She came into view first, standing over by the sink, an expression on her face that I couldn’t read. I gave a start when I saw we weren’t alone in the room.

Maybe on some strange level I knew who it was. I can’t really say, because my memory of that day is an odd, fickle thing. There are some moments that are scarred upon my mind for ever more, and I have to live through them in increments that feel even slower than seconds. Other parts, well, they are less clear.

I know that I stared at him, this wiry, bearded man sitting at our kitchen table, and he stared at me, for several seconds, before anyone spoke.

Then Anya said, ‘This is Liam.’

Liam gave a bitter laugh, shaking his head slowly then looking from her to me again.

He stood up and completely surprised me by holding out a tanned, knobbly-knuckled hand in greeting. I almost took it, before stopping myself.

Anya snorted and angled her body away to stare out of the kitchen window.

‘I know this is a bit weird,’ he said in a quiet, deep voice. ‘But I’m not here to actively hurt anyone. I just wanted to speak to Anastasia. It’s part of my recovery, you see. I know that I didn’t behave as I should have back then. I wanted to say sorry.’

Anger flared, bright and bitter; the same horrible thrill scaring Lee Bennett had prompted twitching inside me. This man had almost ruined my wife’s life and I hated him right then. Wanted to hurt him.

I looked at her narrow shoulders, hunched in as she stood at the sink, and knew I would do anything to protect her and our daughter.

‘Anyway,’ he said a little hesitantly, perhaps guessing the direction of my thoughts. ‘I’ve finally had enough and I’m doing what I should have done all those years ago.’

‘You’re going to tell the police?’ I said, trying to sound calm. Maybe his confession would help the current situation in some way? I had no idea.

He nodded. His eyes were an unusual light bright brown and it struck me, unpleasantly, they were oddly like Anya’s. They had similar colouring in general: the dark red hair, the pale skin. They could have been related. Was that an attraction, originally? It wasn’t something I wanted to dwell upon. My mouth was dry and I picked up a glass of half-drunk water that was sitting on the kitchen worktop. I didn’t know how long it had been there and it tasted stale. Still, I drank it down.

I had absolutely no idea what to do here.

Anya (so strange to hear him calling her Anastasia) and Liam were staring at each other, in silence. It felt weirdly like they were coiled, waiting to see what the other did first before springing into some sort of physical action.