‘I can assure you, Dominic,’ she replies silkily, ‘I have every intention of playing along. In fact, I’ve already made management aware of our new plan. They’re fine with it, just in case you were worried 15 about breaking with protocol. And just in case you were planning on calling it in yourself, as we’ve discussed ad nauseam…’

Their bickering fades out as the Travelodge tower rises up by the kerb, jaunty purple logo like fresh graffiti against the blank-white sky.

I shiver as I get out of the car, cold air slapping my face, batting at the third shadow still trembling in my mind.

Wake up, Marie.

16

Carly ~ Warchester ~ 1996

Ma’s on the sofa, eyes closed, mouth open. At least a packet’s worth of fags crowd the ashtray rising up and down on her belly, but, as usual, there’s none left for swiping.

Kayleigh’s standing, rattling the bars of her cot, so close it’s almost in Ma’s face. I clatter my keys on top of the telly squawking next to the front door. I know it wasn’t always like this when I got home from school, but these days it feels like I’m walking into the same film every afternoon, the same second when someone pressed pause, the same fog of smoke in every corner. Just like yesterday, the week before, the month before, there go Kayleigh’s screams again, bouncing off the walls, through my head and back again, opening up new cracks in any memory that’s still left. I can’t be cross with her though, how could I be? She doesn’t know how hard I’m trying to remember how it used to be. She just had the bad luck to be born in the first place.

I leave the door open as I wade through the crap on the floor to rouse Ma. She sits up with a start, ashtray flipping over in her lap.

‘She’s hungry, Ma. It’s gone five. How long’s she been in there?’ I straighten up, sniffing. I know without looking that Kayleigh hasn’t been changed all day. ‘Ma! What have you got in?’

But all she can do is blink at me before flopping back down on to the couch, finished before she’s even started. I turn my back as I scoop Kayleigh out of her cot, overflowing nappy instantly soaking my shirt.

‘We’re better off outside,’ I murmur as I strip her, squatting on the front step to turn on the outside tap, drowning her filthy 17clothes in a puddle, letting the breeze wash through the room behind us. And now she’s cooing instead of crying, fresh air kissing her naked body, cooling down the rash all over her velvet legs.

‘I’m sorry, love.’ Ma sniffs in the background. ‘I just closed my eyes for a moment…’