‘She’s fifteen. She’s not going to be parading about on YouTube like some dumb b… bimbo. She’s got a brain. She’s got a future ahead of her.’

‘Are you saying I’m stupid?’

‘Why are you both shouting?’ their father asks.

‘Because your son-in-law is being a prize arse!’

‘My daughter is going to get some qualifications and go to university. You didn’t even make it to the end of secondary school.’

Amy glances up at the children’s bedroom and sees two pale faces pressed against the glass.

‘I’ve got a degree in Theatre Studies.’

‘That’s my point exactly! You could print your fucking diploma on a paper napkin.’

‘Matt!’ Amy says. ‘Dad’s right. Let’s stop all this yelling. Shall we talk about this inside?’ She starts to reach for him, but then she remembers how he pushed her off. ‘I’m not sure what you’re so worked up about…’

‘You’re not sure what I’m worked up about? My daughter is out here, covered in slap, while your sister is filming her in a bikini and uploading the footage to God-knows-where, and you were standing idly by, taking absolutely no notice. Probably drinking, knowing you. Chloe might only be your stepdaughter, but for Christ’s sake, Amy, you could act like you give a damn about her.’

Chloe bursts into tears and marches past them into the house.

‘Are you going to let him speak to me like that?’ Bethany demands, and she too storms inside and a moment later slams her bedroom door.

Her father grips Amy’s wrist. ‘Why is everyone so angry?’ he asks. He sounds shaken, upset.

‘It’s okay, Dad. I’m going to sort it out,’ she says, her eyes filling with tears. She pulls away from him sharply.

Sometimes she does this – reacts instinctively, kindly towards him – and then she remembers, and it’s as though she has a visceral response; she wants to push him away, never have to see him again, slide a knife between his ribs.