Rosaleen didn’t even try to talk to me, she barely even looked at me. She curtly told me Arthur was waiting and then she left the station. I eventually followed her. There was the most horrific tension in the car when I sat inside, as though they’d had a fight. I suppose what had happened to me was enough cause for there to be tension. I was mortified, absolutely mortified. I couldn’t look at Arthur. He said nothing when I sat in the car and then we pulled away and headed back to Kilsaney. I was actually relieved to be going so far away, to be so disconnected from what had happened. It had finally ripped through the umbilical cord that tied me to this place. Maybe that had been my intention.

I cried the entire way home, so embarrassed, so disappointed, so angry. All of those emotions were directed at myself. My head thumped as the male voice on the radio entered my ears and got closer and closer to my brain, and as the alcohol left its calling card. About thirty minutes in, Arthur pulled the car over outside a shop.

‘What are you doing?’ Rosaleen asked.

‘Could you get some bottles of water and some headache tablets?’ he asked quietly.

‘What? Me?’

There was a long silence.

‘Are you all right?’ she asked him.

‘Rose,’ he merely said.

I’d never heard him call her that. It struck with me as familiar-I’d seen it somewhere, heard it somewhere-but I couldn’t think. Rosaleen looked back at me and then at Arthur, her worst fear having to leave us two alone. I thought fast. Eventually she got out of the car and practically ran into the shop.

‘Are you okay?’ Arthur asked, looking at me in the mirror.

‘Yes, thanks.’ My tears welled again. ‘I’m so sorry, Arthur. I’m so embarrassed.’

‘Don’t be embarrassed, child,’ he said softly. ‘We all do things when we’re young. It will pass.’ He gave me a small smile. ‘Just as long as you’re okay?’ He gave me a look then, a worried look of a paternal concern over what I’d done.

‘Yes, I’m fine, thank you.’ I rooted for my tissues again. ‘It wasn’t…he didn’t…I knew what I was doing.’ I cleared my throat awkwardly. I could see Rosaleen at the end of a long queue, anxiously looking out to us in the car.

‘Arthur, this depression that Mum has, does it run in the family?’

‘What depression?’ he asked, turning round in his seat.

‘You know, the depression that Rosaleen told Dr Gedad that Mum has, this morning.’

‘Tamara.’ He looked at me and knew what I was at. He checked Rosaleen in the shop. There were three people in front of her. ‘Tell me straight.’

‘I made an appointment with Dr Gedad to see Mum this morning. She needs help, Arthur. There’s something wrong.’

He seemed extremely worried by this. ‘But she has her daily walks, at least. She gets some fresh air.’

‘What?’ I shook my head. ‘Arthur, she hasn’t left the house since we arrived.’

His jaw hardened and he gave a quick glimpse-good win, very dead-at Rosaleen in the shop. ‘What did Dr Gedad say when he saw her?’

‘He didn’t even get up the stairs. Rosaleen told him that Mum has suffered from depression for years and that Dad knew about it but he decided never to tell me and…’ I started crying, unable to finish. ‘It’s all lies. He’s not even here to defend himself, or to be able to tell me…it’s all lies. Though I know I’m not one to talk,’ I sniffed.

‘Here, Tamara, hush now. Rosaleen is just trying to care for her the best that she can,’ he said quietly, almost whispering, in case she’d hear him from the shop. There was only one person in front of her in the queue now.

‘I know, Arthur, but what if it’s the wrong way? That’s all I’m saying. I don’t know what happened between them years ago but if there’s anything-anything-that Mum did to Rosaleen to hurt her or annoy her, do you think that this could be…’

‘Could be what?’

‘Could be a way of maybe, getting her back? If Mum did something to her, lied in anyway…’

The door opened and we both jumped.

‘Gosh you’d think I was the bogey-man,’ Rosaleen said, offended and worried as she sat in. ‘Here.’ She dumped a bag in Arthur’s lap.

He looked at her then, a cold long stare that chilled me, made me want to look away. He passed the bag back to me. Rosaleen seemed surprised.

‘Here, this might help,’ he said, then started up the engine.

None of us spoke for the next hour.

