Meggy stopped after a few steps. She didn’t know where she was going. She wasn’t prepared to stay in her ‘own’ bedroom. She wouldn’t do as she was told. Why make it easy for him? Elspeth’s bedroom still smelled of the accident she’d had earlier in the evening, and the sight of that double bed … Meggy couldn’t bear to go in there. Twelve years old or not, she knew enough about life to know what Fergus – or Fuckface, as she was now thinking of him – was doing to Elspeth in that bed.

The thought made her sick. She swung round and grabbed Elspeth with both arms, pushing her face into the woman’s shoulder.

‘I’m sorry I hit you,’ Meggy said. ‘Please don’t hate me. I don’t know what to do now.’

Elspeth closed her arms slowly around Meggy’s back, alternately patting and rubbing, holding her until the girl pulled away again.

‘It’s okay, you didn’t hurt me,’ she said. ‘I know how this must look. I tried to fight at first. I did all the things you’ve just done. Hunted for weapons, ways to escape, anything he hadn’t thought of. Furniture to bar the door, a blocked-up window to call for help. I found the weird pink dresses he wants me to wear. He left me several of them in my room, but they’re all exactly the same. It’s freaky.

‘There’s nothing that’ll help us, Meggy. He’s our only contact to the outside world. If you want him to bring food, you have to be nice. If you want the lights on, you have to pretend that you’ve had a wonderful day and that you missed him. When he gets angry, there’s this look on his face, like there’s another version of him inside that’s trying to burst out.’

‘Does he hurt you?’ Meggy asked quietly.

‘Sometimes. Not all the time. Less if I’m careful.’

‘Will he hurt me?’

‘I think that depends how he finds you. It’s like role play. Did you do that at school?’

Meggy nodded.

‘I think it’s the same. He likes it when I call him my husband. Puts him in a good mood, or a better mood, for a while.’

‘I’m not calling him dad.’ Meggy gave the carpet a stamp. ‘No bloody way.’