John ignored her invitation to fuck off and instead edged closer, keeping his voice low. He was a creepy bastard and he stank of stale tobacco. Her stomach turned as he came towards her. He gripped the side of her face, squeezing her cheeks so hard the skin turned white. ‘Listen up, you cheeky cow, carry on talking to me like that and you’ll get a good arse kicking. I don’t know who you think you are…’

Nancy knew when she was beaten. Her expression changed, resignation clouding her eyes. ‘Do whatever you want to me, do I look bothered? You can’t hurt me anymore. How many times have I told you that you mean nothing to me, you’re not my family, you’re just a prick.’

John was nose to nose with her now, his stale breath hot against her face. She looked away but he turned her back to face him. Slowly he pressed his dry, cracked lips to hers, shoved his tongue into her mouth. Nancy tried to pull away then, but he yanked her back by the hair. He checked the door to make sure they were alone as he whispered, ‘I’ll be back to see you tonight, we can have some fun, you like that don’t you?’

Nancy didn’t dare flinch, though hate filled her eyes and the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. Slowly, he backed off and left the room. She could hear him laughing under his breath. She lay on her bed for a few minutes, gripping the duvet, squeezing it between her fists. Her eyes prickled with tears and, one by one, they slid slowly down her cheeks. Why had she never been able to tell anyone what was going on? Maybe if she had it could have been stopped. Her uncle would have been banged up and slammed in the nonce wing in the big house. Maybe then people would have understood. But the words would never come.

Nancy got up and put on an extra-thick woollen jumper. She didn’t know where she was going to go, but wherever it was, she wanted to make sure she’d be warm enough. She walked around her bedroom picking things up and shoving them in her pockets. It was time to go again.

Nancy sat on the concourse at Piccadilly station; noises, talking, people rushing all around her. But she just sat there on a bench, looking around at the passers-by as they headed who knows where. Maybe she would dress like these women one day, smart and professional. But right now, no one gave her a second glance, a fifteen-year-old girl, huddled over her phone like any other teenager.