He can’t reach for it properly because he’s beginning to faint – the entire floor is falling away. It feels like he will fall through every floor of this building right down to the basement and only then – in total darkness – will he have a chance for peace. A hand reaches out above him. Closes the shutter firmly. Pulls the curtains shut and tucks them over each other so there is absolutely no light. Very, very gently, she lays her thin wee duvet over his head. Pats him through the soft material.

– There, there, Uncle Ivor, you don’t need to do that.

– Did you just wake up, Esme?

– Aye, what are you doing here, Jake?

Esme stands with her hands on her hips, looking angry at him.

– I am here to see Ivor, is that okay with you?

– Noh, it isnae, and it isnae okay with Princess Sparkle – it isnae even okay with Applejack. Uncle Ivor’s heart is broken. You know what I think about you, Jake? Yer lips move but you never really say anything so I don’t even need to know what you did to him – I can feel it.

Esme pats her chest bone.

– So get out!

– Okay!

Jake scrambles upright.

– Ivor, can ye take that duvet off for just a minute, mate?

– Get out!

Esme screams it.

He can hear her throwing things at Jake, then the front door slams shut and there is a blissful silence.

Ivor’s heartbeat slows.

Hot shame.

It is the single emotion he remembers feeling the longest.

His most base and true emotion.

Shame that others would find out, would see him like this – helpless, terrified, childlike, made solely of terror. That shame is toxic. He has seen it in Esme, too. When her mum is always late to come pick her up. Her pals all know. Little Stardusts and Blossoms with their scathing wee looks and their perfect wee lives – taking all their fucking hidden nastiness out on her. Some of those days before Ivor realised that Rhona had had her benefits stopped – his niece dealt with all of it while hungry. The kid is a fucking angel, as smart and beautiful a soul as anyone could ever possibly know. All of this has to stop. It’s never too late. Ever! He reaches one hand out of the duvet, theatrically, as if he were the undead waking – his niece’s tiny hand reaches out and squeezes it.

– You can come out now, Uncle Ivor.

– Thanks, Esme. You – are the best protector I’ve ever had.

– I know.

– Do you know what, Esme?

– What?

– I am going to become that, instead – fir you.