I am in a spot where I can neither be what I always am nor turn into what I could be.

My heart feels not so much in my chest as in my hands. I am carrying it along swiftly, as though I have become the messenger for what is going on inside me.

There's a big moon shining on the yard, chalking our way onto the lane and along the road. Kinsella takes my hand in his.As soon as he takes it, I realise my father has never once held my hand, and some part of me wants Kinsella to let me go so I won't have to feel this.It's a hard feeling but as we walk along I begin to settle and let the difference between my life at home and the one I have here be.He takes small steps so we can walk in time. I think about the woman in the cottage, of how she walked and spoke, and conclude that there are huge differences between people.

It's too good, she is. She wants to find the good in others, and sometimes her way of finding that is to trust them, hoping she'll not be disappointed but she sometimes is.

As soon as she says this, I realize she is just like everyone else, and wish I was back at home so that all the things I do not understand could be the same as they always are.