Simone had never been manhandled like this before. Even amid everything she’d done for men, for money, there hadn’t been violence to it, not like this. There had been choice still, not a great choice – not with a lease and a son and the need for a fix, and no Noah to help her – but choice nonetheless; she could always have walked away. Pressed hard against stone, hypnotised by the intensity of Terry’s eyes, she understood now that she couldn’t. She felt the coldness of the wall against her bare shoulders, she felt the roughness of the stone, she felt each distinct finger of Terry’s hand driving into her flesh.

“I’ll kill you,” he warned, pushing his face close against hers. “I’ll kill you if you don’t keep your word, and I’ll kill your son, I promise you that.”

She shook her head as best as she could within his grasp, feeling her throat throbbing and constricting. He looked her in the eye a moment more, then loosened his grip.

“I know you’d never do that though, would you, Simone? You’re a good one. Sweet. Clever. And you’ve got a good heart. You look after me, and I’ll look after you, won’t I?”

He let go of her throat and Simone nodded. Never in her life had she felt so powerless, so controlled, so removed from choices. There was something liberating about that.

Simone closes her eyes now and feels the cold of the stone behind her. Her head lolls against the Nash arch. The familiar grip of Terry’s fingers encloses her throat. If she remains very still, it will be easier to grasp at the tail ends of breath. But he won’t start speaking until she opens her eyes, until she looks at him, until she gives him that respect. She forces her eyelids open.

“Where are you scurrying off to then?”

Loosening his grip enough for her to talk, he leans in close, and she speaks quickly, with scratching breath. “I’ve got work, Tel. At the gym. I didn’t want to disturb you.”

“You’re gonna leave me, aren’t you?”

“What?”

Simone shakes her head and tries to look convincingly into the intense blue. Rimmed in red, his eyes are darting across her face, a fusion now of menace but also panic. This happens sometimes. At the very height of his dominion over her, of his power, he reveals his own utter vulnerability. He thinks she wants to leave him.

Simone’s mind scrambles, tripping over itself. Despite the hand still around her neck, this raw display of weakness does something to Simone. It always does. It makes her want to comfort Terry. To make up for the damage his family has done. But at the same time, she is scared. Terry thinks she’s plotting against him. Cornered creatures are dangerous.

“I’m not gonna leave you, Tel,” she manages to say. “I don’t want to leave you.”

She has told him this same thing many times over the years, she has promised it and she has meant it. Today, however, as the words slip in habit from her tongue, she notices that they taste different. There is an unfamiliar, sour edge to them. She no longer feels liberated.