‘I’m sorry to hear you say that, Jessie. You were always everything to me and your dad. I tried to be honest with you.’ Josephine finished her glass of wine and poured herself another. ‘When I was a kid, Jessie, my dad was put away for a long time. I spent the best part of my youth visiting him in Parkhurst. I didn’t like it, but I got on with it. My mum and me made his time bearable. We wrote, we visited. I had so many Christmases, so many birthdays without him, just me and her. We struggled without him, but we just got on with it. I didn’t rail at the world, but I missed him, God how I missed him. He was my dad. I remember the Filth coming round our house, tearing it apart, searching for evidence, being dragged out of my bed. They even slit open my mattress with a huge knife, in case he had hidden anything inside it. I can still remember the court case, my mum coming back from the Old Bailey every night, and pretending everything was all right. My heart was broken, but I knew, even then, as young as I was, that my mum needed me to be strong for her. So I was. But I know in my heart, that you knew about your dad, Jessie. You acting like it was all a fucking big surprise doesn’t wash with me. All your mates know about us and, even though that doesn’t make it right, it still makes me question why you would use it as an excuse to whore yourself out.’

Jessie pulled a chair out from under the table, and sat down beside her mother. ‘I was scared out of my life, Mum. I can’t believe you don’t understand how much that affected me.’

Josephine looked at her lovely daughter and, getting up slowly, she went to the nearest cupboard and brought another wine glass to the table. She poured her daughter a small glass of red wine, pushing the glass towards her roughly.

‘I do understand. I was there as well, remember? I protected us as best I could until your father arrived. You could have come to me at any time afterwards, but you didn’t. I trusted you, as I had always trusted you, and I was wrong. I know that now. Drink your wine. From what I understand you aren’t averse to alcohol.’

Jessie didn’t want any wine. She pushed the glass away from her.

Josephine watched her daughter carefully, before saying sadly, ‘Good girl. I knew you wouldn’t drink that now you’re sober. You’re pregnant, aren’t you?’

Jessie didn’t answer her.

‘Do you know whose it is?’

Jessie’s usual arrogance came to the fore as she said haughtily, ‘What difference does that make now? I don’t want it. I’m only fifteen.’