She tightens her lips; he must be insane if he thinks she is going to give him a progress report on his daughter’s recovery from the damage he inflicted. Perhaps he is; incarceration causes madness in some prisoners. A deep line encircles his neck like a jagged crimson thread, damage coming full circle.

‘One of the blokes stole some wire from the workshop,’ he says, noticing her glance. ‘I thought I was going to die. So, about Izzy. I’m worried about her, really worried. Is she having therapy?’

Around them couples lean and touch. Two little boys dressed in matching outfits with gelled hair are fighting over a bag of crisps while their parents hold hands and talk in whispers. Another couple is silent, the girl yawning, obviously bored; she is probably here for the last time, as she is herself. Paul’s hair is whitening; she’d thought it was a cliché, stress making your hair go white. His hands are rough-skinned, the nails are short and torn. There are bruises on his arms, old ones and more recent; they merge, like the bruises he gave her.

‘Listen to me, Paul.’ She meets his eyes in a way she’d never dared, not even at the beginning. ‘You have forfeited the right to ask about your daughter, now or ever. Please don’t get your lawyer to contact us again.’

He leans forward but she doesn’t move back. If this is a game, she’s not going to lose. His face tightens and his skin flushes a dark, blotchy red.

‘You listen to me. Izzy was lying. I did nothing, none of it. I didn’t touch her, I swear. I did none of the things she said. Of course I didn’t.’ He looks more like the old Paul, though this Paul sounds desperate rather than angry, the words are pouring out. ‘She made it all up, everything she said was a lie. I had nothing to do with Sorrel’s abduction either. Izzy’s ill, she must be. It’s the only explanation. You need to get her some sort of help.’ His voice rises. ‘You must promise me you’ll find someone to help her. I’ll be cleared of course when the police dig deeper, though to be honest, I’m far more worried about her than me.’

‘I can’t listen to this, Paul.’

‘You have to, for Izzy’s sake. What the hell’s she up to? Why would she lie about me? And what the fuck was Sorrel doing in our freezer? It doesn’t make any sense. I’m locked up while the real culprit is walking around somewhere; it could be dangerous. Dangerous for Izzy.’