himself to a sitting position, and she noticed his eyes were bloodshot and red.
‘Are you OK, Dillon?’
‘Yep, course. Why?’ He avoided her gaze.
She placed her hand on his arm. ‘You know you can tell me anything, don’t you?’
‘I said, I’m fine.’ He pushed her hand away. ‘Don’t go all soft on me, Laura.’
‘OK, sorry. I didn’t mean to be nosy. So tell me more about the dragonfly.’
He rubbed his face hard, and his eyes shimmered. She wanted to ask again if he was OK, but felt it might scare him away.
‘Did you know fox pups stay with their parents until they’re seven months old? They make great parents. I like foxes. I often see one out here.’
‘You’re so clever. How do you know all this stuff?’
He shrugged, and turned to look at her, eyes serious.
‘What is it, Dillon? Please tell me.’
‘I can’t. If he knew …’
‘Who knew?’
He dropped his head, fiddling with his fingers. ‘You have to promise on your baby’s life you won’t say anything.’
‘OK.’
‘It’s just … sometimes I find my sister Bridie in the cupboard. I hear her sobbing sometimes because it’s dark in there, and she can’t get out. Ma has the key.’
‘Oh my God, Dillon,’ she said, her heartbeat speeding up.
‘Ma says me da puts her in there before he heads off to work, as a punishment. And ma says she daren’t get her out because he’d go mad, and hit her.’ He paused, now picking at a scab on his knee. ‘But Bridie’s only little, Laura.’ The scab came away in his fingers, and blood trickled. ‘I don’t know what’s wrong with me da. He’s always been a bit of a shouter, but now it’s as if the divil’s gotten into him.’
Laura studied the boy, shocked something so awful could be happening – was he telling the truth? He’d never mentioned anything like it before.
‘I swear on my sisters’ lives it’s true,’ he said, as though he knew what she was thinking.
Laura’s mind spun. ‘Shall I come over?’
‘Jaysus and all his angels, no.’ Dillon narrowed his eyes, and wiped away the blood on his knee with his sleeve. ‘You can’t come to the farmhouse, Laura.’ He shot to his feet. ‘If Da or Ma find out I’ve been talking …’ He looked towards her, fear in his eyes. ‘There’s nothing you can do, anyway. I once called the Guards on Da, because Ma said he hit her. But Ma wouldn’t let them in. Denied it, and they just believed her. Never came back. I just needed to tell someone, Laura, but there’s nothing you can do. Promise you won’t do anything.’
‘OK, I won’t. I promise. Sit, please, Dillon,’ she said. ‘Tell me more about the wildlife.’
A sudden stir in the trees seemed to unsettle him. ‘I’d best get going,’ he said, and before she could say another word, he made a bolt for it, and it wasn’t long before he was out of sight.
Laura edged forward on her bottom, and dangled her bare feet in the clear, cold water, as a swan drifted by. Ten minutes passed in a daze, as she thought about Dillon, Caitlin, and Bridie. Were the children OK? Did Dillon even go to school? He’d told her he did, but she couldn’t be sure – he was often about during the day. Should she try to find out more about the children’s life at home? Introduce herself as their neighbour, perhaps?
It was almost seven, and she knew she would need to move fast if she wanted to get to the farm and back before dark. She dried her feet on the grass, slipped them into flip-flops, and grabbed her hessian bag.
It was dusk by the time she found the farm, a dilapidated two-storey farmhouse. A couple of run-down sheds stood nearby, and a small apple tree grew near the lake, near a moored rowing boat. She remained a good distance away, obscured by trees, watching as a small, dark-haired woman of around her own age gathered towelling diapers from a makeshift washing line. Hens darted around her feet, almost toppling her over, as she folded the diapers into a wicker basket.
Laura wanted to go over, introduce herself, but her legs refused to move; the woman looked stern, unapproachable, and anyway, she’d promised Dillon. As she watched on, the last of the sun went down, coating distant trees like liquid gold. The woman wedged the basket onto her hip, just as the front door was flung open, and a little girl toddled out, her head full of dark curls – one of the braces of her red dungarees was undone, flapping about as she moved.
‘Bridie!’ It was Dillon, following her out. He lifted her up and swung her round and round, and the little girl giggled.
From what Laura could see, they seemed happy enough – a normal family. A little rough around the edges, but she knew that much.
The woman looked about her, and ushered Dillon, with the girl tucked under his arm, inside, as though she sensed a storm coming. Moments later the door slammed behind them. If it hadn’t been for the hens scurrying about, pecking the ground, it would have felt as though nobody lived there at all.
The sun had dipped behind the horizon, and Laura hitched her bag further onto her shoulder, and turned for home. But as she stepped forward a searing pain made her tense. She grabbed her stomach, and bent over.
‘You spying?’ It was a male voice some distance away.
Laura stood upright, and looked about her, the pain easing.
‘I asked you a question,’ came the voice.
‘I was just out walking. I live about half a mile away,’ she called, trying to pick out the man in the darkness.
‘Lough End Farm is private property,’ he called. ‘You’re trespassing.’
‘Yes, sorry. I’ll be on my way.’
‘What’s your name?’
‘Laura. Laura Hogan.’
‘The daughter of that couple who died at Devil’s Corner? I heard you’d moved in.’
She shuffled. ‘I should get back.’
‘I’m Tierney O’Brian.’ He was still out of view, although his shape was moving towards her through the darkness, tall and broad – still too far away to make out his features. ‘Just keep away from here in future.’
‘Yes, yes, of course.’ She dashed into the woods, another pain gripping her, as though someone had grabbed her around the middle and squeezed. She stopped, crying out, and grabbed a tree branch.
‘You OK?’ she heard Tierney call out, his footfalls approaching.
‘Fine,’ she called. Surely it isn’t a contraction, not this early.
She sucked in a breath, and hurried through the darkness, nerves jangling, Dillon’s words about Bridie being locked in a cupboard still in her head.
She picked up speed, weaving in and out of the trees, a sudden movement of a low-flying bat causing her to cry out. What the hell was wrong with her?
Relieved to see the welcoming porch light of her house, she fumbled with her key. Once inside, she pulled the bolt across and leaned against the door. The family at the farm looked perfectly happy, didn’t they? She could stop worrying about the children, couldn’t she?
Another painful contraction ripped across her stomach.
‘Oh God, no,’ she cried, as she slid to the floor in agony, her waters breaking.