As we step into the brightly lit hallway, I can see blood trickling down my legs, which is a good move as far as this pantomime is concerned.

They all take a step back and I’m sure I can hear a shared intake of breath. Mrs O’D will be sorry now for what she said. She looks pretty pale and takes a big, comforting glug from her chalice, checking to see that the carpets are ok. Mr O’D is the first to speak. He orders Mrs O’D to get blankets and hot drinks for both of us, then he puts his arm around me and tells me to lean on him. Bryony is suddenly full of the questions. ‘Are you ok, dear? What happened? What happened?’

I can’t speak. Tears cascade down my cheeks, although I’m not sure if they’re real or for show.

‘Did anything happen to you?’ Mrs O’D asks Luce as she bundles her in a blanket and leads her to the couch as if she’s one of her priceless porcelain figurines. Byrony rushes back in with two steaming cups of microwaved milk with grey old person’s skin on the surface. I gag.

Mrs O’D leans in closer and sniffs like a blooded hound on the scent. ‘There was booze involved, right? Were there men?’

Luce nods. So, she’s going along with it.

Mrs O’D’s voice is rising to hysteria. ‘How many? Did they touch you?’

Luce shakes her head.

Mrs O’D looks at her brother and sister and whispers, audibly, ‘Jesus, I always said that girl has trouble with a capital T written all over her.’

I can’t believe she’d take that line with me standing there all smashed up. Bryony is outraged (although she doesn’t know what Mrs O’D knows about me: the cutting and the cannabis, and that’s only half of it, and I’m pretty sure Mrs O’D knows this too). ‘You can’t go blaming the girl, Katherine, she’s still only a child. No one asks for that kind of trouble.’

Mrs O’D stands up straight and rubs her back, staring at me, her words tumbling out and tripping over themselves. ‘Oh, I know, I know, but I guarantee you, this would not have happened if Lucy had been hanging out with any of her other friends.’

She’s right there, but she’s kinda making a tit out of herself, spittle spraying in my direction. It seems she can’t control herself; it seems I have that maddening effect on her, like with my own mother. Bryony and Bob look incredulously at each other, and I realise she’s playing right into my ploy for the sympathy vote.

She continues like a mad hag, her voice scratchy, ‘Were you attacked by strangers, or someone you know?’