The sharp points of the hard plastic made little troughs in his skin, then, one by one, they broke the skin and slid into the muscles and flesh of his face. She screamed, and pulled her fingers together, as though making a fist. They left deep gouges. She freed her forefinger, then plunged it into the man’s right eye.

He bellowed, and twisted away from her, then hit her in the ribs with his right hand. He lifted his knees and kicked her away, then scrabbled backwards.

Winded, she stared at him. He stared back. The right side of his face was a mess, his eye already closed.

She got to her feet and took a step towards him. He backed into the corner.

‘Please,’ he said. ‘You can go. Please. Go. But no more.’

She shook her head. She stood over him, and raised her left hand, the Duplo talons bloody.

He stared at it, his one good eye wide in fear.

And then, with her right hand, she snatched the key and pulled it as hard as she could.

She backed towards the door and unlocked it. The man twitched.

‘Stay there,’ she said. ‘Or I’ll take your other eye.’

She felt a sense of elation.

She had done it. This was it.

All she had to do was unlock the door, then go to the bath, get Max, and they would be free.

And then there was a noise.

A banging coming from the bath.

‘Mummy,’ a muffled voice said. ‘Where are you?’

Martin

Martin pulled into a car parking space at the hospital. It was hard to be back here. This was the third time, and he had hoped it was over for good.

But maybe that was another hope that would not be granted to him.

He walked into the consulting room, two cups of tea in his hand.

Sandra was sitting on the bed. She smiled. ‘I’m not sure I feel like anything,’ she said. She put a hand on his forearm. Her hand was dry and warm, the veins prominent. She looked at him. Her hair was beginning to grow back, but it was still short. ‘I’m a bit nervous.’

‘Me too,’ Martin said. ‘Me too. But it’ll be OK,’ he said. ‘It really will.’

She didn’t reply. When he looked at her there were tears on her cheeks.

Maggie

There was the sound of wood scraping on wood, then a blond, curly-haired head appeared over the lip of the bath.

‘Mummy?’ Max said. ‘Are you OK?’

The man thought – and reacted – more quickly than Maggie did. They were an equal distance from the corner of the room with the bath in, and, before she could move, he half-sprang, half-ran to it. He reached out and grabbed Max, then held him up.

His hands and face and clothes were covered in blood. His one remaining eye was wild, his mouth parted as he panted for breath.