‘It’s the old farm cottage that came with the land,’ said Michael. ‘A beautiful little place. You know, the builders camped here while they were laying the foundations for the mansion. You’ll be fine. Stop being such a princess.’

‘Michael, please don’t make me—’

‘Listen.’ Michael lowered his voice. ‘Diane has pills with her. A whole bag full of pills. If we hadn’t have showed up this morning, she would have taken then. She was this close.’ He held up thumb and finger pinched together.

That changed things. Michael always knew how to pull my strings.

‘Okay,’ I said. ‘I didn’t know she was … okay. Okay, I get it.’

Michael nodded, placing a fatherly hand on my shoulder. ‘Now you understand why I have to play things a bit carefully. Baby steps. The candles and roses – all a bit of acting, but you’re grown-up enough to handle that, Lorna. I know you are. I wouldn’t be with you otherwise. Think of it like this. I’ve got a sick child to look after.’

I looked over the spooky, boarded-up cottage. ‘It’s scary out here.’

‘You’ll be fine.’ Michael led me into the building. ‘I’ll come out later with some blankets and food.’

The cottage was bare inside except for a mattress and bucket on the floor. The whole place smelt funny, like metal. One wall had angry axe marks in it.

‘I’ll come see you later,’ Michael whispered. ‘I’ll sneak out. Like Romeo and Juliet. Okay?’

‘Not okay.’

‘Watch yourself, Lorna. Don’t be spoiled or I’ll lock you in.’

I didn’t want to sit on the mattress, so I huddled up in the corner, hungry, cold and wide awake, listening to the night go on forever.

I guessed it was gone midnight when Michael came back, but I couldn’t be sure – time drags when you’re cold and uncomfortable.

Along with owl hoots and fox barks, I heard crunching footsteps and guessed they belonged to Michael. They were stumbling and out of rhythm.

‘Michael?’ I called out.

Suddenly the door flung open and I screamed and shrank back.

A heavy hand clamped on my mouth and I smelt whiskey. ‘Be quiet. Don’t make so much noise.’

I looked up into Michael’s bleary, bloodshot eyes. He climbed right on top of me, eyes glazed, then tugged at my jeans.

‘Michael.’ I turned my head and tried to push him away. ‘Stop. You’re drunk.’

But he didn’t. Instead, he pulled and yanked at my jeans until I was naked from the waist down, then climbed on top of me and banged away, bang, bang, bang.

He was a drunken dead weight and strong, but once he started I didn’t try to stop him. He was my boyfriend. We’d had sex many times before.