I roll quietly on to my side so that I can look out into the room beyond the edge of the leather sofa. The area at the far end is in shade. The dying light from the fire can’t reach it but I can still make out their legs. He’s wearing suit trousers. She’s in stockings or tights. I look up but the dining table is still obscuring a lot of what would be visible. I strain until I can see flickers of movement.

He’s holding her by the wrist but she is tugging it away. There’s no fear in her demeanour. She knows him. She’s safe.

‘Precious fucking boyfriend record,’ he says. Some of what he is saying doesn’t reach me. ‘Knew all that time – keeping – the things in there – quiet just like—’

‘Oh, for goodness’ sake,’ she retorts. ‘You’re drunk.’

I blink away spots appearing before me. She says other things that I don’t catch.

Her voice is sharp and rises to the ceiling and then scatters around me like fallen glass.

‘You know how I feel about – getting my father – and at this time – when …’ His voice rising and falling, makes its way to me in incomplete packets. If I could only hear more.

‘If you sorted out your issues, maybe you wouldn’t—’

Then more noise.

I crane my neck for a better view. I see a cloud of dark hair.

‘Shut. Up,’ he says.

He has leaned her back over the table, and is covering her mouth with his hand. I can see her struggling, fighting to get upright, fighting to get his weight off her body. Fighting to get his hand off her mouth.

My heart starts to race but I am paralysed. Stop now! I say under my breath. Enough.

Her legs kick out but reach only air.

Don’t! She can’t breathe.

Her voice is trying to escape from her lungs but he smothers it, pressing his hands on her face. I have to get up now and do something, but I am rooted to my place. I’m not supposed to be here. I’ve convinced even myself I am not here. And yet I am. I have to get up. I have to run and pull him off before …

I take a breath and force myself to my knees. From here I can see that she is failing. Her face and her neck are changing colour. Her hair falls softly around her face but something about it is grotesque. I will some movement into my legs but they are stuck.