She was thinking about the moment Madison had approached her, only weeks ago, with her plan. She’d come into the staff room during lunch, bold and smirking, and in front of all the other teachers she’d asked Eliza to go speak somewhere privately. Then, huddled in the car park, she’d told Eliza that on the camp Madison and Jasmine would stage a fight, and then Eliza would keep the four girls behind after the rest had left.

She left Eliza no choice. ‘If you don’t, I’ll tell everyone the truth about who Cierra was sleeping with . . .’

That’s all she’d said, but it was enough for Eliza.

I have permission to not lose hope.

She hadn’t been there for Denni. It all came back to that. Denni had been Eliza’s treasure, a chance to take what the world had refused to give. Eliza wanted to do for Denni what hadn’t been done for her, or for Monica, or for Kiera. But after everything Eliza had done, Denni had still killed herself. Nothing would be good in the world ever again. She’d tried to protect Wren, but she’d failed at that too.

Back in the present, heavy fists thumped on the door.

Alright, here we go.

She left the bottle on the counter and walked to the front door. She opened it and then hastily stepped back as Murphy forced himself inside, his teeth a white grimace in his dark beard.

‘Murphy! Wha— Why are you here?’ She looked past him, expecting to see a police car, but it was only Butch’s Hilux.

Murphy glanced around the room, then turned his eyes on her. Those eyes were sharp and clear, and with the wine and the emotion and the fear, mixed with the breadth of his shoulders and the set of his jaw, Eliza found him suddenly extremely attractive.

He grabbed her arms and pulled her face close to his. She squeaked, and his eyes looked between hers, and then he forced his mouth onto hers. Her own eyes widened, and for a moment she didn’t know what to do. Then she bit his lip – hard – and drove her knee up into his groin.

He groaned and lurched away, bending over with his hands between his legs.

She kicked him in the shin and then punched him repeatedly in the shoulders. ‘How dare you!’ She kept hitting him, wondering if she could pummel him out of the door. ‘You disgusting, horrible —’

‘I had to know,’ he moaned, still doubled over. ‘You never . . . came across as a lesbian.’