Annie hadn’t arrived home until after ten p.m., by which point Mary was already in bed, and Grant hadn’t the heart or the strength to explain what had happened to her. The following morning his daughter had left for school before Mary was up, and Grant reluctantly headed off to work. The day passed by in a blur, and he found himself unable to properly concentrate, so he left work earlier than usual and arrived home minutes before Annie returned from school, just after four p.m.

Following less than thirty seconds of chat with her dad, she promptly locked herself away in her bedroom, once again without seeing Mary. Her lack of social interaction with her parents was nothing more than would be expected of a fifteen-year-old girl, Grant and Mary had previously decided. She wasn’t another Ethan-sized problem in the making, just a teenager who preferred the company of her friends and her music and her phone to her boring and clueless parents. Really, Annie was a sweet girl and plenty mature enough for her age.

So just where had everything gone wrong with Ethan, then? It was a question Grant had asked himself constantly for a while now. Ethan had never been particularly troublesome as a younger child – he was simply a typically boisterous boy who enjoyed playing rough and tumble and tormenting his little sister. Only when he was fourteen had he changed from a hyperactive boy to an out of control young man with a beef against the world. There had been no one catalyst, no spark, no trauma or suffering or loss which had caused his degradation from boy to loser. Ethan was just Ethan.

Grant still lived in the vague hope that perhaps his son would grow out of his arsehole stage. That he’d find a good job and a nice girlfriend, and would settle down and become a real man. As the days and months wore on, that dream felt further and further from reality. But it was still a dream that Grant clung to. Largely because he couldn’t fathom how the current situation would ever end with a positive outcome.

How much further into the mire could they spiral?

‘Shall I fix us some pasta?’ Mary said, coming into the lounge.

He saw the look of despair still on her face.

‘Sure,’ Grant said. ‘Honey, you have to believe that this isn’t our fault. It just isn’t. We tried everything to get things right with him.’

‘Did we?’ Mary asked. By now the swelling around her eye had turned purple, the eyelid was swollen almost shut.

‘You know we did.’