Her bedroom was huge – bigger than most people’s front rooms. It was very beautiful and she had always loved it. The walls were covered with a pale pink silk which had cost a fortune but from the moment her mum had shown it to her she had wanted it. Her double bed had been brought over from France – hand-carved, it would not look out of place in a palace. The curtains on her windows were a deeper pink than the walls, the floor was white oak, and every piece of furniture, from her bedside cabinets to the dressing table, was hand-picked and very expensive. Until today, she had never thought about the cost – suddenly it seemed to be important to her. She looked around her, saw the bookcase with her favourite books, the pictures of her life exquisitely framed, showing her smiling so happily – and completely unaware of the real world that she was living in. Unaware that, one day, that safe, happy world would explode in her face.

She closed her eyes, wanting desperately to blot it out. Her lovely bedroom that was the envy of her friends, which she once had loved so very much, where she had felt safe and secure, was where she now felt trapped.

The door opened and her mother came into the room quietly. She had a tray in her hands with a glass of milk and a plate of cookies. Jessie waited for her mother to come to her and, as she sat on the bed, Jessie saw the sorrow in her eyes, and felt the deep sadness that enveloped her mother.

‘Try and eat something, Jessie. For me.’

Jessie sat up abruptly, knowing that her mother would have to move away from her.

Josephine stood up awkwardly and, when her daughter had finally settled, she placed the tray across her lap. ‘Drink the milk at least, Jessie.’

Jessie picked up the glass, and obediently took a few mouthfuls of the milk.

‘There’s a good girl. You’ll feel better now.’

Josephine was so worried about her daughter. It had only been a day, but she hated that her child had been traumatised by the events of the night before.

Jessie pushed the glass roughly into her mother’s hand. ‘I’ll feel better now, will I?’