“Hugh is there, isn’t he? He can check – he’s probably just been spooked by Arthur or Matt or something.”

Then Clive yelped in pain.

Helen tore back to the house and burst into the kitchen.

Clive was cowering in the corner, with Peter standing over him.

“Peter! Don’t you dare touch him!”

Peter swung around to face them, his eyes blazing.

“Here she is!” He was smiling, but it was the smile of a lunatic. He stepped closer towards them. “The woman who ruined my life.”

“Peter, go home. Now is not a good time.”

“Home! Ha! I don’t have a home, thanks to you!” He stepped closer again, close enough that Helen could smell the alcohol coming off him in toxic clouds.

“Mum?” Mills said behind her.

“Go and find Matt, Mills,” she said, but Peter rushed past them and slammed the kitchen door, blocking her exit.

“No one is going anywhere.”

“Peter, this is ridiculous. Hugh has paid you, I know he has, so let’s leave it at that, ok?”

“She’s left me! Because of you – took my little girl and went to live with her mother. She wants a divorce.”

“And that’s my fault? You started this – the blackmail, everything. You could’ve just walked away. This is on you.”

She was surprised to find that she wasn’t frightened of Peter at all, with his masculine bravado and pathetic attempts to manhandle them into submission. She’d dealt with men like this before, when she left here and survived on her own. She’d had men trying to intimidate her, hurt her, but they were just small-minded bullies. You had to show them strength because they were cowards on the inside.

Helen stepped towards him. He was much taller than her, but she looked straight up at him, her shoulders squared.

“Mum…” Mills said warily.

“It’s ok, Mills, he’s just a coward, like all bullies are. He’s frightened because he’s on his own and he’s looking to blame someone. Aren’t you, Peter? But you know deep down that this is your fault. You made a choice to sleep with me and now that your wife knows, you can’t look at yourself in the mirror, so it’s easier to blame me.”

He was glaring down at her, the alcohol rancid on his breath.

He lashed out, struck her with the flat of his hand. Her head rocketed to the side, the pain pleasurable in its intensity.

Her mother’s slap had hurt more.

Mills shouted out, Clive launched from his bed and darted behind Helen’s legs, but Helen stood her ground, challenging Peter to do it again. She could take it.

Then his face crumbled. He launched at her and for a split second she thought he was going to strangle her.