And yet, and yet, and yet, Sara knew. All along, she knew.

The world collapsed in on itself, dragged her down into the pit as Damien dreamed beside her.

At two in the morning she had risen from their bed and gone to the flat’s open-plan kitchen. She opened the high cupboard in the corner, stood on her toes, her fingers searching through boxes of paracetamol and ibuprofen, cold and flu remedies, bottles of vitamins. There at the back, one pack of sleeping pills, and another, both prescribed by different doctors at different times, neither of them opened.

She filled a glass with water and sat at the table, spread the pills on the surface, counted them as she swallowed until she couldn’t count any more.

17: Esther

17: Esther

Esther stood there, every part of her frozen except her right hand, which trembled in front of her, the blade taking up the whole of her vision. How could a knife be so heavy? She inhaled, a quivering gasp, then exhaled, a low moan coming from inside her. How could a knife weigh so much? Her arm ached from holding it out and the idea occurred to her to simply place it back from where she’d lifted it.

“Go on, then,” the old man said.

He had not risen from his place at the table, the ledger open in front of him. Cash sorted into piles, notes and coins.

“Don’t try to stop me,” Esther said.

He sat back, his arms out and open, showing her his hands. “Nobody’s stopping you,” he said. “Away you go.”

Mary still knelt on the floor, her gaze moving between them both. Joy backed into the corner, looking at nothing but the floor. Noreen entirely still, the scrubbing brush in her hands. Esther wanted to scream at them, tell them to come with her, for Christ’s sake, leave this place. They would not move, she knew. Maybe they were right. It didn’t matter now. Esther had made her choice.

She turned away from Ivan and went to the hall. The front door was locked, wouldn’t even move in its frame. She moved to the living room and tried to raise the lower pane of the nearest sash window, whined as she strained to lift it, but it would not budge. She realised it had been fixed shut, wedges of wood screwed into place to prevent its movement. Through the glass, she could see the driveway, the walls and a glimpse of the narrow lane beyond. Maybe she could break the glass and climb through. But what with?

There was an easier way.

She marched back into the kitchen where everyone remained as they had been when she had left moments before. Joy whispered to her as she passed.

“Stop,” she said. “Don’t.”