But when she thought of the child’s father – a coward who had taken what he wanted and retreated. He’d told her they needed to cool things for a while. He’d been spooked by Izzy Keaveney’s arrival at the cottage that night, had come to see her only twice after and on both occasions wanted reassurance that Izzy knew nothing of their affair. Cruel too – to make a fool of his wife in the way he had – and pinch-faced and belligerent as Dolores was, Colette knew she did not deserve an ounce of the pain they’d inflicted upon her. And the show she’d made of herself, sick with desire, dragging her tired body down to that man’s front door time after time, to complain about the central heating. She could not stay under Donal’s roof, she knew that. She could go to her mother’s house, stay there, and while her mother would despair over Colette’s situation, she would never kick her out on the street.

And finally she had written, with little enthusiasm or conviction, ‘Go to England and get an abortion. Tell no one. You know other women who have done this. All possible scenarios require money.’

She heard a sound and looked up. The kitchen window was open and the noise was coming from outside. It was like a siren sounding from a very great distance away. But then the noise turned into notes and those notes turned into words, low and sweet. ‘Baa baa black sheep, have you any wool?’ She shot up from the chair. It was a child – she could hear a child singing. She placed her hands on the table to steady herself. The sound disappeared and then a few seconds later it seemed to renew itself, to return louder and more insistent like it was summoning her. ‘Yes sir, yes sir, three bags full.’ She stepped towards the window and peered out. Standing by the wall was Jessica Mullen. The child was wearing a little sleep suit made up of a patchwork of colours, like the motley coat of a jester. She held a stuffed toy that she seemed to be serenading. The breeze was tossing wisps of her pageboy haircut back and forth. Colette placed her hand upon her breast and waited for the beating of her heart to slow.

She went to the door, grabbed her scarf off the hook, and twirled it around her neck. She stepped outside and the child looked up at her.

‘Jessica Mullen, what in the name of God are you doing all the way up here?’

Jessica returned her attention to the toy and began singing again. Colette could see now that it was a black horse with a red bridle. She walked over to the child.

‘That’s not a sheep, you silly billy – it’s a horse.’

‘Sheep,’ Jessica said, shaking the toy by its hind leg.

She bent closer to her. ‘Will I take you home to your mammy and daddy?’

Jessica nodded and offered her hand to Colette. The road was stony and the child was wearing no shoes, her feet just covered by the leggings of the sleep suit. She thought about carrying Jessica, but she seemed content to amble along, and so they made their way down the drive slowly, Colette holding the child’s tiny hand between her thumb and forefinger. ‘Your mammy’ll be wondering where you got to. You shouldn’t be running out of the house like that,’ she said. At the end of the road they turned the corner into the neighbouring drive. There was a small incline leading up to the house and the child seemed to grow weary until she almost came to a complete stop. Colette gathered her up into her arms and began to walk more quickly. She could feel the child’s warm breath against her neck.

And then Dolores sprang out the front door – really there was something comical about the way she appeared, like she’d been shot out of a cannon. She landed feline on her feet, and when she fixed her eyes on Colette and Jessica every inch of her body seemed to stiffen. Colette wrapped her arms more tightly around the child. Dolores bounded towards them.

‘Dolores, you won’t believe where I found—’

‘What the fuck are you doing with my daughter?’ Dolores stopped a few feet away from them, her hands trembling. ‘Give her to me,’ Dolores said, and Colette realised she’d been withholding the child in fear. She passed Jessica to her mother and Dolores took her carefully into her arms.

‘Dolores, I found her up at the cottage. I have no idea how she got there but you must have left the front door open.’

Colette saw the way Dolores stared at her, the pure disbelief, like she couldn’t understand a word she was saying.

‘Just stop,’ Dolores screamed. Her eyes were red from crying, her face wretched with exhaustion.

Colette opened her mouth to speak but nothing came out.

‘Just stop,’ Dolores said again. ‘Don’t come down to my house, and don’t come anywhere near my children.’

Colette saw Donal step out the front door. He stuck his hands in his pockets and stood there watching them, like some casual observer.

