It had happened again, just like before. The blackout. The rage. She couldn’t even remember doing it, just the familiar bubbling sensation in her head, the flickering orbs of light sweeping across her vision, like the beginnings of an ocular migraine, and then the overwhelming feeling of anger before everything went black. And when she opened her eyes she was faced with this. An injured, cowering mess in front of her.

He had his hands over his head, as though expecting another blow. When it was obvious no more was forthcoming he straightened up, staring at her with wide, disbelieving eyes. He winced as he reached around, gingerly touching his T-shirt. There were beads of blood on his fingertips. He stared at it in horror. ‘You crazy, fucking bitch.’

‘I – I don’t know what happened. I’m sorry.’

‘You beat me with a riding crop, that’s what fucking happened.’ He took a step back, as though he was afraid of her. ‘I only asked for Flora. You just flew at me.’

Heather cast her eyes around the garden. Nobody else had seen, thank goodness.

It was two o’clock in the afternoon, the sun was at its hottest, and she’d just come back from a ride. She’d been walking across the field towards the barn where the tack room was when she’d seen Dylan skulking against the hedge.

She’d seen red, literally. And now here they were.

‘You’ve actually drawn blood.’ He was still staring at his fingertips in amazement.

She wanted to tell him to get over it, hadn’t he seen blood before?

‘I’m really sorry,’ she repeated, moving towards him.

But he stumbled backwards, terror on his face. ‘Get away from me, you fucking freak. You’re mental.’

‘And you’re no good for my sister. Leave her alone. She’s not interested in a loser like you,’ she snapped.

He smirked. ‘That’s not what she was saying the other night when she was groaning with pleasure underneath me.’

Heather felt the fury pumping through her again. ‘She must have been drugged up,’ she fired back, ‘because that’s the only way you can get your kicks.’

His expression darkened and she noticed his fists were clenched at his sides.

‘You’re just a scuzzy sad loser,’ she taunted, on a roll now that she was getting a reaction. ‘And at last my sister’s seen through you.’

‘You’re just jealous,’ he said, turning away. ‘Flora is in love with me.’

‘Don’t flatter yourself. She’s moved on.’

He whipped around so that he was facing her again. ‘You’d love that, wouldn’t you? You control freak. She told me about you, you know. How you were such a cling-on, always tagging along after her. Never letting her have her own life. She hates you.’

It can’t be true. Flora would never say those cruel things about her. Never.