‘Mind you tell your mother I want my jar back when she is finished.’ ‘Will it make Bridget better?’ Eily was amazed at the bravery of little seven-year-old Peggy’s question. Mary Kate frowned. ‘I don’t know, pet. There is so much sickness at the moment – strange sickness – I do my best.’ With that, Mary Kate began to head back out towards the sunlight. Just outside the door she put her hand into the pocket of her apron and produced an apple. A dirty old apple. She gave it a polish. The girls tried not to look, but with a flourish she handed it to Peggy. Peggy’s eyes were round and wide. Eily blinked. ‘Many thanks... we couldn’t take it from you... thank you, but it wouldn’t be fair,’ Eily began. ‘As green and hard as the hobs in hell,’ laughed Mary Kate, throwing back her head to display her toothless gums. ‘Shure, I can’t eat it.’ The girls smiled and Peggy carried the apple like a precious jewel safely home to be shared by all. That night they had the yellow meal cooked with some melted lard and a few wild spring onions Mother had found to hide the flavour. The apple was quartered and