In three weeks it would be the end of term. If they hadn’t been caught by then we’d all move to Belfast until they were, or rent a house in Donegal, or do something to get away from the oppressive nature of what was our home.

But going away would mean leaving Michael. It would mean spending more time with Paul and I wasn’t sure how I was supposed to feel about that. I could barely look at Paul, let alone try to play happy families in front of the girls for intense periods of time.

The girls.

I was trying my best to protect them, but it wasn’t enough.

Beth jumped every time a car drove past or there was a knock on the door. Molly, although not quite aware of what was going on, sensed something was very wrong in her universe, and had become increasingly clingy and tearful as the day had gone on. For the first time in over a year she’d wet herself during the night and sobbed into her daddy’s chest while I stripped her sodden bed sheets and put them in the washing machine.

‘I want to sleep with you,’ she’d sobbed as I told her I’d fixed her bed and put her favourite My Little Pony blanket on it.

I was too tired to argue, so I lay down beside her and stroked her hair until her eyes fluttered and she drifted back off to sleep.

‘This isn’t good for them,’ Paul said.

A part of me wanted to bite back that of course it wasn’t good for them. It wasn’t good for any of us. I couldn’t switch my brain off, not even for five minutes. No matter how heavy my eyes felt. Everything just ran over and over through my head.

Laura O’Loughlin – it was a name that didn’t mean much to me. Had she been the girl who’d spent every lunchtime reading Jane Austen or the Brontë sisters and hadn’t been interested in reading Just 17 or More magazine? A little odd in her demeanour.

Not like us.

Was that her?