‘She’s safe,’ Colette said, and was surprised by how spiteful she sounded. She stepped back and turned on her heel. She tried to keep her head up, to walk at a steady, even pace as she headed down the drive, to not look back at the scene of the family reunited on the doorstep. And the next thing she was conscious of was the crunch of sand beneath her shoes as she moved off the road and the stone pathway became the beach.

Witch, witch, witch, she thought as she moved along the sand, the wind pulling loose strands of her hair. Witch, witch, witch. The mad woman in the cottage, the witch on the hill – she stole husbands and children. You placed a protective arm across the shoulder of whoever was in your company, drew them closer. She’d seen the way people avoided her on the main street of the town, crossed to the other side of the road, or lowered their gaze, smiling to themselves.

At the end of the strand was an enormous hunk of black rock that looked like it had broken free of the coastline. Sometimes she liked to climb right to the top of it and sit there and look out at the sea. In the summer months she’d bathe her feet in one of the pools that skirted its edges. Today, she reached out and placed her palm against its cold, wet surface. Surrounding her hand were patches of yellow and white lichen, neat spiralling patterns like crepe flowers. She turned and sat down on the rock and looked back in the direction she’d come from. The only other person on the beach was a stout little woman in a red headscarf walking a black Labrador almost the same size as her. But then another figure emerged from the Coast Road and despite the distance between them she knew it was Donal, would recognise the shape of him anywhere.

When he was closer, she could see he was wearing a black windbreaker, unzipped so the ends flapped around his waist as he marched towards her. A few feet away he slowed down. He placed his hands in his pockets. His demeanour changed, became sheepish almost. He took half steps in a sort of semicircle. He lowered his eyes then cast curious glances at her like she was something dangerous to be navigated.

‘What do you think you’re playing at?’ he said at last.

She bent forward, placed her elbows on her knees. She looked into the little pool of water near her feet. She could hear him stepping closer.

‘Are you listening to me?’ he asked.

‘I heard you, Donal.’ She refused to look up at him, to meet his eye. ‘I looked out my kitchen window and saw your three-year-old daughter standing there. I thought it was a good idea to bring her home. But your wife seems to think—’

‘She thinks you’re gone in the fucking head and I’m beginning to think the same. Can you not leave well enough alone? Coming down to my house asking stupid questions every other day. Do you think my wife’s thick, that she doesn’t know there’s something going on with you sniffing around the whole time?’

‘Believe me, Donal, I’m done trying to get your attention. And I’m fully aware that anything there once was between us is done.’

It was so brief, just a moment, a page turning and falling into place, but she saw that her words had hurt him.

‘Good,’ he said. ‘Well, we’re agreed on that. And I think it’s about time you moved on.’

For weeks she’d been anticipating this, with every disdainful glance Dolores gave her, with every excuse he made not to see her. She’d become a nuisance to all involved. She’d served her purpose.

‘The summer’s coming,’ he continued, ‘we can rent that place out for twice the price. It doesn’t make sense having you up there anymore. And it doesn’t look good, you bringing fellas up there the whole time.’

‘What are you talking about, Donal?’

‘The whole town is talking about you – it’s like a knocking shop. And Dolores saw that fella a couple of weeks ago. That fella from Dublin that you were riding.’

‘John? John hasn’t been to see me.’

‘Oh, did you not know? Well, he’s hand-delivering the letters now.’

‘I didn’t get any letter. And what was John—’

‘Look, I’ll be decent about it. You have until the end of the month and then you have to be out. That gives you a few weeks. And in the meantime I want no more of your fucking playacting. Stay away from me, stay away from the kids, and stay away from my wife. Do you hear?’

She pushed against the rock and rose to her full height. She folded her arms and took a few steps nearer to him. ‘Look, I know I’ve acted strangely and I know that things are over between us, but there was a time, brief as it was, when we cared about each other. Or I thought you cared about me at least. And now I’m begging you – if you have even an ounce of human feeling left in you . . . I need your help, Donal. I’m pregnant.’

She watched a look of pure shock etch itself into his features.

‘Don’t you fucking lie to me,’ he said.

‘Donal, as God is my witness—’

‘Are you lying to me?’

‘How do you want me to prove it to you? In a few months’ time there’ll be no disguising it.’

‘And it’s mine?’ he said.

‘It can’t be anyone else’s.’

‘You’re sure of that?’

‘Oh, Donal—’

‘How far along are you?’