‘Drink this down,’ he said. ‘You’re being hysterical. Didn’t I just tell you I can’t love a girl who’s hysterical? Why do you think I fell out of love with Diane?’

I learned my lesson. For the rest of the European tour, I stayed in hotel suites and on the tour bus, a good girl waiting for Michael to come home. And he didn’t always come home now we were in Europe. Some nights I’d lay awake waiting for Michael, and he wouldn’t turn up until lunchtime the next day.

‘A late one with the boys,’ he’d say. ‘Christ, Diane would have nagged me like crazy for staying out. Such a relief to be with a cool girl like you.’

So I never complained.

It’s crazy to think I visited Paris, Berlin, Madrid, Barcelona and so many other famous cities, but only saw the insides of luxurious hotel suites and the tour bus. Just crazy.

By the end of the tour, Michael didn’t bother with the naked nights looking into my eyes anymore. He knew I’d still provide him with sex even if he shook me, screamed at me, kept me in a hotel room all day and stayed out all night.

So I did what every vulnerable, naive teenage girl does in an abusive relationship – waited and waited for the good stuff to return. It would, I was sure, when the tour was finished. Michael was stressed. We’d be staring into each other’s eyes again soon, fascinated by each other, soul mates, madly in love.

I convinced myself that Michael really, truly, was my Prince Charming. A rock and roll Prince Charming. A Prince Charming who, right now, could be moody. Sure, he had a temper. But I could handle it.

The course of true love never runs smoothly.

Liberty

I clear my throat and practise saying the words out loud: ‘Helloooo. My name is Liberty and I’m your long-lost daughteeeeer.’

This is so weird.

I’m standing outside my real, live biological father’s house at 9 a.m. on a school day. There are huge security gates, like we have at home. Only these gates are wrought-iron railings, whereas ours are solid wood. The railing aspect is a plus because I can see through them into the grounds, the fir-tree woodland and strange mansion/castle house on the horizon. The minus is there’s no intercom here. Who lives so far from the front gate but has no intercom? We have an intercom and our grounds are only an acre.

Skywalker sits by my leg, alert and waiting for instruction.

‘How crazy is this?’ I tell him. ‘My father has built a great big house that looks like a castle. In the middle of the woods. He’s got room for … what? Twenty visitors? Fifty? But no one can buzz to tell him they’ve come to visit.’