A girl is curled in sleep on the floor, long hair covering her face, her dark limbs loose. Melissa is shocked to stillness. Her thoughts skate to another girl, a younger child – Sorrel curled in an attic cupboard or underground. This girl’s arms are thin, she has a sparkling bangle round her wrist, her hair is tangled. Someone’s daughter. She might be a friend of Izzy’s or Lina’s, given temporary shelter. Melissa puts the knife on the shelf, kneels beside the sleeping form and gently touches her hand. The girl jolts awake with a gasp, lifts her head and puts an arm across her stomach. Dark eyes scan hers, Lina’s eyes. Melissa’s bewilderment changes, deepens. Without the hijab, the thick make-up and her disguising robes, Lina is a teenager, staring up in terror, her cheeks streaked with tears.

‘Lina?’

Shame and fear struggle in those dark eyes. Melissa’s thoughts fly to Izzy sleeping peacefully, unaware of what is happening at home. Safe. She smiles at Lina as reassuringly as she can.

‘Let’s get you up.’ She puts an arm around Lina and lifts her to her feet, bringing her into the kitchen. She sees a bruise on her temple, another on her arm and something else, just as chilling, more perhaps. Lina is cupping her abdomen, but clearly outlined in her thin slip beneath the protective arm, the unmistakable swelling of a pregnancy that has only just begun to show. Melissa might have missed it if Lina wasn’t so slim. Melissa’s mind quietens as though the noise of years has faded away. Things do matter after all. She does care. She picks up the rug from the sofa and wraps it around Lina as carefully as if she were another daughter.

‘Sit with me, Lina, please.’ She touches the sofa beside her and Lina lowers herself gradually.

‘What happened?’ She makes her voice as gentle as she can but Lina seems frozen with fear.

‘Did someone hurt you?’

The dark eyes lower, she nods.

‘Who was it? Can you tell me?’