Fred liked the sound of ‘Mai’: it tripped off his tongue. She looked more like a Mai to him. Plop a blonde wig on her and she’d look like May Britt in Murder Inc. It was one of Fred’s favourite films, because it was the only film he’d ever seen in a cinema with his dad. His father had always been an outdoors-man – he’d liked fishing, golf and doing the garden in that order. Other than that he’d sold insurance door to door and hadn’t had time for much else. It was hard to talk him into going to see the film but Fred had been determined. It was his father’s birthday, and a day out together was Fred’s present to him.

‘That was magic, son,’ he had murmured, as he’d wandered from the dark theatre into the dim light of the evening, disoriented but elated. ‘Just magic.’

Two days later he was dead. He’d suffered a massive heart attack at a woman’s doorway while selling her life insurance. Years later the family would joke that he’d do anything to make a sale. It still made Fred chuckle. His dad would have enjoyed it too.

Whenever Fred looked at Maisie he saw May Britt, and in his head he heard his da’s words. Magic, son. Just magic. It wasn’t that he didn’t like the name ‘Maisie’, but he could still hear Danny spitting it with such venom. It brought back too many memories of her terrified and bleeding in a doorway, hidden in a locked room or passed out on a wooden floor. Fred Brennan had attended fourteen calls to the Bean-Fox household in the space of two years. His colleagues had attended eight more. It was a miracle Danny Fox hadn’t killed his wife and it wasn’t for the lack of trying. No, ‘Mai’ had a ring to it and it gave them both a clean slate and a fresh start. It’s time to let go of all that, Mai, for both of us. If you’ll only let us.