‘Safe here,’ she says with a nod, and I’m not sure if she’s trying to convince herself or me.

She may think we’re safe, but right now all I can think about is why they are coming back tonight. Only one of us is ever selected each night – and that was me earlier.

They know something is wrong. They have to. That’s why they’re coming back.

CHAPTER 17

17

The two days since I returned from holiday have been dreadful. Being with Ian in the house is almost more than I can bear, but I have nowhere else to go – no friends who are close enough to welcome me if I turn up on their doorstep asking if I can stay, no family who are interested in my problems.

I have to go back to work today, so I need clean clothes and my work stuff. Everything I own is in my home, so what choice do I have? And besides, it’s my house. Ian is the one who has to leave.

The journey home from the airport was driven in silence. With my mouth clamped tightly shut, I gazed out of the window at the winter scene. The streets had all been cleared, but the pavements were a mixture of packed snow and filthy water washed up from the gritted roads. I could sense Ian getting more and more furious with me for not talking to him – not that he wanted to hear anything about Myanmar or the people I had met, of course. But like all bullies he thought he could back me into a corner and I would give in under pressure. My lack of response to his ‘forgiveness’, though, was telling him that something in me had changed.

As Ian drove – rather faster than was entirely necessary – I decided it was better not to speak at all than to start a battle of words that would end badly. I knew I had it all to come and by letting him fester I was possibly making everything worse, but his driving was erratic enough without risking him speeding even more just to scare me.

I was relieved to get home safely, but when I walked into the house it didn’t welcome me. It felt alien, cold, and there was a cloying smell of cheap rose-scented air freshener trying to disguise the stink of stale beer. The sitting room was littered with newspapers, the waste-paper basket overflowing with empty cans. I turned to look at Ian. My face must have shown what I thought, but he ignored it.

‘Glad to be home?’ he asked. ‘The weather’s been shite while you were away – I barely made it out of the door.’