Liv felt sick and cold but now it was out, she had said it and she meant it. She had been thinking about it for a week, but this morning, she’d changed her mind, because she was frightened of him. But when she’d seen him, a skinny, weaselly little ginge with earrings, it was as if she’d been slapped in the face – slapped awake.

‘No. I can’t. I think someone knows about it.’

‘I bloody well hope you didn’t tell them.’

‘No. I just . . . think. And my mum.’

‘You swore to me your mum never noticed anything,’

‘She doesn’t. Mostly.’

‘Lying little cunt.’

Olivia flinched. She had never been sworn at in her life but since the Weasel it happened all the time, and if nothing else about this made her feel bad and dirty, the swearing did. Her mother never swore, her father did occasionally but only ever at the car when it wouldn’t start or at bad drivers who couldn’t hear him.

‘Right, now we’ve got that out the way, like I said, there’s just the one, and it’s a big one, mind, mess this up and you’ll be in more trouble than you are now and you won’t get your pocket money either.’

‘I don’t want it. I said.’ She drank from the can. ‘I’m not in trouble. I haven’t done anything.’

He sniggered. ‘You sure about that, with the stuff I could tell about you?’

Olivia pushed her chair back.

‘Sit down.’

Something in his voice made her hesitate, but if she didn’t go now . . .

‘You heard.’

Then it was something in his face, his eyes, hard, mean little eyes.

She sat down.

He looked at her and went on looking. Finished his tea. Looked.

‘Right. Get to the bog.’

She gave in.

She went to the dark box of a lavatory to the left of the counter, with the bulb that only just gave out light, and the smell of blue cleaner that made her retch. She had to count to a hundred.

When she came back to the table, he told her to sit down again.

‘Now listen up. Everything like normal, on your phone in half an hour.’

‘I don’t –’

‘What?’

‘Nothing.’ She picked up the can, but it was empty. He’d drunk it then. She shuddered, thinking about it on his mouth before she’d put it to hers.

He leaned across the table, his eyes on her, his breath smelling.

‘Just so’s you know, miss. No way are you packing it in. No way. But if you’re ever so bloody stupid . . .’

‘What could you do?’ The tears were in her throat and at the back of her eyes, she didn’t know where the nerve was coming from to let her ask.