‘Me and my dad have had more fights than Michael Tyson. We loathe each other. My mum hasn’t left the house for fucking years, she lives in two rooms and she’s a hoarder. I bet you didn’t know that, did you? She keeps everything, every scrap of paper, every fucking thing that someone she loves has touched. It’s mental, I tell you. She still has sweet wrappers from when I was a toddler. And I can tell you now, mister, the minute I went on the missing list my dad would have made sure my mum had more bodyguards than fucking Whitney Houston. He adores her – she’s his reason for living. When you deliver my body, as you promised, he will hunt you down like a dog, but not because of what you’ve done to me – he won’t give a flying fuck about that. He will come after you, because you took something he owned. It’s all about face with my dad, about front.’ She laughed again, much harder this time. She could see the bafflement on his face and was enjoying his discomfort, and the knowledge that she had royally pissed all over his fireworks. If nothing else, she was going to make sure he didn’t have the last laugh.

The man stood up abruptly, and she looked him right in the eyes. Then he punched her hard in her face. She didn’t react, she let him hit her, and even as she felt her eye begin to swell, she still didn’t say anything.

Suddenly, he was shouting at her, a deafening roar that was as unexpected at it was potent. ‘I will not allow you to laugh at me. I will not let you do that.’

He hit her again, this time on her jaw. It was an uppercut, and she felt the blow snap her head back with its power. The next punch hit her straight in the mouth; he was so much stronger than she would have believed possible. Her lip split open and it started to bleed profusely. She could taste her own blood, feel it as it dripped down her face. She instinctively braced herself for the next onslaught, but it didn’t come. She heard him walking away from her, leaving her all alone once more.