sent a stream hurtling to the floor. The wetness, the flattening of his thick hair, it made him look somehow younger. He shrugged. It was like he was resigned now. 'They're coming, Amy. They'll be here soon. Are you with me, or are you not?'

'I have to save them.' She said quietly.

He smiled meekly. He shook his head. 'You can't. Console yourself with the impossibility of the task.'

She could imagine the villagers converging on them, running up the paths. They would be galvanised by the fear of accelerated judgement. They would be swift and deadly. They would protect themselves. They would kill her and Rose if they knew their true identities. They had killed so many before them. What were two more lives in a life of taking lifetimes? But Lochlin could protect them. They could survive with him.

She stared at Rose again, crying in the reddening mud. She thought of those faces. They had looked at her with such yearning desperation. Such naked hope. Such childish need. She looked back at Lochlin. He returned her gaze with unwavering commitment. They faced each other silently for several moments. Was it possible to understand a psyche through a person's eyes? Could you see the soul? She tried to look at his. She saw exhaustion. Desperation. She saw a man eager to survive for one more throw of the die.

Lochlin seemed to comprehend her doubt. His voice came out pleading. 'Amy, we have imbalanced the scales of justice. If you kill me now, I am condemned.'

'Then help me save them.' She whispered.

'We can't.' He said gently. 'But we can better ourselves in other ways. We can raise Rose to extinguish our sin. Let her be our legacy. Not this.'

'I won't let them die.'

'They cannot live.'

'Then I have to kill you. I have to do what's right.'

He laughed. 'How can you say what is right after a lifetime of doing wrong?'

'That was a different person.'

'No, Amy.' He said. 'That was you. That is still you. You may have forgotten, but the soul is the same.'

The others would arrive from the village momentarily. Her old body lay extinguished on the floor. Rose had been transformed back. Would they try to use Rose again? She could protect her. She could lie. Did she need Lochlin? He was still staring at her. His look was alien. It was alien because it was loving. It was caring. He loved her, and nobody had before. She had seen pretence and attempt but here was real, desperate devotion.

She felt the weight of the trigger beneath her finger. She said quietly: 'I have to save them.'

Lochlin said nothing. He looked down at the ground. 'You can't save them. But I can save Rose. I can protect you both.'

Amy traced the sky above Lochlin's heard. There was a tinge of lilac, of dark blue in the massing storm. It would almost be morning. She felt hollow. Her whole spirit was hurting. She did not know who she was, who she was meant to be. She felt she had a void at her centre. There were secrets at her core. But these secrets belonged to a different person. That person was dead, a slain monster.

She tightened her grip around the gun. She held it steady.

Lochlin saw. He sneered. 'They're still going to die!' He shouted. 'You're just killing Rose too!'

'No.' Amy replied. 'Nobody is going to touch her.'

Lochlin laughed. 'You dole out redemption, but what about you? Will you be accountable? Will you atone? You have taken so much life, Amy, and now you take more. Will you answer for it?'

Amy stared straight into his black, tired eyes.

She said quietly: 'Only when I'm done.'

She shot him between the eyes. They widened and turned slightly inwards as if to watch the bullet burning its course through his brain. A little tinge of blood gathered on the surface, forming a red dot on his forehead. He fell straight back. His arm knocked against the side of the well, so that he fell splayed on his side. Amy looked at him on the floor. She felt nothing. She wondered if she ever would feel again. Perhaps she would one day. When her task was done. She had a mission now. The slain monster had incurred a debt, and she would settle it. She would settle it until she could give no more.

Rose was crying. She walked over and picked her up. 'I'm here, sweetie.' She said. She suddenly wanted to cry, seeing her daughter so distraught. Her daughter was not comforted by her presence at first. This woman did not look like her mother. But gradually she calmed down, she fell against her breast. Perhaps she sensed her mother beneath the foreign skin. Or maybe this was wishful thinking.

Amy heard the slap of footsteps. Some figures broke into the clearing. She stopped caressing Rose. She slipped back into character. She became Maeve.

'What happened?' One of them yelled. They stopped and surveyed the scene, processing the identity of the individuals splayed across the floor.

Maeve shrugged, handed Rose over to one of them. Her distance would keep her safe, but it was only for a little while. They couldn't suspect anything, that was how they would stay safe.

'They died.' She said. 'She was crazy.'

'We underestimated her.' One of them said, staring at Amy's body on the floor. It lay surrounded by a sheen of watery blood.

Maeve nodded. 'We did.' She said.

She almost smiled. _You still do._

*

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