I went down the stairs and slipped out the front, staring up at her window. She was there, spread-eagled against the glass, one of the two fanlights open, her left hand outside, waving, her cheek pressed to the pane, her mouth stretched wide in that primal man’s shout.

Satisfied that she couldn’t get out of the window, I went back inside. As I closed the door, I saw Kevin in his front garden in the process of taking out the rubbish. One hand held the bin lid open and he stared up at my mother, his mouth a wide ‘O’ of shock.

I closed the door and trudged back upstairs.

‘Are you drinking your water?’ I asked through the closed door.

‘My girl, my baby, please don’t hurt Mummy like this.’ Her voice had returned to normal, high-pitched and squeaky. ‘Mummy loves you so much. Just get her some of her stuff and we’ll never talk about this, I promise,’ she wheedled.

I sat with my back to the door. That was the problem. We never talked about it. And after years of low-class drugs, she had slipped so easily into this. A smell, sweet and sickly, settled around me on the landing and I pulled my T-shirt up to cover my mouth and nose.

‘Use the bucket,’ I said.

‘YOU BITCH!’ she roared, the male voice back in full force. ‘You bloody cu—’ She broke off as she retched and vomited.

Later, much later, she spoke again. ‘My bones are breaking,’ she whispered. ‘Please help me, someone… anyone…’

Late that night, when it was fully dark and the street was in blackness, Carl came to the house. He had one hand on his fly, already unzipping it as I opened the door.

I stepped back to let him in, and jerked my head towards the stairs. For a second his eyes widened, hope and excitement reflected back at me as he misunderstood my meaning.

As if on cue, she started again, thin screams now, her throat sounding raw. If he’d cared, he would have leapt up the stairs, taking them two at a time. Instead, he turned to face me, a question mark in his eyes. From behind my back I pulled out the knife I was clutching and held it loosely in my fist. My hands were not shaking, and for that I was grateful.

He bit his lip. Wondering if he could take me, perhaps. But quickly he seemed to come to the conclusion that he wanted no part of this. Why would he? There was nothing special about my mother apart from the fact that she was an easy target. He could get his kicks and sell his wares elsewhere; this town wasn’t short of desperate, disadvantaged women.

I followed him to the door. ‘Don’t come back, Carl,’ I said, and this time my voice sounded low and deep and filled with the promise of violence.