She shouldn’t trust people with ‘motives’. Like her parents. Like Lewa. Like the social worker, whose card is wrapped in a pair of old knickers and buried at the bottom of a drawer.

What she should have done, was intervene in the rant. At the time it had felt harmless, but maybe it was this that wound Terry up, like revving an engine, or lighting the long tail of a firework. While he was showering, she had fed Jasmine breakfast, prepared some for Terry, and then dressed herself for work. She was supposed to be doing a four-hour morning shift at the gym and she had told Terry about it days earlier, but when he emerged from the bathroom, naked and motioning for Simone to follow him back to bed, he had clearly forgotten, or didn’t care.

“I’ll be late, Tel,” she’d smiled, carefully adding, “though you know I’d rather stay.”

“So stay. Fuck the gym.” He was smiling too, flirtatiously, but there was a rough tenor to his voice, just tracing itself around the edges.

“I can’t. You know I can’t. Jas is all ready though, you can take her out or something. I’ll be back by lunch.”

“Are you serious?” He’d asked this sharply, the edges closing in. “You’re gonna choose some dead-end job that pays a pittance over your husband? Don’t you see how you’re being manipulated? You’ve got to get your priorities right, my girl. Start making some better choices.”

“Tel,” she tried again. “It’s tempting, obviously, but—”

“Here,” he said, finding his wallet on the sofa. “Is it the money? Here, take this.” He threw a wad of notes at her, either a fresh influx from his father, or gained she didn’t know how. “Now, make the right choice.”

“It’s not just the money, Tel,” Simone tried again, gently. “It’s—”

“You’d be a mess without me,” Terry leered suddenly, stepping closer. “You know that, don’t you? You’re nothing on your own. I’m trying to help you. I don’t know why you don’t listen. Already your deviant son is messing around with scum. And you’re frolicking off to prostrate yourself for some wanky gym bunnies. Fuelling the system, both of you. Mindless. Idiotic. While you abandon us. Your husband. Your children. We need some family values in this house.”

“I’m doing it for our family,” she tried. But this was obviously the wrong thing to say.

“You’re gonna do something for us,” he growled, grabbing her abruptly by the hair. “You’re fucking gonna do something for me.”

Across the table, Simone noticed her daughter freezing, staring at them, unmoving. She felt her head being yanked backwards and couldn’t help but let out a scream, but as she was being dragged to the bedroom, she locked eyes with Jasmine, and blew her a kiss, and hoped that would be enough.

“Do it already then,” she spits at Terry.

He has finished fucking her. Her cheek is already puffing beneath her eye, and her arms are sore from being held behind her, but she is unable to submit as she usually would. He has promised to kill her, to kill Dominic too. At the mention of her son, her chest tightens and it is hard to breathe, but she cannot protect him, she cannot protect anybody. In that moment all she can do is submit or stand, and she is too bent already to stoop lower.