A hand grabbed her baton arm and swung her round. Frank’s thick face was red and bloated with rage, his free hand drawn back in a fist. Ellie pepper-sprayed him too; he bellowed in pain, staggering, but clung onto her arm, dragging her back into the kitchen. Keira was screaming and cursing, trying to get up and clawing at her own eyes now; Paul rolled around clutching his knee and had vomited on the stone floor. Liz remained motionless: saying nothing, doing nothing. Dom huddled against the Belfast sink, letting out thick-voiced wails and fumbling with the dog’s chain, and Jess was sobbing, trying to push herself back through the kitchen wall while her baby howled.

Ellie stamped on Frank’s foot twice, thumping at his wrist with her free hand till his grip slackened. She pulled free and hit him across the stomach with the baton, then again when he doubled over. Self-defence, Your Honour, he’d attacked me and I couldn’t give him a chance to do it again. Any enjoyment I got out of it is purely coincidental.

“Get her, Sabre! Get the bitch!” Dom shouted, and Ellie saw he’d got the chain off the dog. It ran towards her, snarling. Jess screamed, hunching protectively around the baby. And Liz Harper sat at her table, stubbing out her cigarette, doing nothing.

Ellie pulled the kitchen door shut behind her and the dog slammed into it with a force that shook the house. Let it all fall fucking down, the whole rotten ruin of it. She ran down the hall to the front door. Please let it be unlocked. She’d smash her way out through the windows if necessary. It opened a few inches, then jerked to a halt. The security chain. Fuck. From the kitchen came muffled bellows and screams and the baying of the dog. Then they grew suddenly louder as the kitchen door opened.

She slammed the front door and fumbled at the chain – come on, come fucking on – till it came free. She flung the door open and ran out – should have slammed it behind her – pelting over to the Land Rover. Snow was falling heavily now, and the ground was slippery; she slipped and nearly fell.

Keys – the keys –

She fumbled for them as the dog ran across the yard. Oh shit. Oh fuck. She didn’t want to hurt it. She liked dogs; they were preferable to people on the whole. But it was barking maniacally, lips rolled back from its teeth and covered in foam.

She swung up the baton and screamed, “Come on then!” It halted, but kept barking.

Keys, keys, fucking keys –

She found them, pushed the button and the Land Rover bleeped. Lights flashed and locks clunked, but the dog rushed her as she turned away. She lashed out with the baton and it leapt back – no doubt the poor beast had plenty of practice dodging blows.