‘She’s in your old bedroom.’ He pushes it hard enough for me to remember all those times he turned into a hunch-shouldered demon and knocked me to the ground. ‘But I don’t like your tone. Who’s in charge here, Lorna? You or me?’

‘You,’ I say, and the word is meek, just like the old days.

I could try and fight him, but I can’t risk it. Fury makes Michael strong and he has a gun.

‘Poor Liberty,’ says Michael. ‘She’s told me all about you. How you kept her as your prize for all these years. Locked up at home.’

‘I was keeping her safe.’

‘It didn’t work.’

‘I know it didn’t. But I’m here to take her place. A sacrifice, right? Will you let her go?’

‘You need to do something first.’

‘What?’

‘Tell Liberty the truth.’

Uneasiness stirs inside me. ‘So that’s what you want. To destroy every bit of me. Every single bit.’

‘You tried to do the same to me, didn’t you? With those press stories. The difference is, I’ll succeed where you failed. You’ll be nothing to Liberty after today.’

‘People will see through you in the end. Even Diane.’

‘Diane will never know about this.’ He moves the rifle barrel against my sternum now, jabbing hard. ‘Let’s go see Liberty now. You’ve got some explaining to do. Time to tell that little girl the truth. You know me. I can’t stand lies.’

‘And if I don’t tell her?’

‘You already know the answer. It’s buried in my woods.’

Lorna

I remember the stairs to the turret room so well. The shallow steps curling around the stone pillar, finishing with one deeper step at the top – careful with that one, it can trip you.

The bedroom door is the same too. Mock medieval castle to satisfy Michael’s regal delusions. And on the other side of the door …

My little girl.

Liberty sits on the turret room bed, curled over Skywalker. She looks up when the door opens and cries when she sees me.

‘Liberty.’ I feel myself smile. ‘You’re okay. Everything’s going to be all right.’

‘It’s not all right,’ says Liberty, eyes on fire. ‘It’ll never be all right again.’ She grips Skywalker’s fur.

Michael pushes hard metal against my spine. ‘Don’t you have something you want to tell her, Lorna?’

The words come out in a gabble. ‘I’m not your real mother, Liberty.’ My face crumples into tears. ‘And your real mother – something real bad happened to her. And I left her. I ran.’

So much for marching in here and taking my daughter back. Michael is in charge, just like always.

‘You left Liberty’s real mother to die, didn’t you, Lorna?’ says Michael. ‘She burned to death.’