When we arrived back at the gatehouse the sky had clouded over and darkened the bright day. There was a chill in the air and the clouds promised rain. The breeze was welcoming to my muffled head. I took a few deep breaths before going into the house and making my way upstairs.

‘You’ll know you won’t be going anywhere for a time to come,’ Rosaleen said.

I nodded.

‘There’ll be a few tasks for you to do around here,’ she added.

‘Of course,’ I said quietly.

Arthur stood by and listened.

‘Stay within the grounds when you’re out,’ he added, and it seemed to take him a lot to say it.

Rosaleen looked at him, surprised and then annoyed that he’d stepped in. He didn’t meet her eye. Obviously her plan had been to keep me inside the house where I couldn’t cause any trouble. Arthur wasn’t being so strict.

‘Thank you,’ I said, then went upstairs to Mum.

She was asleep in bed. I crawled in beside her and wrapped my arms around her, squeezing her tight to me. I breathed in the scent of her freshly washed hair.

Downstairs a storm brewed as I heard Rosaleen and Arthur’s voices in the living room. First they were just talking, then it grew louder and louder. Rosaleen tried to hush him a few times but he shouted over her and she gave up. I couldn’t hear what they were saying, I didn’t even try to. I’d given up poking my nose in where it didn’t belong. All I wanted was for Mum to get better and if Arthur’s raised voice was going to get me that, then fine. I scrunched my eyes shut and wished that today had never happened. Why hadn’t the diary warned me?

The argument between Rosaleen and Arthur became worse. Unable to listen any more, I decided to leave, to give them and me the space we needed. I hated that I’d brought this upon them too. Before we’d arrived, they’d been so happy with their life, their little routines, just the two of them. My arrival had caused a rip in their relationship and it was slowly tearing more and more with each day. As soon as there was a break in their argument, I knocked and Arthur called out to me to enter.

‘Sorry to disturb you,’ I said quietly. ‘I’m just going out for a walk to clear my head. Around the grounds. Is that okay?’

Arthur nodded. Rosaleen had her back to me and I could see her fists clenched by her side. I quickly closed the door and left. It would be light for another hour or so, which gave me enough time for a brief walk and the opportunity to clear my head. I wanted to go to the castle but I could hear Weseley and his friends gathered. I wasn’t in the mood for them, I just wanted to be alone. I turned in the opposite direction and headed towards Sister Ignatius, despite knowing I wouldn’t call in to her. At this hour I didn’t want to cut through the woodlands. I stayed on the path and kept my head down as I strode by the dark gothic entrance, still chained up and left to rot.

As soon as I had the chapel in sight I realised I’d been holding my breath. I could see Sister Ignatius’ house from here, and so felt safe enough to go inside. It was only big enough to hold ten people at most. Half the roof had caved in but above it the oak trees bent their branches to protect it. It was quaint. No wonder Sister Ignatius was so fond of it. There were no pews. I assumed it had been dressed for the more recent ceremonies. Above the altar, a simple but large wooden cross had been secured to the stone wall. I guessed Sister Ignatius had something to do with hanging it there. The only other thing that stood in the chapel was a large oversized-good win, very dead-marble bowl, chipped and cracked in places around the rim, yet it was still solid, firmly fixed to the concrete floor. Spiders and dust lived in it now, but I imagined generations upon generations of Kilsaneys all gathering here to baptise their children. There was a wooden door that led to the small graveyard beside. I chose not to go through that but instead returned through the main door where I’d entered. From behind the gate that protected the graveyard, I strained my eyes to read the headstones, though many were covered in moss, ravaged by time. In an oversized crypt rested an entire family: Edward Kilsaney, his wife Victoria, their sons Peter, William and Arthur and their daughter, something beginning with B. The rest had eroded with time for the unfortunate soul whose name began with B. Maybe Beatrice, or Beryl, Bianca or Barbara. I tried to give her a name. For Florie Kilsaney ‘Farewell thy mother, we mourn thy loss’. Robert Kilsaney, who died at one year old, 26 September 1832, then his mother Rosemary, followed him ten days after. For Helen Fitzpatrick in 1882, ‘Husband and children bear her in tender regard’. Some were just names and dates, and were all the more mysterious for it: Grace and Charles Kilsaney 1850-1862. Only twelve years old, both born and died on the same day. So many questions.