But if I maintain a status quo where my daughter sees her mother verbally abused and periodically beaten by her father, it’s the category where I belong, too. DS May was right. Andrew and I are Niamh’s blueprint – it’s a thought that fills me with shame. Most women would think me weak for staying this long. For them, the decision would be easy. They wouldn’t understand that, in so many ways, it’s easier to stay. They haven’t lived for years with someone who’s controlled their every move, crushed their self-esteem, made them believe they’re worthless. It’s why I love my job. Away from here, behind my uniform and mask of makeup, the Elise who’s married to Andrew disappears for a while.

While Niamh is at school, I finish packing our bags. I begin with my clothes, packing what I need, then carrying the cases downstairs before going to Niamh’s room. The bracelet I brought back from Morocco, as yet unworn, lies in front of a photo on her dressing table. Picking up the photo, I study it. It’s a picture of Niamh, Hollie and Dylan from two or three years ago.

Looking at it brings me up short. I don’t even know if Niamh is still grieving; whether she still misses her brother. I didn’t support her properly when he died. I was too lost in my own pain.

As I pack some of her things, I suddenly work out why she refused to leave with me; why she told Andrew I’d rented the cottage. Maybe having heard him say it so many times, she believes his lies. Maybe Niamh thinks it was me who killed Dylan.

*

After I confirm the address of the B and B where Niamh and I are booked in to stay for a while, the rest of the day seems interminable. Knowing we’re leaving, I have no interest in anything here. In the end, I wander outside, but even the appearance of more roses and the wisteria’s lilac hues hold no interest for me anymore. All I can do is wait on tenterhooks for Niamh to come home, terrified that Andrew could turn up at any minute.

Several times, I try to call DS May, needing to hear a reassuring voice, but it goes to voicemail. Finally, I hear the school bus slow to a stop then pull away, relief washing over me as Niamh’s slender figure walks up the drive. By the time she reaches the door, I have a lump in my throat.

As she walks in, I swallow. ‘Hi.’

Her eyes briefly flicker to me as she continues towards the stairs.