There was a time when Very Drunk Winnie was the best of a bad choice for Maureen: it was a straight fight and she could take it because Winnie didn't know anything about her. She had been careful never to discuss the things that mattered to her in front of the family, Liam excepted. She told her friends that she didn't have a phone and wouldn't let boyfriends come to the house. She lied about where she was going at night, she even lied about her 0 grade subjects. So when Winnie went for Maureen's jugular she was slagging her about fictitious habits, friends and events. What happened between them in hospital had changed all that. Now Winnie had more to cast up to Maureen than the rest of them.

Winnie behaved strangely during the hospital visits. She brought an endless succession of inappropriate presents like earrings and makeup and fashion magazines. She monologued about the neighborhood gossip, who had died, what was on telly last night. She wouldn't acknowledge the fact that they were in a psychiatric hospital or talk to the staff. But Maureen was bananas at the time and lots of things seemed strange. Leslie had read up on familial reactions to abuse disclosure and said that it was normal for the non-abusing parent to feel incredibly guilty, maybe that's what was wrong with Winnie.

Maureen didn't have a lot of time to think about it: the memories of the forgotten years were coming back thick and fast, through dreams, in flashbacks, over cups of tea with other patients. She became a compulsive confider. Looking at the fading bouquets of flowers on the wallpaper above the bedstead, counting and counting and counting until it was finished.

Standing in the bath waiting to get out and Michael, her father, leaning over with the towel and looking her in the eye. The door was shut behind him.

Him sitting on the bed afterward, crying, Maureen patting his hand to comfort him as the pee stung her legs. His hand was as big as her face.

At the caravan in St. Andrews, the sea lapping over her black gutties. The rest of them were on the beach, out of sight, behind the rock, and Michael was coming after her. She scrabbled over the rocks on all fours, trying to get away, trying to look as if she wasn't running, scratching her knees on the jagged granite.

The panic when he saw the blood dribbling down her skinny legs. He'd slapped her on the side of the head and, lifting her by her upper arm, put her into the cupboard, locking it and taking the key with him. She could smell the blood as she sat in the dark cupboard and she knew what it was. She hoped she would die before he came back. It was his fingernail that had cut her, it was his nail.

Winnie crowbarring the cupboard door open and pulling Maureen out by her ankle. Marie standing behind her, twelve years old and already crying without making a noise, silent because she knew no one was listening.

She tried to piece it all together but some elements of the story were confusing: she couldn't remember when Michael left them or why certain smells prompted panic attacks or whether any of the other children had showed signs of abuse. Dr. Paton suggested asking Winnie but Maureen didn't feel comfortable about it. Dr. Paton said they might ask her under controlled conditions, perhaps they could organize a joint session with her.

Winnie came to it sober and apparently quite willing. The three of them gathered in the cozy office in the Portakabin in the hospital grounds, sitting in big armchairs and sipping tea. Dr. Paton said Maureen had something to ask her mother, there were some problematic details about the facts surrounding the abuse and would Winnie be willing to help?

Winnie smiled and listened to Maureen's first question: she remembered Winnie getting her out of the cupboard and she remembered Marie being there but was Michael in the house at the time? Winnie said she didn't know, she couldn't help there. Maureen asked about Michael, when did he leave? Winnie didn't know about that either. Dr. Paton asked her why she didn't know and Winnie started crying and saying that she'd done her best. Maureen rubbed her back and told her it was all right, they all knew she had done her best. She was a good mum.

Winnie got up and stormed off to the toilet and came back with the greasy-nothing smell of vodka on her breath. She told them that Maureen had been misinformed by her sister; Una remembered properly now and would come and talk to them if they wanted. Winnie said it had never happened and then she lost the script, shouting at Maureen and the doctor when they tried to speak, interrupting them with irrelevant details and crying when nothing else worked. Maureen had always been strange, she always made up stories. Mickey had never touched Maureen, he didn't even like her. He was a very passionate man and he had been devoted to Winnie. She cried again and said that she still loved Maureen and what had she done to make Maureen stop loving her?

Maureen was numb. "I love you, Mum," she said vacantly, and rubbed Winnie's back, "I do love you."

The effect on Maureen was marked. An iota of doubt grew into a possible truth. The memories seemed so tangible and the emotions attached to them were so intense, overwhelming, like a searing physical pain. If Maureen was misremembering, she was as mad as a fucking dog.

She felt more ashamed of herself than she ever had before. She would have killed herself but for the effect it might have on Leslie and Pauline, her pal from the OT classes. She had put everyone to all this trouble over a bullshit story.

She couldn't talk about it. Her meetings with Dr. Paton dissolved into hour-long sessions of staring at the floor, hot fat tears rolling down her immobile face. The doctor tried to get her to talk but couldn't. They both knew it was because of Winnie. The doctor sat next to Maureen and held her hand, dabbing her face dry with a tissue. She began to lose weight again. Her release time was revised and moved back a month.

Leslie knew something was very wrong. She kept asking about it but Maureen couldn't say it out loud. Finally, after two weeks of needling her with questions, Leslie got Maureen to tell her what had happened. She was furious. She roared up to Winnie's house on her bike and parked it on George's lovely lawn. She stomped into the kitchen, where Winnie was eating lunch with Una, and told her that if she denied the abuse again, even in her prayers, Leslie would personally kick her cunting teeth in. Winnie went off Leslie after that.

Leslie made Maureen draw up a list of facts corroborating the abuse and brought her books with firsthand accounts by other survivors, telling how their families had reacted when they told. It seemed that physical damage, DNA tests, even a criminal conviction, could be ignored if the family didn't want to believe, and Winnie did not want to believe.

On the day Maureen finally left the hospital Dr. Paton took her to one side. "I want you to know that there is no doubt in my mind that it happened," she said. "And, on a strictly nonprofessional level, I think that your mother is a self-serving bastard."

Maureen and Winnie never talked about it again, but because of Leslie's visit Winnie knew where Maureen's Achilles' heel was and there was always the possibility that she would bring it up when she was viciously drunk.

Maureen cheerioed Liz and left work with a knot in her stomach and a drag in her step. She would have given anything to be on her way out to get drunk with Leslie instead of going to do battle with Winnie.

The family had moved to the house when George and Winnie first got married. It was on a small council scheme with modest two-story concrete box houses. In front of the house was a tiny token lawn, meticulously cared for by George, and in front of that a broad pavement leading down the quiet street where the small children played together until their tea was ready. It was a nice scheme, peopled by good-living poor families who were ambitious for their children. The neighbors knew Winnie was a drunk and the O'Donnell kids were pitied for it.