I had a profound fear of being taken into care. If it weren’t for Aunt Jessie taking me in when Mum died, I’d have almost certainly ended up in a children’s home, or been farmed out to foster parents. I don’t like to think of that time very often, trapped indoors with my grieving father, wondering whether I’d get beaten for nothing at all, wondering whether there’d be anything for supper that night or whether I’d have to make do with a tin of cold baked beans again.

Aunt Jessie wasn’t the most maternal of women, and even she wasn’t averse to giving me a good slap if I did my chores badly or forgot to do my homework, but I knew where I was with her, and if I followed her rules, things were fine. Sometimes, when she was in a good mood and her face was soft and calm, she looked so much like my mum.

Despite the threats, Catherine was my best friend. I was a strange, awkward boy and having someone like her looking out for me meant I never got picked on. Back in those days, Riley Road and the rest of the estate could be a pretty rough place to live if you didn’t have an ally. And Catherine Dawson was probably the best ally you could have.

It wasn’t her fault she was so screwed up. Her mother was too absorbed in her own pain to give her daughter the love and attention she craved. And as for Mick, he did what so many men do when things get tough at home. He threw himself into his work and his hobbies, withdrew into his own little world. So when I came along Catherine turned her full attention on me. She gave me the love I needed in the only way she knew how. In fits and starts.

I adored her. I hated her. I needed her.

You may wonder why I let her take the lead. Why I surrendered all sense of myself on the altar of her desires. I wonder it myself sometimes, but I never had a choice. Not really.

Some people are like that, aren’t they? They take you over, every little bit of you, and even though it rankles and you try to resist, deep down you know there’s no point because the sad truth is, you rather like it that way.

I liked it that way.

Until I didn’t, and by then it was too late.

47

At first, I think it must be the hiss of rain, or the rustling of leaves. It’s a comforting sound, the sort of sound that might lull someone to sleep. I try to open my eyes, to drag myself back to consciousness. There’s a reason I need to wake up. An important reason. If only I could remember what it is.