‘Those woods,’ she said, in the same strange tone. ‘Are they keeping others out or trapping us in?’ Her eyes flashed and I could see that she was scared.

‘We’re safe here,’ I said firmly, to convince her or myself, I couldn’t tell.

She turned to me, her lips puckering round the cigarette as she took a drag, her eyes fixed on me but not saying anything for a few seconds. Then, ‘I know we haven’t talked about our pasts. And that’s good. We shouldn’t have to. Our future starts here.’

‘Exactly,’ I said, in a jovial voice, trying to cheer her up. ‘And . . . we can protect each other, can’t we? Have each other’s backs?’

She nodded, her eyes still on mine. Then she stubbed out her cigarette against the sink and walked over to where I was standing by the back door. Her face was so close to mine that for a crazy moment I wondered if she was going to kiss me. But instead she moved a lock of hair away from my face. ‘Thank you,’ she said softly. ‘I feel the same. Ask no questions, tell no lies.’

I could feel heat rising up my neck to my face. Then she took a step back, clearing her throat, and walked towards the cooker. ‘You’re so kind, Rose,’ she said, with her back to me, her shoulders hunched. I could see the outline of her spine through her jumper. ‘If I’d met you years ago things could be very different now.’

I went over to her and gently placed my hand on her shoulder. ‘At least we’ve found each other now,’ I said. ‘No man can ever hurt us again.’

If only that were true.

The next morning I dropped you off at the little church playschool. You were wearing your favourite yellow wellies and the pink and red bobble hat I’d knitted for you. It was a frosty morning, ice coating the pavements, and we had to step carefully so as not to slip. The sky was dull and colourless. I nodded a hello to other parents clutching the hands of their little ones as we made our way across the village square. Parents I’d never bothered to get to know. When we reached the market cross you had to run up and down the steps, like you did every time you saw it. When you got to the top you spun around, as though you were on a medieval stage. ‘Where’s Daffy?’ you said, as I helped you down the steps, worried you’d slip. You were only two and a half and some words were difficult for you to say. Daffy, like the duck. After you incorrectly pronounced her name the first time it just stuck. ‘Daffy pick me up?’