‘You can’t just keep me here. Where are Tyler and Ryan? My parents will be looking for me.’ His desperate words spew from his lips, his voice ranging from high to low the way it had when he’d reached puberty. He clears his throat. ‘You can’t just fuc…’ He trails off. Ridiculously, he still can’t bring himself to swear in front of this man.

Connor draws three discreet breaths, trying to calm himself the way Mum had taught him. Mr Marshall stares at him as though now Connor is here he doesn’t quite know what to do with him, or maybe he is savouring it: Connor’s fear. Taking some perverse pleasure that Connor is as scared as Hailey was that night. Connor glances around this house which has always made his skin crawl with unease. Years ago, the local kids would freak each other out with stories of the witches they believed lived in this tumbledown Victorian house with its draughty sash windows, the front garden a tangle of weeds as high as their knees. Later, when Mr Marshall had bought it and renovations began on the inside, rotten floorboards piled up outside of the house, the old stained bathroom suite was taken away. Still, no matter how much the house was updated Connor could never relax here, not for fear of monsters but fear of Mr Marshall catching him here on the occasions Hailey had snuck him in. Once he had very nearly been caught.

They had been lying on Hailey’s bed. ‘Turn the music down,’ he had whispered. ‘Did you hear something?’

‘Dad won’t be back for hours.’ Hailey’s fingers slipped under her bra strap, she slid one down her shoulder, and then the other.

‘Seriously.’ Connor sat up, reached for his top.

‘Chill!’ Hailey laughed and padded over to the window. ‘There’s no car on the drive. Just relax.’ She cranked up the volume on her phone. ‘Lady Marmalade’ streamed from the speakers. She danced for him. Turning her back and glancing over her shoulder. Flashing him a suggestive grin as she raised her arms towards the ceiling, closing her eyes as she swayed her head, feeling the rhythm. This is Connor’s favourite memory of her, full of life. Loving life.

Loving him.

There had been a creak.

With a gasp, she cut the music, her eyes wide as they met his. They listened to the footsteps on the stairs. Heard Mr Marshall call, ‘Hailey? I’m home.’ His voice softer than it was at school but still terrifying. He had dived under the bed and had lain there, limbs stiff, muscles aching for hours until Hailey could sneak him out.