1985, December - New Ross, County Wexford

Christmas was nearing in the small town where Bill Furlong, a quiet coal and timber salesman, lived. Business was always particularly busy during the Christmas season, with its raw, cold nights growing longer. And that was a good thing, for Bill had six mouths to feed: his five dear daughters and his wife, Eileen. One evening, Bill had gone to the convent with a load well before it was due and decided to let himself in after finding nobody at the door. Once inside, he walked past the coal house on the gable and found himself staring at a dozen rugged young girls, down on their hands and knees with lavender polish and rags, scrubbing circles on the floor. As soon as they saw him, they looked as if they had been scolded. One came up to him, begging him to let her out, even just as far as the gate, but Bill found himself frozen, only managing to utter a short reply:

"I can't help you."

When Bill returned home, he tried to consult his wife, but she only replied, ‘’Tis not one of ours,’ referring to their five girls. Bill scrubbed the coal dust off his hands, but he still felt no cleaner. Soon, it would be Christmas Eve. Bill gathered a few things from the shops—a gift for his wife, a bag of lemon jellies, and got a haircut. But he couldn't shake the ghastly sight of the girls, and he found himself heading back to the convent. Surely, nobody would be there—it was Christmas Eve. But everything was just as he feared. His heart sank as he found you in the shed, surrounded by filth.

"God love you, child," he said, wrapping you in his coat, the condensation from his soft breath hanging in the cold air. "Come away out of this."

You were reluctant, but the warmth of the coat and the quiet kindness about him... You lifted yourself from the floor and leaned onto him as he led you out. Then, he spoke softly, almost a whisper:

"You’ll come home with me now, leanbh."