Please don’t tell me.

The spark of a lighter. A draw on a cigarette.

Please don’t tell me.

But then he does. He has to.

‘He’s out. He was released yesterday.’

He doesn’t speak again and I think it’s because I’m screaming but then I realize the sound I’m making is only in my head because I can hear Archie call, ‘Bye Daddy,’ followed by the slam of the front door.

Graham allows the words to settle for a moment more before he says, ‘Time off for good behaviour.’ He makes a noise that could be a laugh or a snort or something in between because we both know there has never been anything good in his behaviour, but still they keep releasing him.

He’s out.

I am gripping the handset so hard my knuckles are white and my fingers ache.

He’s out.

Last time he was released he had ignored the condition of his parole stating he couldn’t come anywhere near me, Marie or Carly. It was such a relief when he was arrested again after the police had uncovered what else he had done while he’d had his freedom restored. He’s been gone for a number of years since and, although I knew he wouldn’t be locked up forever, this still feels like a slap in the face but then it proves I was right, wasn’t I? I had seen him this morning as I’d pulled out of the petrol station.

Twenty years.

Happy anniversary.

Without thinking about how rude I am being, I cut the call. My fingers hover between the contacts in my favourite list. I ring Carly first.

‘Hey, Leah. What’s up?’ Her voice is thick with tears. It’s been a hard day for us all at Marie’s flat. For a moment I hesitate, not wanting to make her feel any worse.

‘He’s out.’ It’s all I need to say.

She sharply draws a breath.

‘Who told you?’ she asks.

‘Graham.’

‘Not Mum?’

‘Of course not.’ Our relationship with our mother is complex. ‘Do you think she knows?’ Would the police be obliged to tell her?

‘Dunno. Should I call her?’

‘Do you want to?’

‘Not really, no.’

‘Then don’t. Anyway, there’s nothing she can do and we need to tell Marie first. Speak to you later.’

I hang up, not waiting to hear her thoughts on his release. Her reaction will be the same as mine: outrage, sadness, fear.

Marie’s phone rings and rings. I will her to hurry up. Her answer service kicks in. I cut the call and try again with no luck.

She definitely said she didn’t have any plans that evening, that she was staying in.

In between bathing Archie and putting him to bed I try her again.

Still, she doesn’t answer.

My stomach churns with worry. When I was young I came down with tonsillitis unbeknown to Marie, who suddenly lost her voice, despite not feeling ill.

Twin instinct, Mum used to call it.

My thoughts cast back to that room – our prison – when I had thought she was going to die. I knew it then and I know it now.