I look up and see Georgie standing by the door. Jack appears behind her, puts his arm around her waist and smiles.

‘I don’t know about you lot but I’m starving,’ he says. ‘Prawn ramen for you, Lottie?’

‘How did you remember?’ she says, laughing.

‘Well, you always were a creature of habit.’

I smile, allowing myself to sink into the bosom of my family for a few moments, but there’s a feeling of unease that I still can’t shake. I think of Connor running away from the scene, remember his face as he pressed down on me. I look at Georgie as she snuggles up to Jack to order the meal and I realize that the time has come.

I have to tell her what happened.

40. Now

After supper Jack washes the dishes then heads up to bed, leaving me, Georgie and Lottie sitting in the living room.

‘Anyone fancy a top-up?’ says Georgie, holding the bottle of red aloft.

‘Not for me, thanks,’ I say, placing my hand over my glass. I need to have a clear head for what I’m about to say.

Beside me, Lottie lets out a sigh.

‘God, what a day,’ she says, squeezing my arm gently. ‘You must be completely shattered, Ness.’

I nod my head.

‘There’s something I need to tell you both,’ I say, my hands trembling. All these months and this is the first time I will actually articulate what happened to me. It feels surreal.

‘What is it?’ says Georgie, her face all concern. ‘What’s happened?’

I realize I can’t look at them or else I’ll lose my nerve so I stand up and walk over to the Grimshaw painting. Fixing my eyes on that lone figure, I begin to speak.

‘I –’

My voice catches in my throat. I take a deep breath and start again.

‘I – I think Connor raped me.’

There. Out it goes. Out of my head, where it has plagued me these last few months, and into the world. I feel my body crumple with a mixture of terror and relief.

‘What?’

Lottie’s voice rips into the silence. I turn. She is sitting there open-mouthed. Georgie is quiet, but I see that she is clasping her hands so tightly her knuckles have gone white.

‘What happened, Nessa?’ she says, looking up at me. ‘Tell us.’

I turn my head and tell them every little detail, not just of the night in question but everything leading up to it: the mind games, the control, the way he described his ex, Sam, as a psycho, the subtle undermining of everything I said and did. When I’m finished I feel a hand on my shoulder. I turn and fall into my sister’s arms.

‘Oh, my darling girl,’ she says, kissing the top of my head. ‘How could I have let this happen to you?’