Squashed into the sofa’s corner, I had to remind myself that I was, albeit temporarily, safe. I was not in the direct firing line anymore; the front door was locked, and I wasn’t alone.

‘Do you want to go and wash? There’s clean towels on the bathroom shelf.’ Fin switched the kettle on. ‘I’ll make you a cuppa.’

‘I’d rather have a drink.’ My teeth were actually chattering as I looked round the room for more clues on this man.

‘Happy days – I’m making you tea.’

‘I mean a drink, drink.’

‘I know what you meant. But I don’t have any booze.’ He was curt. Tense; because of me, no doubt. ‘Tea, coffee or water?’

‘Tea’s fine,’ I said meekly. I got the feeling I’d already outstayed my welcome – and I’d only been here five minutes. I just needed time to gather myself. ‘I just need time to get myself together,’ I said, aloud. ‘To come up with a plan.’

An old laptop; a hiking bag. His racing bike, leaning on the far wall.

Like someone was moving in. Or moving out.

‘How long has it been going on?’

‘What?’

‘Melissa!’ He stepped towards me and, without thinking, I pushed myself back into the sofa.

He froze, arms up in the air, as if to say, Easy, tiger, whoa there.

‘I’m not going to hurt you.’

‘No,’ I agreed again. I’d got like this. Agreeing with men.

I didn’t used to be this way, did I?

I’m not sure what I used to be like actually, but not this supplicant.

I’d truly lost myself somewhere along the way.

‘It’s just’ – he gestured carefully – ‘you’ve got blood on your face, and your…’ He pointed at my sweatshirt. ‘Still, at least the black eye’s healing up.’

He turned back to the kettle as I stood, dragging my bag with me.

In the bathroom, I locked the door behind me and switched on the shower.

I wasn’t sure I could ever be clean again.

When I came out again, damp-haired and feeling devoid of anything like emotion, I leant on the door frame, watching him empty beans into an old saucepan.

Eventually, I said, ‘You can’t save me, you know.’

‘OK.’ He didn’t even look up.

‘I mean—’ The emotion flooded me now. Overwhelmed, I sank down at the table. ‘Sorry.’

‘It’s fine. But, actually’ – he plonked a cup of tea in front of me – ‘what do you mean?’

‘I mean – I do really appreciate you helping me just now. I want to thank you. But I have to save myself.’ I sipped the tea too quickly, and it scalded my lip. My lower lip, already split and sore. ‘Ouch.’

‘I see.’ He leant on the kitchen counter, long legs crossed at the ankle. ‘Makes sense. But to clarify, I wasn’t expecting anything in return, for helping you. Just in case you thought.’

‘No, sorry, I got that.’

‘Good. I wouldn’t want you to think I’d only pick a bleeding woman up from a garden path because I expected something in return.’