‘I have something for you,’ he said, pushing his way in and placing the desk on the bed. She thought about leaving the door open but then that would seem weird, so she didn’t.

‘It’s like the one your mom used to work,’ he said.

She stayed by the door.

‘It’s just like the one in the photographs.’

It was exactly like the one in the photographs. This enticed her to move forward. She touched the dials. ‘It’s so cool. You shouldn’t have. Thank you,’ she said, hoping he’d leave.

‘You deserve it – we’re friends, aren’t we?’

She was instantly scared – she couldn’t quite work out why. He was smiling but her stomach churned.

‘I’ll show you how to use it.’

‘You don’t have to.’

‘I want to. It can be our project, something you can show off to Davey for Christmas.’

‘It’s OK, really.’ She wanted him to go. Get out. Please. Leave.

‘Juliet, it cost a lot of money.’

‘Oh.’

‘We’re still friends, aren’t we?’

‘Yeah.’ No.

‘I’ll give you a little lesson now,’ he said.

‘I’m tired,’ she said, holding her bathrobe together tightly.

He didn’t listen. He was busy pretending to give her a lesson on the desk; he leaned over her and stood too close to her, leaning into her, and she knew it was all going really wrong. Oh no. Oh no. She froze when he undid the belt of her dressing gown and suddenly her skin felt cold and then he grabbed her small breast and stood over her and she could feel him pulling himself off and felt him moving behind her. She didn’t scream, she didn’t move an inch; she just stood there hoping it would stop, terrified Davey would come into the room. He’d kill him – he’d kill him, and then he’d go to prison and someone from a gang would kill him and it would be my fault.

He finished himself off on the floor and then cleaned it up himself. She stood frozen to the spot, her heart beating wildly in her chest. Her fists were clenched so tightly her nails broke the skin on her palms.

‘That was nice,’ he said. ‘I like spending time with you.’

Then he was gone and she felt so sick inside she tried her best to vomit but nothing came out. She didn’t cry. She just put on her pyjamas and double-locked the door and curled up into the foetal position, hugging herself tight. She didn’t answer Kyle’s Skype call that night, and when her uncle knocked on the adjoining hotel room door and asked if she was all right she said she was fine, and goodnight, then she cried herself to sleep.

Chapter Fifty-Eight: Marjorie

Chapter Fifty-Eight

Marjorie