But not this time, I thought, as I sat there chilled and still, for what, I realized, when I glanced outside, must have been ages. It was getting dark. This time it would be different. I’d actually report him. And then disappear. Go abroad, maybe. To America, to Imo. Aware I’d resolved this countless times before, I climbed the stairs to my bedroom. Neither hungry nor thirsty, I drew the curtains and got undressed. But I couldn’t face brushing my teeth. That mirror in the bathroom, so shaming. I just crawled into bed.

Some time later, I heard him return: his key in the door; it slamming shut. Then a shuffle down the hall towards the kitchen, and thence the study. A light appeared around my door frame for a few minutes, then darkness again. I shut my eyes, exhausted but sleepless. And then, an hour or so later, when I was still wide awake, I heard a crash. Breaking glass. I lay still, shocked. Then I heard a voice, Michael’s voice, a shout. And then a cry and a thud. I sat bolt upright in bed. What the fuck? Had he woken for a pee and crashed, pissed, into that glass coffee table? Knocked a lamp over? Silence, now. I leaped out of bed and flew to the door in my nightie. Terrified at what I might find, I froze, my hand on the knob; but then, resolute, I opened it and crept down.

The house was in darkness. I passed the children’s old rooms on the next landing, then their bathroom on another, and stole on down the stairs to the hall. The kitchen was very dark, but I felt my way through and pushed open the door to the study. A bright stream of light, a torch, suddenly swung round and was in my face, blinding me. The light was dazzling in its intensity and stopped me in my tracks. There was heavy breathing too. I was terrified. I stood, frozen. Then came to my senses.

‘Hey!’ I shouted, instinctively covering my eyes with my arm.