The truth was, she didn’t care about Billy Thomas. She didn’t care that he was dead. She had wanted to be found out from the start; she had never dreamt that she could get away with her behaviour for so long. But she had, and it was only because her parents had always thought the best of her. They should have known that something was wrong with her, none of them had noticed anything amiss. That wasn’t right; she resented them for assuming she would just pick herself up and carry on as normal. It had shown her that she was really no more than an outsider, that her mum and dad didn’t really give her more than a passing thought. All they needed was each other.

‘I can’t answer that question, Mum. To be honest, he meant nothing to me. I wish I had realised that before. But what I do know is you and Dad don’t need me – you never did, Mum. I feel like you and Dad built this big lie, and it was all for my benefit. You never leave the house now unless you have to. I don’t feel like this is my home any more. Overnight I went from convent girl, with a perfect life, to no one. Everything I had ever believed in was stripped away, was destroyed. Dad even attacked Uncle Declan and put him in hospital. In a matter of days, I was thrust into your world, your vicious, violent world. I’m fifteen years old, Mum.’

Josephine Flynn was heart-sorry for her daughter, she understood what she was saying. But it was too late now, she should have said all this a long time ago.