Resting her head on the pillow, Grace finally closed her eyes. She could sleep for a week. She and Jake had caught a stomach bug. He was just getting over the worst of his when hers kicked in. It had been an endless seventy-two hours of wiping up vomit. She settled him to sleep about half an hour earlier and then fell into bed herself; wearing only an old T-shirt because she hadn’t had the time or energy to wash any of her vomit-stained pyjamas. She was exhausted; the place was a mess but it would have to wait.

She must have drifted off because she was woken by an intense pain in her scalp. She shrieked in pain as she realized Nathan was pulling her from the bed by her hair. He dragged her out into the living room.

‘Look at the fucking state of this place,’ he growled, grabbing her by the face. ‘What the fuck do you do in here all day, Grace? This place is a fucking shithole. I even arranged for someone to manage the pub, so you could have more time to be a proper fucking wife.’ He pushed her to the floor. She didn’t answer him back. She was too exhausted. Too afraid. And she knew it would only make him angrier anyway.

‘Get this place cleaned up now,’ he snarled.

She started to pick up the toys and the dirty dishes.

‘Look at the fucking state of you, Grace,’ he snorted. ‘Not only do I have to come home to you looking like shit, this place is filthy now as well. Don’t you have any pride in yourself?’

The irony of his remark stung. Any pride she had in herself had been eroded by him, like the rock that was constantly beaten by the waves. Day in and day out. She didn’t even look at him; she continued silently going about cleaning up as best as she could.

Her silence was obviously taken as some sort of slight against him, because the next thing she felt was a sharp kick to her stomach. She retched, relieved that there was nothing left inside her as she would have vomited it up onto the carpet. Getting up, she resumed tidying. All the while Nathan was sitting on the sofa, smoking a cigarette and flicking the ash onto the floor. She went into the kitchen, and he followed. Her apparent poor effort in mopping the floor was rewarded by some slaps to the head and a punch to the ribs. Again, she retched, but he didn’t seem to notice, certainly he did not care.