‘It’s nothing,’ she said when I protested that I couldn’t possibly accept the groceries after all she’d done. ‘It’s just some leftovers from the church raffle.’

The sight of the box seemed to perk Joe up and he jumped down from the table to investigate.

‘Presents!’ he squealed, darting past me. ‘Daddy left presents.’

Isobel looked worried but again she didn’t say anything.

‘No, these are from me, Joe,’ she said, crouching down to face him. ‘There’s some wine gums in there too. If you’re allowed them.’

She looked up at me and I nodded my head.

‘Just a few though,’ I said as Joe grabbed the bag of sweets from the box. ‘We don’t want to spoil your dinner.’

I’d already spotted some tinned baked beans in the box. Now the stove was working we could have them for dinner. There was also a box of candles, a loaf of bread, a bottle of sherry and some dried packet soups. It wasn’t much but I was thankful for it.

After Isobel left I warmed up the baked beans and sat at the table with Joe to eat. At first he just continued to sit with his head in his hands but once he smelt the food he sat up and had a few mouthfuls. After two days of crisps, sweets and pre-packed sausage rolls it was a relief to see him eat something hot. For a few moments I let myself imagine that this was our home, our new reality: me and Joe, finally safe and free of Mark. But when he’d finished his mouthful of food, he threw the spoon down on the floor and started to scream. ‘I hate you. Want Daddy. Don’t want you.’

I went to speak, to offer words of comfort to him, to coax him, tell him that Daddy would be coming soon, but then something inside me disconnected. I couldn’t do it any more. I couldn’t carry on making excuses and dancing around Joe’s moods like a boxer in the ring. I was tired, crazy tired, and I had no energy left for pleading and negotiating with a child who didn’t want to listen. So I took his bowl, picked up the spoon from the floor and took them to the wooden tub that Isobel had found for washing-up. Taking the jug of lake water we’d collected earlier, I scrubbed the pots and tried to cancel out the noise of Joe screaming behind me.

Finally he exhausted himself and I carried him off to bed where I’ve been lying awake for the last hour. Despite the warmth and the full stomach, sleep just won’t come. Every time I close my eyes I’m back in London, standing in the bedroom looking into the mirror as Mark comes up behind me. There’s no escape from him, nowhere to truly hide.

I turn over and face the room. A sliver of moonlight through the curtainless window casts the room in a sickly bluish glow. Behind me Joe wriggles and mutters to himself.