But they were stories. Fairytales. They weren’t real.

So cold hard logic said. But the old dark voice had disagreed.

And Liz had paid attention to it. Keira was nailing up the other downstairs windows, Frank attending to the upstairs ones and Paul keeping watch from the attic skylight with a pair of night-vision binoculars as he could see straighter than either of them just now. Jess was supposedly nailing up the window in the pantry, but most likely just keeping out of everyone’s way. Worthless. Liz’d miscarried twice; sons, both times. Couldn’t one of them have lived, and Jess been born dead and half-formed? Waste of space. Maybe her kid would be worth something.

Someone banged on the door again.

Just in case. It was all just in case. Let them think she was going mad if they wanted. Let them get through tonight, and in the morning she’d see. The boards would come down from the window easily enough, and they’d never speak of it again – they could carry on as normal, and this would be a blip. Let them, let any of them, try making out Liz was losing the plot, and she’d make them sorry. She would. But for now, for tonight – just in case, the windows would be boarded and all the lights on.

Tony. Her little boy, her handsome boy, her favourite. He’d driven her half-mad with his ways – never seemed to get that it was family first and last and always and the rest of the world could go fuck itself, that you never stood against your own. Like he’d done with Paul over that silly girl, although Paul was enough of a trial in his own right – fuck anything that moved and half the things that didn’t – but of course she’d loved Tony best, how could she not have? She’d give both Jess and Dom for Tony back again.

Enough of that, you silly old crow. Liz edged into the hallway, raised the shotgun towards the door, relaxing only when Dom bellowed: “Mum? Mum? S’me.”

She broke the shotgun and let him in. “Why didn’t you say, you spastic?”

Dom grinned and dragged in a dirt-covered barrel bag. Liz slammed and locked the door after him. “Kitchen table. Jess, get your brother a brew. Jess!”

The pantry door opened with a click and Jess padded into the hall, still holding the baby. “Coffee,” said Dom.