Terry grunts, and she forces herself to respond with the heavy intake of breath she knows he likes – braving him, succumbing to him.

In the next room, Jasmine is watching TV.

Perhaps Dominic will come home soon. Simone prays for a chance to talk to him away from Terry. To warn him. To explain.

Terry is moving faster.

She prays that the bag does not come loose under the bed.

She prays the police don’t arrive at the door.

She prays that she and her children will survive.

It occurs to Simone that she does not believe in God and doesn’t know who she is praying to, but she prays again anyway.

One more day she needs. One more day till she is free.

Sarah

Sarah knew what she was going to do. Finally. This was her favourite part of any case: sifting the facts, finding the arguments, distilling them down to one, crucial key. Not that Veronica was a case, but her mind carried it that way, accompanying her to the office, and to dinner, and to bed. And just like other cases, the answer had come to her slowly, gradually, a gentle bubbling that had simmered under the skin until at last it was an idea fully formed, presenting itself to her like a pre-packed solution. Or a lightning bolt. When she thought about it, Veronica herself had practically handed the idea to her.

What would you rather? The game of their youth. The test of their depravity that started it all. Well, how depraved was Veronica now? More than she let on, Sarah betted, more than the wholesome staff or right-thinking parents at Amelia’s school would expect. This was her leverage.

Veronica still hadn’t sent the letter about Amelia – revelling, Sarah supposed, in the anticipation and the control, the joy of watching her squirm. Probably, she thought it didn’t matter how long the letter took, and it didn’t matter what lies her report contained, because Sarah would never do anything about it. Like always. But she should have been listening more carefully all those years ago. Sarah would do anything to protect her family. Anything. So now, what would Veronica rather?

The plan was straightforward: arrange to see Veronica, get her drunk, get her more than drunk, wasted, and then… play. Just like when they were children. Except that these days there were phones with cameras, and there was social media, and consequences. Especially for a teacher.

Nothing illegal. Nothing harmful.

Those had been Sarah’s self-prescribed parameters, outside, as she was now, of David’s.

But she would make Veronica tell her what she’d put in the report; she would make her tell her why. She would expose how Veronica had singled out her child, ‘lost’ her work, lied about her, shamed her, pretended she had ‘issues’, used her as bait. And then, then, she would make Veronica understand the other things she had done. She would finally make her see how it felt to be manipulated and trapped, to have one’s confidence stripped and trampled upon, to feel humiliated and small. She would, just for a moment, take away that infuriating Veronica-boldness, that maddening power, and hold up a mirror so that Veronica would be forced to see the weakness that lay within. As Sarah had had to see. To know that actions had impact. That there were consequences. In this case, the consequence would be Veronica staying the hell away from Amelia.