‘I’m not a drug addict!’ I said. ‘I haven’t even had a drink for nine weeks.’

‘The fact you’re counting says everything, darling.’ She took in both Hannah and Marco now. ‘I don’t know who you both are – I suspect other unfortunate acolytes of Amber Greville. This is a family matter now. I need you both to leave.’

Marco was looking a bit unnerved by the whole situation, body turning towards the door, but Hannah was blazing with loyal outrage.

‘We’re her family now!’ she shouted. ‘Not you. And we’re not leaving. We know all about you, and your horrible behaviour towards Rachel. You don’t deserve such a wonderful daughter.’

Mum’s eyes flashed with something dangerous, her jaw rigid with fury. There was no good option here. I put a hand on Hannah’s arm.

‘Thank you – let me deal with this. You don’t need to protect me.’

Her eyes were beseeching.

‘Are you sure? Are you sure you want us to go and leave you with…’ – she looked over at Mum, who returned her gaze through narrowed eyes – ‘… this witch?’

I could tell Hannah was enjoying this, in a strange kind of a way. She was like a superhero at the height of her powers, all her intensity brought into glorious focus. She didn’t need Mum destroying her warm righteousness; I wanted her to have her moment. I nodded, hugging her tightly, her sweet, sweaty smell comforting by now.

I felt so weary.

‘Good decision,’ said Mum as the door closed on Marco and Hannah.

I looked at her in disbelief.

‘Decision? You really do live in your own fantasy world, don’t you?’

Mum had been standing, but now she sank down on to the sofa, covering her eyes with her hand. The pull was so strong – to fling myself down beside her, to try to fix her unhappiness. I forced myself to stay upright, looking down at the slivers of grey that poked through her honeyed highlights. She was older now. She wasn’t invincible. I couldn’t decide if it made me feel stronger or more scared.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said, a sob choking the words. ‘I didn’t think you’d be like this. I thought by now you’d understand how much you’re hurting all of us.’

I backed away from her and leant against the wall, the acrid stink of the week-old bin making the atmosphere even more toxic than it already was.

‘But, Mum, you’ve hurt me so much,’ I said. ‘I’m only just starting to realize how much everything that happened back then destroyed my self-esteem.’

Real agony, not pantomime pain, registered in her face, but then it turned flinty. That was her dance move – her two-step – I realized, with blinding clarity. If only clarity offered the instant relief that the word seemed to promise it would.