As she walks unsteadily up the middle of the steep road, there is no mistaking Ann-Marie or the fact that under the blanket she is covered in dark stains, the colour of rust.

Lauren is already unbuckling her seatbelt and wrenching open the door.

‘Don’t leave the—’ Niall barks. He watches Lauren run down the edge of the road in her battered black Clarks.

Ann-Marie doesn’t quicken her pace, nor does she turn her head. He can see it is an effort for her to walk up the hill, her eyes trained on some spot in the distance. Lauren catches up with her and throws herself into a hug. Ann-Marie stiffens and tries gently to push her away. Then she seems to register the truck and she sinks towards the tarmac. Lauren tries to haul her up with her small body. Ann-Marie nods her head slowly, staring blankly. Lauren says something. Niall stays still in his seat as fear begins to knot around him like a creeping plant. There is a wide streak of blood on the girl’s forehead. Her hair is crusty and there are dark patches on her frail denim knees. A small, selfish part of him wants to grab Lauren, swivel the truck around and go. He can already see how the situation will look if they bring her back. Nobody trusts him. He peers through the gloomy trees on either side, checks his rear-view mirror and sees nothing. Ann-Marie doubles over and retches bile on to the road.

He watches Lauren run back towards him and his body wakes up.

‘Dad!’

He stumbles down from the truck and squeezes Lauren’s hot hand, before bundling her into the passenger seat. He hesitates, looking around one more time for any traffic. He yanks off his coat and puts it around the teenager’s shoulders. Ann-Marie flinches and wipes her mouth. She looks behind her with wild eyes and gestures Go towards the pickup; her other hand is tightly clenched. As she moves, Niall notices her baggy, bloodstained T-shirt is ripped open at one side. He tries to find the wound and then realizes he is looking at something dark and inky tattooed on her skin. She sways again and Niall lifts her up over his shoulder. Her limp body weighs almost the same as Lauren’s as he tucks her next to his daughter in the front. Lauren shifts half off the seat, one foot by the gear stick.

‘Dad.’

He sees she is terrified. ‘Do you want to sit on my knee again?’

‘Dad.’

He leaves her where she is and jogs over to his side of the truck, slamming himself into the seat and pushing back against the headrest, chin raised, eyes screwed shut. ‘I need to think.’

‘What? She’s bleeding.’

‘I need to think.’ He says this too loud and Lauren starts to cry. He tries to pull her over to sit on his lap, but she pushes him off.