“Fuck’s sake . . . How did this ever fit in here?” Becca punches the polyester while it balloons out the other side. “I said we were worried about her. We thought she didn’t seem herself . . .”

“Did you mention the bruises?”

“I hinted. She went all pale and said she often bangs herself at work.”

“She only works in a post office!”

“I don’t think she realizes you’ve seen them all over her body.”

“What else did . . . ?” I trail off and glance behind me as I remember that Mum might be nearby.

“She’s on the balcony,” Becca whispers.

I tiptoe to check she’s still outside, and see her profile in the dark, framed by curls of smoke.

Back in my room, Becca’s given up with the sleeping bag and is sitting on my bed. When I sink down beside her she grabs my arm. “We need to help her, Kate. I could see she wanted to tell me something, but it was like she was afraid. So instead she got mad, said I’d got a bloody cheek . . .”

“Did you mention Nick?”

She flushes. “I might’ve got a bit carried away there.”

“What d’you mean?”

“I wasn’t going to push it, just ask if he was treating her right and hope she’d realize what I was getting at. But she wouldn’t take the bait. She just clammed up. So I said I got bad vibes from Nick. I said he made me uncomfortable . . . I might’ve called him sleazy . . .”

“I thought you were going to be subtle, Bec!”

“I tried. But she was so fucking careful in what she was saying. She won’t hear a bad word against him. And I just know it’s because she’s scared. I could see it in her face.”

The thought is unbearable. My brave mum who used to protect me from nightmares, from nasty kids in the playground, from monsters under the bed.

“You can’t leave,” I say desperately. “I’ll talk to her.”

“She’s mad with both of us.”

My heart plummets. I hate Mum being angry with me, hate when disappointment pulls at the corners of her mouth. I’ll do or say almost anything to make her smile at me again.

“We’ll apologize,” I say. “We’ll act like we didn’t mean any of it and think of a new plan.”

Becca shrugs. “Worth a shot.”

“I’ll go to her now.”

I venture into the living room, looking through the smeary glass at my mum still outside, cigarette finished. She turns and our eyes lock. There it is: disappointment, anger. But something else too. I feel those eyes are pleading with me.

She slides back the door and steps into the room, slow as a moonwalker.