I wriggled and he let me go. ‘I’m sorry I scared you, Dad,’ I said thickly. ‘But I really want to go back to bed now.’

He kissed me on the forehead. ‘OK, Sweetpea. I’m sorry I got so cross. You do understand why, don’t you?’

I nodded, but only because I wanted him out of there as quickly as possible. I didn’t understand. Living like this was no life. I was beginning to see that now.

‘Sweet dreams, my angel.’

Once he had gone I threw myself into bed and pulled the covers over me. I cried harder than I could ever remember crying before. How was I going to get out to see Fred with Dad watching my every move? What would happen when he came for our meeting next week if I wasn’t there? Would he think I didn’t want to see him and never come back again? Or – God – what if he came up to the house to find out what had happened? Would he do that? What would Dad do then? He had his shotgun out when I came in – might he kill him even?

I just don’t know. I feel like I don’t know anything about anything anymore.

42

June 2013

Scottish Highlands

The next week was awful. Dad walked on eggshells around me, making my favourite foods, letting me finish lessons early, trying to make up for our argument. We almost never argued, but when we did, it always upset him much more than it did me. And we’d never had an argument as big as that one before. But that was because I’d never actually disobeyed him before.

I tried to act normally and pretend that I’d forgotten about our row, but I didn’t think I was very convincing. When it came down to it, I didn’t particularly care that I had argued with Dad. I was starting to think that was his fault for keeping me on such a tight leash. However, I was extremely worried about what I was going to do about seeing Fred.

Dad was true to his word about checking up on me. He tried to be subtle: during the day he’d come to my room on the pretext of borrowing something or asking me what I wanted for dinner, but each time it was obvious what he was doing. I knew that sometimes he put his head around the door in the night too. Once he even came over and stroked my face, as if he was checking I was still breathing. I pretended to be asleep. I didn’t know how else to deal with that. I felt ashamed that it made me cringe, while also feeling furious that he wouldn’t leave me alone even at night.