“Do you even give a shit?” he snarled in my ear, breath hot. “Aren’t you a little bit jealous? I was flirting with her all damn night.”

“I feel like you want me to be jealous.”

“Well, something. You’re such a cold cunt.”

The word stabbed into me. He’d never called me that before. “What did you want me to do?”

“You should’ve told that slut to back off. You should’ve told her I’m taken. You should’ve pretended to care, at least.”

We were standing in the underground car park, next to our car, Scott pushing me up against it.

“Maybe I don’t love you anymore. Have you considered that?”

He laughed in that angry manner, as though he could chuckle away the darkness within him. “Get in the car. We’ll talk about this at home.”

We didn’t. Instead, Scott sunk half a bottle of whisky and trashed the living room, ordering me to clean it up.

And I did. Because I was scared. Because I knew that, next time, he’d do more than hurt my arm and call me names.

28

CASEY

Casey knew a girl with serious problems when she saw one. She’d spotted Beth leaving Scott’s class during one of her spying missions. She liked thinking of them like that, her forays into Scott’s school, looking across the yard into the classroom as he paced up and down and pretended to care about the futures of these little brats.

Beth Vaughn had all the signs of a girl who was being abused at home. Casey recognised them straight away.

It hadn’t been anything specific about Beth. It was more an aura.

Casey smiled as she leaned back in her new recliner chair, the TV playing a film she was barely paying attention to. She was drunk and it was – she glanced at the new, extravagantly expensive clock – only four o’clock.

She didn’t care; she swigged some more wine and placed the glass down.

Beth had a shimmering in the air around her. It was everything about her: the way she moved, the way she dressed, the cruel sound of her laughter. Casey had followed the girl home to her shitty flat. And sure enough, as she’d watched, she’d seen signs of what was happening inside. There he was: the big oh-so strong man, wearing a workman’s T-shirt and looking, for all appearances, respectable.

But Casey had eyes like fucking laser beams. She had eyes that went hotter than the hiss of an iron: of a phoenix rising. She could pierce his hello-world exterior and see him for the snivelling little kid-touching monster he was. Casey knew all about that, knew how men twisted women, girls, made them their playthings.

That’s why Casey had helped her. Approaching her on her way home, she’d walked out right in front of Beth. She was on her own, on a cut-through path that led from the school to a park. Casey felt like hugging her when she stepped back, that cautious guarded look an animal gets. She was clearly smarter than most girls her age.