Izzy nods politely.

“So, when you’re ready . . .”

“Where would you like me to start?”

“You have the statement in front of you, which I have had the benefit of reading. I suggest,” she says gently, “that you start at the beginning.”

Izzy looks down at the paper on her lap and then up again. “Start at the beginning?” She sounds worried. “It’ll take ages. It began years ago.”

“Just read out the first sentence then carry on,” the lawyer repeats patiently. “Don’t be nervous. It won’t take long, so if you can kindly—”

“I was six when it began,” Izzy cuts in.

When what began? Melly feels a pulse of anxiety; has it all been too much of a strain? This video appearance a step too far for a thirteen-year-old child? The lawyer looks puzzled, but to her credit she is still patient.

“I’m sorry, Isabelle, that’s not what is on the paper. There may be lots of very helpful things you would like to tell us about your father, but we agreed you’d read out just what is written down in front of you.”

“You suggested I start at the beginning. That’s what I’m trying to do. I was six when he began to abuse me.”

There’s a soft noise in the court, a collective gasp, like the sound the sea makes on pebbles as the waves retreat. Melissa’s hands go to her throat. She’s not sure if she heard properly, or whether she imagined Izzy’s words. She glances at Paul but he’s looking at his daughter; his face is blank as if with shock.

“It’s been going on since then. Seven years altogether. Like I said, it’ll take ages if you want me to start from the very beginning.”

The court is hushed, that deep quiet of an audience listening to a good story. The lawyer is staring at the screen, motionless. Paul is white-faced, his jaw is clenched. Melissa’s world is veering out of control as it did years ago; she’d been a passenger in Paul’s car when he lost control on a country road; she can feel that helpless slide toward the bank right now, see the frosted grass coming closer in the headlights. She grips the chair seat and takes slow breaths, digging her nails in her palms. Someone needs to stop Izzy; her claim is crazy, frightening. She wants to hold her daughter, call for an emergency doctor, maybe a psychiatrist.

“Isabelle.” The lawyer has recovered, she speaks firmly. “You are here to read your witness statement. I suggest you immediately retract—”

“I am here for Sorrel. I retract nothing.” Izzy’s voice is clear; she sounds completely sane. “I want everyone to know that my father abused me and he’s done exactly the same to my mother. He’s a monster.”

The lawyer’s face changes, becomes expressionless; her lips tighten. She addresses the judge and her voice is much louder.

“Sir, I request a halt in proceedings. We have a hostile witness which we did not anticipate. I would like to confer with my client.”