‘You always say that,’ says Liberty. ‘But nothing changes.’ She puts the guitar to one side. ‘It’s ridiculous. I’m sixteen years old and you won’t let me go out in the evenings. All my friends go out. And you won’t tell me anything about my real father.’

‘You don’t get it. It’s a big, bad world out there. You have no idea how bad.’

‘Look, I know you had a hard time with my father—’

‘A hard time?’ I put a hand to my forehead. ‘Oh my goodness, Liberty. You have no idea.’

‘Is he something to do with you getting cancer when you were young? Like … bad associations or something?’

‘No. I had cancer before your father came along. I was only fifteen when …’ I shake my head. ‘Never mind. Anyway. I don’t want to talk about cancer. Focus on what you want more of, right? Not the bad stuff.’

‘Were you scared?’

‘What?’

‘When you got cancer. You must have been really scared.’

‘I don’t want to talk about that. It’s nothing to do with your father, anyway. I was in remission when we met. I thought he was my happy ending.’ I give a hollow laugh. ‘Now I know you have to make your own happy endings in life. No one can give them to you.’

‘I want to meet him, Mum. I know you had a bad relationship. But I don’t believe my real father would hurt me. I just don’t.’

I squeeze her hand. ‘Honey, you don’t know him. And if you did, you wouldn’t say that. All teenagers think they’re invincible. Until they learn otherwise.’

‘I might not be invincible. But I’m not some fragile little doll either.’

‘That’s exactly what you are, Liberty. And the most dangerous part is you don’t even know it.’

‘According to you, riding my bike to school is dangerous.’

‘I didn’t want you taking your bike to school because—’

‘Because you heard about a girl getting snatched when she was cycling home from school. Guess what? People get killed in cars every day. Why not stop me riding the bus?’

‘We have space around the house to ride.’

‘Oh, come on. It’s ridiculous. Having a bike and not being able to ride it outside, aged sixteen. Darcy rides her bike to nursery and she’s four years old with learning difficulties.’

‘It’s different with you.’

Liberty rolls her eyes. ‘Because my father is such a monster?’

‘Exactly right.’

Liberty clears her throat. ‘Mum. I have something to tell you.’

‘What?’

There’s a long pause, during which Liberty looks anywhere but at me. Then she says, ‘I know who he is.’

My body goes rigid. ‘What?’

Liberty takes her phone from the bedside table. ‘This is you. Isn’t it?’ She passes me the phone.

My mouth turns dry.