The woman who let them in was in her thirties with a thick braid of brown hair over her shoulder; her arms were looped around a pile of clothes. She looked tired though her smile was wide.

“I’m Karen,” she introduced herself, dumping the clothes on the hall table; the flicker of concern in her eyes was quickly masked. “Come and have some coffee, you must be tired after your journey.”

Melissa’s reflection in the hall mirror surprised even her. The bruise had spread into her left eye socket and the cut across her cheek had widened; it might need stitches. There will be a scar. Karen tactfully refrained from asking questions and they sat together in the warm kitchen where a young girl was stacking dishes. The curly-haired toddler at her feet was attempting to pull the head off a Barbie doll. An older woman, her right arm in a cast, was reading the paper at the table; she ignored them at first. Karen gave them a plate of hot toast and mugs of coffee. Lina took a slice, ate it quickly, and took another. The woman with the cast looked up and flashed Lina a smile, then the toddler approached, holding out her doll for inspection. Melissa relaxed. Lina would be all right here; she would make friends. Karen talked about the house and how it was run, the mealtimes and washing-up routines. Lina’s eyes tracked Karen’s, listening and learning. They were taken to the bedroom she’d been allocated: a simple room with a bed, a wardrobe, and a chair. There was a view of other houses, neat gardens, the cathedral spire in the distance, and a door you could lock from inside. When Karen left them, Lina turned to her. Melissa had never seen Lina smile properly before, with a smile that reached her eyes. She hugged her; as she drove away, tears of relief and sadness stung the cut in her cheek. She’d miss her friend.

Now she unlocks her own front door quietly and stands in the hall, listening. The house is silent. She begins to climb the stairs, but as she nears the top, she hears the noise of the shower. Her heart sinks. Paul hasn’t left for work after all. The empty vodka bottle by the sink last night flits into her mind; already intoxicated, he must have attacked Lina as well as her, then drunk himself into oblivion. He was lucky to survive that amount of alcohol; she might have guessed he would only be surfacing now. He’s late for work, but she won’t comment; he could hurt her again. She’ll have to wait until he goes out to make her escape or put it off until tomorrow. She returns to the kitchen and destroys the note she left earlier before he sees it. She makes coffee and feeds the cat. Paul comes downstairs with heavy footsteps; he avoids the kitchen and goes straight to his study without a word.

She clears her desk in the studio, rapidly shredding old papers, conscious that she is shredding her old life, beginning anew. Her hands tremble with anticipation; all the time she is aware of Paul in the house beneath her. He bellows once for Lina and then she hears him swearing, tugging open the fridge. Soon it’s quiet, he must have left. She begins to slot blueprints and designs into her large portfolio case and doesn’t hear him enter the room. She jolts when his fingers slide around her arm.