She awoke several hours later in the pitch dark, lying on her side, not quite sure if she was dreaming the prodding sensation in the area of her coccyx. Not entirely sure if she was even awake. Sean’s breathing was light and fast on the back of her neck and the prodding became more insistent. Instantly aroused, she moved her bottom up and back, returning the pressure, feeling the tip of his cock slip between her naked buttocks. Perhaps because it was dark, perhaps because she had her back to him, and she didn’t have to see the naked grief in Sean’s eyes, or maybe because of her lustful thoughts earlier on, she felt almost overwhelmingly turned on. Everything in her focused on his penis, the softness of the head of it as it probed her, squeezing briefly, tantalizingly, towards her anus, then further down, slipping in, shoving hard into her wetness . . . Helen felt her breathing change too, and she moaned.

‘Sean,’ she murmured. ‘My darling.’

He came almost immediately, pushing deep inside her and shuddering. ‘I love you,’ he said.

Only now, she noticed the smell of stale alcohol coming off him, and before she could decide whether to say something about it, his breathing changed. He was asleep.

Helen lay in the dark, her eyes open, staring at the digital clock, wondering where Frankie was right now, if she was warm. If she was suffering. Sean shifted against her in his sleep, muttering something. She felt more alone than ever before.

Chapter 33

Chapter 33
Patrick – Day 5

Patrick opened the door to his parents’ house and let himself in, surprised to hear Dora the Explorer urging Swiper to stop swiping from the TV in the living room. He peeked in – Bonnie was propped up on the sofa, the new cuddly monkey he had bought in a petrol station during a moment of parental guilt clutched to her chest. The stair gate that acted like a prison cell door was shut and Bonnie’s eyelids were drooping despite the noise coming from the TV. Plastic toys and brightly coloured books were scattered across the room, the aftermath of the toddler-sized hurricane that swept through the house every day and that Patrick’s mum, Mairead, spent hours clearing up. She wouldn’t let Patrick hire a cleaner, despite his protestations. For the ten-thousandth time he felt a pang of guilt, followed by a stab of resentment aimed at Gill.

He found his parents in the kitchen, sitting at the table, half-empty cups of tea in front of them.

‘What’s wrong?’ he said, reacting to their glum faces. ‘Has something happened?’

‘Oh, decided to pay us a visit, have you?’ Jim’s expression was dark.

‘Leave it, Jim.’ Mairead forced a smile. ‘Would you like a tea, Pat?’