‘How could I have not known?’ she’d said to Tom. ‘How blind could I have been? All this time I’ve complained about Willow having her head in the clouds and not having a clue what was going on around her, while I was the one unable to see what was going on right under my nose!’

‘But it wasn’t going on under your nose, Martha. That’s the thing about abuse, it’s kept hidden.’ He’d then offered to drive down to be with her, just as she thought he would.

‘No,’ she’d said. ‘I’m perfectly all right.’

‘What if Rick shows up?’ he’d asked.

‘Don’t worry; Mum, Ellis and I can handle Rick. And don’t forget,’ she’d added lightly to reassure Tom that she really was okay, ‘Mum’s friend, Geraldine is here, so she’ll act as our first line of defence.’

He’d made a small attempt at laughter, but she could tell he was humouring her. ‘If you change your mind,’ he’d said, ‘or if you just want to talk, call me.’

‘I will, I promise,’ she’d said gratefully.

Now, as she pushed back the duvet and got out of bed, Martha thought how lucky she was to be married to such a kind and considerate man who would no more raise his hand to her than grow a second head.

Thank God she hadn’t been attracted to and married a carbon copy of her father. As difficult as it was to confront, the love she had felt for the man who meant so much to her was now irrevocably tainted with shame. She was unspeakably ashamed of him. He’d been a perpetrator of domestic violence who had got away with it for years and she didn’t think she would ever think well of him again.

Hearing the sound of the loo being flushed in the Jack and Jill bathroom that she shared with her sister, Martha put on her dressing gown, the one Mum always kept there for her. She then went out onto the landing and after knocking lightly on Willow’s door, she let herself in.

Willow was back in bed, sitting up and clutching her old rag doll which Mum had made for her when she was little. With the duvet pulled up almost to her chin, she looked poignantly childlike, her hair in messy plaits which she hadn’t brushed out before going to bed. The cut to her lip had formed an ugly scab now and the bruising to her cheek and eye had fanned out to spoil yet more of her face.

‘How’re you feeling?’ asked Martha, closing the door behind her and going over to sit on the edge of her sister’s bed.

‘Not so bad.’

‘Did you manage to sleep?’

‘Off and on.’

‘Me too.’

Still clutching the doll, Willow looked at Martha. ‘I’m sorry … you know … about Dad. That must have been a terrible shock for you. You were always so much closer to him than me.’

‘If I’d known the truth, then I wouldn’t have been.’ She was about to say more, that she wished Willow had confided in her all those years ago, but changed her mind. They both knew that if her sister had told her what she’d witnessed, Martha would never have believed her. She would have called her a liar and probably a lot worse. ‘I’d rather not talk about Dad, if you don’t mind,’ she said. ‘I’m more concerned about you.’