Mother beckons me; her shrill voice cuts harshly through the sombre night air. Immediately, I abandon the lifeless rag doll, letting it drop to the dusty ground. I sigh. Tomorrow, Mother will make me clean the floors, the fireplace, anyplace where soot resides. I hurry down the corridor and stand to a halt at Mother’s side, smiling cherubically.

“Angel, you’re here,” she sighs contentedly. She slips further down the green armchair, settling in comfortably. I bite my lip – will Mother hit me if I sit on her lap?

She takes a sip from her glass, something that she refuses to let me touch. “My old bones creak,” Mother wheezes. I do not say anything in fear of punishment. She is not dreadfully old like our neighbours are, but she pretends she is. Maybe she really is getting old and tired. I wonder if she will die like Grandfather did, slip away unnoticed in the dark. The drink might fall out of her lifeless hand and make a mess on the floor. Even in death, Mother would command me to clean it, excusing herself because of her ‘old age’.

Mother’s eyelids flutter close, like the wings of delicate butterflies. I start to panic; I mustn’t let her fall asleep now! If she doesn’t tell me what I have to do tonight, she’ll yell at me later. Then Father will come out of his study and wonder what the commotion is about, and give me the Look. Oh no, I should never get the Look. It burns a hole in the soul. If I get too many I won’t go to Heaven and meet God. Must be perfect, mustn’t be like her.

Must never be like Mary.

“Mother, what do you wish me to do?” I ask sensibly. Her eyes snap open and bore into mine; giving me shivers like the time I picked up a spider from the garden and it crawled over my hands.

“Bread and cheese is ready for her on the table. Remember, don’t dawdle.” I nod and hurry away to gather the food for her. We must never say her name. It is a curse, a sin, Father told me once. The neighbours will pry if they know, so we keep hush like little mice, tip-toeing around the house. So many secrets we have, and they must always stay like that. I snatch a few things and stealthily creep away, seeing from the corner of my eye Mother snores like a gentleman.