I see a skinny, kohl-eyed teenager with chin-length, punky hair and bony body under a Michael Reyji Ray T-shirt. My teenage self is dragging suitcases behind a straggly, dark-haired man in a leather jacket.

The worst thing about the picture is my eyes. They’re glazed and lovesick. I’ve seen the same eyes since in fanatical cult members.

This girl was me, once. A long time ago. But I feel no connection to her. She’s like a stranger.

There are more pictures under teenage me: a young Michael Reyji Ray, tanned and handsome. In those days he was in good shape, running around stage all night, slashed-up T-shirts showing off his chest. There’s a picture of Michael on stage, and also driving his purple Jaguar F-Type, looking every bit the rock and roll rebel.

Michael is different these days too. I’ve seen pictures. His face is swollen and craggy under his bleached white hair, chin dusted with black and white stubble. We’re both bigger, but I’ve got fitter, he’s got fatter: a toad of a man in black jeans, bright T-shirts and suit jackets.

Liberty watches me closely. ‘Michael Reyji Ray is my father,’ she says. ‘Isn’t he? All the dates add up. And … we have the same face.’

I swallow. ‘How did you find this?’

‘Someone at school showed me.’

‘The girl who gave you the jacket?’

‘No. Someone else.’

My mouth is dry. ‘Did you read the article?’

Liberty nods.

‘What else have you seen?’

‘Not much, just … some old magazine articles. Saying you were sort of obsessed with him. My father.’

‘I’m taking this phone.’

‘What?’

‘Your phone,’ I say. ‘I don’t want you looking at this stuff. It won’t lead anywhere good.’

Liberty shakes her head like a disappointed parent. ‘That’s your solution to everything. Censorship. Control. And then you bring in Nick to back you up. Fine. Take my phone. Take it. And while you’re at it, lock my door and throw away the key.’

‘Listen, you have no idea how good our life is without your father in it. Haven’t I warned you enough about him? Haven’t I spent your whole life warning you?’

‘You know what I think? I think he treated you badly and you need a reason to hate him.’

‘That’s not true. I mean, yes. He did treat me badly. But I have plenty of genuine reasons for keeping him away.’

‘Parent alienation,’ says Liberty. ‘It’s a thing. You should let me make up my own mind.’

I’ve kept my daughter secure behind high gates. We’ve stayed hidden for sixteen years. But Michael’s still got into our home.

‘You can’t ever see him,’ I say. ‘Ever.’

‘You can go now.’ Liberty picks up her guitar. ‘You’ve made your point. Mother knows best.’

Once upon a time …