‘We need to phone the police.’ Kenny isn’t talking in a hissed whisper any more.

‘It’s still like a bloodbath in the kitchen,’ Charlie says. ‘The last thing we need is the police sniffing around until we’ve—’

‘Aye? And how long exactly do you think you can hold Alec back from finishing him off?’

A flash this time of rage – teeth-bared and black-eyed. Sobbing, spitting roars of pain and flailing fists. Coughing, slipping. A tiled floor slick with my own blood.

I force open my swollen eyes. Cringe, when instead of seeing the sun coming through Mary’s net curtains I see only white-painted brick and a bright overhead bulb. I’m in the earth cellar. My head aches, full of rocks with sharp edges. I sit up.

Kenny curses and Charlie flinches. Both of them stand at the foot of the old blow-up mattress, staring down at me as if I’m someone they’ve never seen before.

‘Where are Mary and Calum?’ My voice is hoarse, my throat sore.

‘They’re fine,’ Charlie says. ‘They’re with Bruce MacKenzie.’

‘Why?’ The room is cool, but I feel hot. Kenny is like a statue. He glares at me without blinking; he opens and closes his mouth without speaking.

‘What do you remember, Robert?’ Charlie says. There’s no cheerful smile for me today. Only thin pressed lips and purple-dark shadows under his eyes. ‘What do you remember about last night?’

I shake my head. ‘I don’t … I don’t …’

‘This is bullshit,’ Kenny shouts, his big hands curling into fists. His glare becomes narrow and measured, and I cringe when he moves suddenly, reaches into his pocket, brings something out. ‘You think you can do what you like, Charlie, and we’ll all just fall into line?’ His mouth flattens, then turns into a sneer. ‘You’re an arrogant son of a bitch. Always have been.’

He turns for the stairs, the banister squealing its protest as he grabs hold. And then he stops, his shoulders briefly sagging. ‘You think I don’t know? About you and Isla? You think Moira doesn’t know?’

When Charlie says nothing at all, Kenny brings his head up and turns around, throws what is in his hand too fast and hard at Charlie for him to catch. It hits the earth floor with a muted thud, and I realise that it’s the trapdoor key.

Kenny stands on that bottom step and looks only at the wall. ‘We need to phone the police.’

And then he thunders his way up the stairs and into the blackhouse.

I look up at the kitchen through the open trapdoor. I look at Charlie. The rocks inside my head grind against bone and nerve and each other.

‘Why are you here?’ My voice is slow and faraway. It doesn’t sound like my voice any more. Black crouching shadows creep closer. ‘What did I do?’

*

‘You kept him prisoner?’

Charlie shakes his head, then stops. ‘It wasn’t supposed to be – it just … happened. After we found them … after the MacDonalds found out about Lorne – Alec went berserk. We’d taken Robert back to the blackhouse, and Alec damn near knocked the door down trying to get at him. Took five of us to get him off Robert; lucky he didn’t kill him. Fiona begged us not to phone the police – didn’t want to risk losing her man as well as her child. And I … I felt too much guilt to say no. Because I’d known things weren’t right with Robert for a long time. I’d known they were getting worse.’