Hours later, I lie awake in my own bed, the mattress hard beneath me. I lie with my eyes wide open in the dark and finally let myself think about everything that happened today. I find my body shaking with the shock and horror of it. I remember once how a doctor told me that this is the body’s way of metabolizing out trauma, and so I let myself shake and don’t try to stop it.

I only pray that, this time, it will work.

Chapter 5

BACK THEN

Prin, nine years old, rides in the back of the car. She’s wearing her favourite dress, the one she kicked up such a fuss about earlier this morning. Mum kept saying it wasn’t entirely appropriate, but Prin knew how to clench her fists and make her chin wobble and that was when Daddy stepped in, all smiles, and said, Let’s not have an argument about this – why don’t we just let Prin wear what she wants.

So Prin got her way.

The dress is pink with a big flouncy skirt, and the taffeta makes a lovely rustling noise. As Prin sits strapped into the back, the engine rumbling along beneath them, she lifts her feet so she can see the shiny shoes she’s wearing, pink as well, with little gold buckles on each side. They pinch her feet a bit; they are getting too small, but Prin likes them too much to tell Mum, who would only want to get rid of them and donate them to the charity shop.

She lifts her feet again, higher this time, and they bump into the back of Mum’s seat. Mum twists round to look at Prin. ‘What are you doing?’ she says. ‘Stop kicking.’

Once Mum has turned back round again, Prin scowls. She has a good scowl; she’s practised it in the mirror by herself. But she wouldn’t show the scowl to Mum. Or Daddy. Definitely not Daddy.