I put the rope ladder away and go into the kitchen. Baba is sitting in front of her customary pot of tea. Her face is pale and sadder than I have ever seen it.

‘Is he … gone?’

I nod.

She closes her eyes and swallows violently as she tries to regain control of her emotions.

I kneel beside her and cover her clenched fist with my hand. Even though I’m the one who was out in the cold all night, her hands are freezing.

She opens her eyes and nods. ‘You did well, my child. You did well.’ Her voice breaks on the last word and I throw my arms around her neck.

‘It wasn’t me. I was too cowardly. I couldn’t pull the trigger.’

A ghost of a smile appears on her lips. ‘I’m glad it wasn’t you. A child shouldn’t have to kill her own father, even if he is a monster.’

‘Noah did it.’

‘So he made it there. How is he?’

‘He’s wounded, but he’s alive.’

‘Where is he now?’

‘I don’t know the full details, but it’s some kind of safe house run by Irish gypsies.’

She nods distractedly. ‘Where is your father now?’

‘They’ve taken his body away.’

Her lips press down so hard they are a thin straight line. ‘To be disposed of how?’

‘I don’t know. I didn’t ask, but it has to be in such a way that it is never found.’ I don’t tell her about the pig farm and greedy pigs.

She looks down at the floor. ‘Did he … suffer?’

‘No. It was instant. One bullet.’

‘Was he angry with me?’

I stroke her hair. ‘He died not knowing you helped me.’

A great sob racks her body. It comes from her very core and makes her hands tremble so uncontrollably I become scared.

‘Oh, Baba,’ I cry helplessly. ‘Don’t cry so hard. Please. You’ll become ill.’

She makes a great effort to calm herself, but tears flow down her cheek ceaselessly.

‘I’m sorry, Baba. I made you choose between him and me.’

‘You didn’t, my child. I made that choice myself.’

‘I wish there could have been another way.’

‘There wasn’t. Don’t you think if there was I wouldn’t have taken it? He was my son, my flesh and blood. I carried him in my belly for nine months. Nine months. I never told you that when he was born he was small and sickly, always crying with colic. He would cry for hours and his father would get so annoyed, sometimes I’d wrap him up tightly and take him out to the garden in the middle of the night. I’d sit for hours in the cold just rocking him until he was so exhausted with crying he fell asleep.’

She sniffs.

‘Then I’d try to get up and find my legs were so cold they wouldn’t work. When he was four he got inflammation of the cornea and the doctor said he could become blind. I took him to the church every day. I fell on my knees and prayed for him to be able to see again. When he was older and he went into this life, I got on my knees again to beg forgiveness for the terrible things he was doing. I asked that his heart be shown the path to repentance. Most of my life I’ve been praying for him, but I never felt any of it was a sacrifice. I loved him so much. He was my life, my heart, my soul.’

‘I’m so sorry, Baba.’

She smiles sadly. ‘Once when he was only a boy and he was being naughty I told him, “Do you know I carried you in my belly for nine months and this is how you repay me?” You know what he said?’

I shake my head.

‘He said, “Tell me how much rent you want for those nine months and I’ll pay it. This way I won’t have to listen to you going on about how you carried me in your stomach for the rest of my life.” He was only seven-and-a-half years old then, but I should have known that day. A child who shows no gratitude is not going to turn out well.’

I look at her sadly. It is impossible to comfort her. Her love is deeper than I realized.

‘What will happen now?’ she asks.

‘I will lodge a police report that Papa is missing. We will all, including Mama, help the investigators with all their queries, but as none of us know anything we won’t be able to help much.’

‘What about this house and the servants?’ she asks.

‘Of course we will continue to live in this house for a while. Then, I will move out and go to live with Noah, and after a couple of months you will come to live with me. I don’t want any of Papa’s wealth so I won’t be declaring him dead. Let the lawyers sort it out in time. Have you eaten, Baba?’ I ask.

‘No. I’m not hungry.’

‘I heard you being sick in the bathroom when you went up to your room.’

‘Yes,’ she admits. ‘I threw up everything I ate last night.’

‘I’m going to make some dried mushroom and barley soup and you’re going to try to eat some, alright?’

She nods.

‘I’ll be back.’

First I take the battery out of my mobile phone. I’ll throw the pieces away later. Then I go into the larder to find the ingredients. As I start to prepare the soup Baba comes to me and helps me.

I smile at her as we cook together, filling the kitchen with warm smells from Baba’s past.