‘Don’t mind me. This is your home too.’ I’ve lost track of the number of times I’ve told her that. When she first moved in she could barely look me in the eye. I don’t know if it was because she was shy or if the way her mother had treated her had left such a terrible imprint that she was intimidated by older women. She’s been living with us for eighteen months now and she’s still not comfortable being alone with me. If anything she’s worse. A small, possibly foolish, part of me thought that we might develop a mother-daughter type relationship after she moved in. I thought we’d go to the cinema to watch romcoms or to the nail bar in town to get manicures but you can’t force a relationship where there isn’t one. Some people need time to settle in to new situations, to get used to people, to trust them. I genuinely care about Kira. I worry about her, almost as much as I worry about my own sons, but she’s still not ready to let me in.

She continues to shovel her belongings into a large carry case at breakneck speed, her blonde hair covering her face. ‘It’s okay, I was pretty much finished anyway and I really should get—’

‘Don’t go. Please.’ I approach the table, my hands wrapped around a steaming cup of tea. ‘I’d like to have a chat with you.’

She peers at me through the curtain of hair that hangs over her face. ‘What about?’

‘About you, and how you’re doing.’ I pull out a chair and sit down. We haven’t really had a conversation since my blackout in Weston. I’ve barely seen her to talk to, but I imagine Jake will have filled her in. Whenever I pass their room on my way to bed each night the low rumbling of their hushed conversations creeps from beneath the door.

‘I’m fine.’ Her gaze flits towards the kitchen window and the driveway outside and I instantly understand. She thinks I want to have another chat about her relationship with Jake and she wants to escape.

‘Can we chat later?’ She glances at the kitchen clock. ‘I really need to get into town. I’m taking photos of someone and she’s got to go to work at half past nine.’

‘Okay, don’t worry.’

I watch as she crosses the kitchen, her body sloped to the right under the weight of her camera bag and her battered trainers squeaking on the kitchen tiles. Her long, thin legs look pale and mottled despite the fact that it’s the middle of summer.

‘Kira!’ I call as she reaches for the doorknob.

‘Yes.’ She turns back.

‘Has Stephen – Jake’s uncle Stephen – has he ever said anything inappropriate to you?’

She frowns. ‘Like what?’

‘About … I don’t know … the way you dress?’