‘Where have you been, Sam?’

He looked around the room at these three strange people. The days when he would have had to beat them off with a stick to get air from the smothering of their welcome, were gone forever. New rules.

‘I’ll be in the kitchen. Fix myself something to eat.’

He left the room. Katie watched him go, looked around at Billy whose eyes were wide and glazed, staring at the TV without seeing it, and made the decision to stay in the sitting room. Her numbness surprised her. Part of her had just become deeply tired of following her bruised and beaten husband around asking if he was all right, and she didn’t care for his tone.

It said follow me and I’ll tell you where I’ve been. For the first time, Katie was not keen to know, and more than that, she doubted if she could take another lie from him. He was in one piece. He could wait to speak to her. She stood for a moment looking at the closed door, then sat back down on the floor next to Jess, who was enjoying the victory of not yet being in bed, and busy deciding which object to put in her mouth next.

Sam was not hungry, but he hadn’t eaten for nearly twenty-four hours and the weakness in his body demanded attention. He opened the ice-box.

Normally its white rubber-coated racks were stacked with cold cuts and cling-wrapped goodies that could be microwaved and consumed by any bounty-hunter that came upon them. A big, white, happy confirmation that the Canadian way of life was a good way of life. Now, the lit interior displayed stained, empty shelves, a direct echo of the distress and unhappiness in the Hunt house. Sam’s heart ached at the sight and he pulled out a carton of milk, shut the heavy door and drank with his back leaning against the humming appliance.

The door from the lobby pushed open and Sam stopped drinking, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. The door swung shut again. Sam’s eyes flicked from head-height at the door to dog-height. Bart’s claws clicked across the kitchen floor towards his master. Sam smiled warily down at the fluffy grey-and-white head. ‘Suckered them to let you indoors again then, huh?’

The dog stopped in front of him, sat down on its haunches and looked up into his face. Its jaws were closed and the pale blue eyes looked up at him without blinking.

Sam Hunt’s smile left his face like a footprint in wave-washed sand. The carton fell from his hand, exploding into a fountain of white on impact with the floor, but the passive husky neither flinched in fright nor bowed its head to lick at the milk swilling at its side. It remained perfectly still and watched the man who was forming words with a small tight mouth.