‘Come on, Joe,’ I say, unclipping my seat belt. ‘Let’s go and have something to eat.’

He is sitting rigid in his seat, his eyes fixed ahead of him.

‘Joe?’

He doesn’t respond. A sick feeling rises in my stomach. I would rather he shout and scream and yell for his daddy than stay silent and motionless like this.

I get out of the car and open the back door. He doesn’t move.

‘It’s okay, baby,’ I whisper, leaning across to unclip him. ‘I know you’re tired. Mummy’s going to make us some nice food and then we’ll get some –’

The blow comes out of nowhere. I stagger backwards, cupping my cheek in my hand. Joe is still staring straight ahead, his tiny hands clenched into tight fists. My face throbs.

‘Joe,’ I say, trying to keep my voice calm and steady, ‘that was very naughty of you to hit Mummy but I know you’re tired and hungry. Why don’t you come with me and we’ll go get some food?’

I hold out my hand towards him. It’s shaking. Why am I so terrified? He’s a three-year-old boy. My boy. But the situation I’ve fled, the anxiety and fear, mixed with this wilderness I’ve dragged us both to, have cast a sinister light on everything. Even Joe. The person I love most in this world.

I stand like that for a minute or so and then out of sheer desperation I find myself resorting to bribery of the worst kind.

‘Joe, if you come inside with Mummy I promise we’ll go and see Daddy.’

As soon as he hears that word his head jerks towards me. The look of hope on his tiny face breaks my heart but I have no choice. I have to get him out of the car. I can deal with my promise later.

‘Daddy,’ he says, stretching his arms towards me. ‘We go find Daddy.’

I don’t reply, just lean across and lift him out of the seat, cursing myself.

‘Mummy needs to get some things from the boot and then we’ll explore the nice house,’ I say, placing him on to the grass and taking his hand. ‘It’s going to be such a fun adventure.’

I hear him mutter something about ‘Daddy’ as I open the boot and take out the shopping bags and our luggage. In the corner of the boot I spot my dad’s old toolkit. Dad was a firm believer in being prepared for every eventuality. Unlike me. I reach for it and tuck it under my arm. ‘Thanks, Dad,’ I whisper, though I know if he were here he’d laugh at the idea of me attempting to use a toolkit.

I close the boot then take the bags in both hands.

‘Right, Joe,’ I say, my voice sounding unnaturally bright. ‘Follow Mummy. This is going to be a real adventure.’

I hear his little footsteps behind me as we make our way to the house and for a moment I tell myself that maybe this might all still turn out fine. But when we reach the door and I set down the bags and take the torch out of my pocket the sense of unease returns.