Kirsty touched Daniel’s arm. ‘It’s not you,’ she said. ‘We all know you’ve tried to help her. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.’ Her words were kind yet hollow. Bex was sure Kirsty had wanted them to come here. To see the house. To make Daniel feel bad. And Bex had gone along with it.

Daniel shook his head and said, ‘Wait here.’ He left the room and Bex heard him tramping up the stairs and shutting doors.

He was gone for about five minutes. Bex stood in the grim living room, looking at her feet and imagining him frantically cleaning the bathroom. Anna hovered in the centre of the room as if leaving as much space around her as possible, shifting her weight uneasily from one leg to the other. Gary had plonked himself on a green velour sofa and was trying to get the TV to turn on, and Kirsty was prowling around the room inspecting things. A row of unframed photographs were propped on the mantelpiece and she picked one up and examined it. Bex didn’t want to be nosy but she could see that all the photos were of a boy of around eight or nine. There were none of Daniel.

The door banged open and Daniel reappeared. ‘The bathroom’s straight ahead at the top of the stairs. There’s a towel in there. I’m sorry it’s … probably not what you’re used to.’

Bex smiled. ‘Honestly, Daniel, it’s fine. I’m so grateful. I’ll just get this mud out of my hair.’

‘Why don’t the rest of you sit down?’ Daniel said. ‘Instead of standing around looking like you’re waiting to be executed?’

Bex could hear them shuffling onto sofas as she headed out into the hall. She slipped off her sandals and climbed the steep stairs. The carpet was worn and loose and she trod carefully. The bathroom was straight ahead, and Bex walked in and closed the door behind her. No lock. The lid was down on the loo, but she needed to pee so lifted it and gave the seat a wipe with loo roll. The porcelain was stained brown under the water-line, but she could see Daniel had put some blue stuff in there. The seat wobbled as she sat, and then shifted sideways with a bang. She gripped on to it to keep it in place.

Reluctant to get undressed and venture into the shower with the mouldy curtain, she told herself it was only her face and hair that she needed to worry about. Her dad wouldn’t notice mud on her legs and feet. She leaned over the sink, washed her face, and ran water through her hair. There was a bottle of shampoo propped against the hot tap, and she used some of that.