She’d written that she was a thief. She’d written that she was ashamed. Ashamed because an older married man had preyed on her. Ashamed because she couldn’t stop it. Ashamed because she liked it. Five minutes to eleven. What was he going to do? The door – feet on the stairs – the door opening…

I’m not ready, he thought in a panic. I’m not ready, I need more time.

He sat so still she didn’t see him immediately. She was in a hurry, her eyes anxious. She’d come for her backpack. She never went anywhere without it, that never that meant except when something huge was on her mind. He thought his heart might break.

Her backpack wasn’t where she’d left it. She was turning around to look for it. This was the last moment in their lives when she would trust him. Her gaze rested on him, passed over, came back to him. She saw him holding her journal.

“Alicia,” he said. “Sweetheart. Alicia.”

She turned white, then scarlet. Her hands trembled as she raised them to cover her cheeks.

“Don’t be embarrassed,” he said clumsily. “I’m not angry. Not with you. This isn’t your fault.”

She stood very still, as if by not moving she could stop time.

“I’m so, so sorry. I’ll spend the rest of my life wishing I’d known earlier so I could keep you safe, but now I know, I can help you.”

“You read my journal.”

“I had to, pet. I knew something was wrong. I had to find out so I could help you. You poor little love. How long has this been going on?”

“You went through my stuff and you read my journal.”

He stood up and put out a hand to try and draw her to him. She took a single step back and his arm fell to his side.

“You don’t have a thing to be embarrassed about,” he stumbled on. “I’m the one who should be… ”

“I’m not embarrassed.” Her voice trembled with passion. “I’m not embarrassed at all. It was my choice.”

“Alicia, you’re confused. That’s just what he’s made you think so you’ll protect him. But you don’t need to. Just tell me his name and I’ll take it from there.” (Shameful, shameful to interrogate his daughter like this, but more shameful to have missed the signs.) “You won’t be in any trouble, okay? Not you, only him. You just need to be brave and… ”

“I said,” her voice clear and cold and high, “it was my choice.”

“You don’t need to do anything, I’ll do it all. I’ll speak to the police and get it sorted for you.” (He was lying, but he needed to get this started, the first crack in the armour. He needed the name, the name, the name.)

“You’re not listening. You never listen, and you’re still not listening now. I did it all willingly and I’m not turning him in.”

“Pet, you’re fifteen.”

“He cares about me.”