She told the story of her accident and escape to every newcomer to 15 Russia Road. I heard it several times from her and once from Silver. It was dramatic enough to bear repetition. She said she thought she was losing her mind. She no longer cared what happened and the idea came to her of crashing the car and killing all of them. That three of its occupants were small children touched her not at all in those moments. Helpless and innocent they might be, but so what? Nor did she care that they were unruly and intractable because of neglect and the instability of their home life. She hated them. But still, when the time came, the accident was not due to any deliberate act of hers. On that she insisted. As she drove down Marlborough Place and turned into Hamilton Terrace she was already calmer, getting a grip on herself. She realized that what the precocious Cyrus had said was true. She was too drunk to drive. She must shut her ears to the boys’ squabbling, the baby’s cries, and concentrate hard on what she was doing, so that she could get back safely.

At the first set of lights she waited, then took the right turn carefully into Hall Road. The lights ahead of her at the Edgware Road were green but when she was halfway along the stretch they changed to amber. Believing she had time to get across the road before they changed to red—she was desperate to get into the comparative peace and quiet of Sutherland Avenue—she accelerated, but the driver of the Peugeot in front of her didn’t. The Range Rover went into the back of it with a crash as loud as a bomb going off.

The windscreen split into a frosting like a bathroom window. All the children screamed, for once in unison. Cyrus, though still in his seat belt, turned and began punching her, shouting that he’d kill her, his father would kill her. Liv didn’t pause to think. She unbuckled her seat belt, jumped out of the car, and slammed the door just as the driver of the Peugeot was getting out of his. She was shaking all over but she could run, and run she did, up the hill and up Hamilton Terrace as fast as she could go, not once looking back, running as if for a race or as if pursuers were after her.