‘Dad! She was sixteen. The same age as Chloe. She was a child. She was a virgin. Not that that should make any difference. Professor Paul Williams made her feel she owed it to him. The price of staying in his beautiful flat. The cost of a cheap necklace and a hot meal.’ Nick steps forward and places both hands on the table, leans towards their father. ‘And you knew. You might have had your suspicions before she even went to stay with him. You’d heard the rumours. Maybe you’d even helped cover up the accusations from his female students. They were silly young girls, and he was an acclaimed academic. You didn’t want to lose him from the department. You were Vice-Chancellor at the time. You didn’t want a stain on the university’s reputation under your guard. But then… then Bethany told you. She told you what had been going on. And you still did nothing.’

‘It wasn’t nothing, Nick,’ her father says. ‘I took her out of that situation. I put her up in my flat. The one you are currently benefiting from now. Rent-free.’

Matt frowns. ‘Why couldn’t she have gone there in the first place?’

Amy wipes away a tear and says, ‘Because that was where Dad met his women. He might not have been able to stay there for the entire week, after Mum left, but he still used it. He couldn’t have his daughter disrupting his affairs.’

‘I can honestly say I knew nothing about Paul’s alleged indiscretions with any of the students beforehand, or I most certainly would not have agreed to Bethany staying with him.’

‘Indiscretions?’ Amy breathes the word out. The smell of the spilt mango chutney is so sweet and sickly she thinks it will choke her.

‘But you didn’t do anything,’ Nick says. ‘You didn’t explain to Bethany what had happened. That it was rape. You made her feel it was her fault, and that it was nothing. You told her she was a stupid little girl. And you certainly didn’t tell anyone else. Like the police, for instance.’

No one says anything. Chloe is still looking down at the table, avoiding them all. Amy cries quietly.

Her dad unlocks his hands, presses the fingertips together as if he’s about to make a point in the lecture theatre. ‘It was a different time, Nick. One didn’t make those sorts of accusations about one’s colleagues. You don’t understand—’

Nick bangs his fist down on the table, making them all jump. ‘Oh, I understand all too fucking well.’

Matt gets to his feet. ‘I think it’s time for you to leave, David. And under the circumstances,’ he glances at Nick, ‘it’s probably best if I drive your dad home.’