‘And you’re a brain-dead idiot, who can’t even do the maths,’ her father spat, marching towards her. He gripped her by the arms and gave her a little shake. ‘Why can’t you do what you’re told? It’s not as if I ask for much.’

Pushing open the door, Grace wheeled herself into the kitchen. Her parents were too busy tearing strips off each other to notice. Slowly and quietly, she slid the gun from the table and rested it on her lap. It was weighty in her arms, but she still had some strength left. She curled her hands around the metal as she became re-accustomed with it. It had been two years since she’d held her father’s rifle. Two years since he’d allowed her to shoot some tin cans. She had only been six, but everything he had taught her was still there.

‘I’m going to kill that bastard!’ Martin spat.

Bonnie barked continuously in the hall as Lloyd knocked on the front door.

‘And when I’m done with him,’ Martin continued, ‘I’m going to shoot his effing dog!’

Not Bonnie, Grace thought, her hands trembling as she stood on shaky legs. She was still strong enough to manage a few steps. She took off the safety, just as she had done before. Her finger curled around the trigger, the nightmare of her life closing in. The drugs, the cramps, being a prisoner in a home that was little more than a black cave. Now they wanted to take away the only creature she loved.

‘No,’ Grace said, gripping her father’s gun. For years she had felt invisible. She had their attention now.

She pointed the weapon at her parents. All she wanted was for them to stop. For her mummy to stop poisoning her. For her father to leave her friends alone. Guns worked just fine on tin cans. Even better in cartoons. Pull the trigger – bang bang – you’re dead. At least for a little while. Then the cartoon figure got up again. Just like Cleo, her pet fish. Dead wasn’t really dead, after all. Deep down, she knew that wasn’t true, but she aimed the barrel of the gun just the same.

Pointing it towards her mother, Grace squeezed her eyes shut as she pulled the trigger hard. The sudden explosion jerked her back into her chair, and as she opened her eyes, her father loomed before her, his face enraged as he screamed her name.

‘Grace!’

Boom!

She pulled the trigger a second time, her chair spiralling backwards until she hit the wall. Then . . . a few seconds of silence. Even Bonnie had quietened, cowering in the hall.

In the kitchen sink, the tap was running, but Grace couldn’t hear a thing. A high-pitched ringing noise was piercing her ears.