She tensed, preparing for the strike of the hockey stick. Thirty seconds passed. A minute.

But it didn’t fall.

Instead, she heard the soft tread of footsteps, a sense of moving air. The powerful smell of aftershave.

‘What have we told you about lying?’

Dr Richard Carter, pillar of the community, much-loved GP and husband, father of two, had joined the proceedings.

Her bladder voided itself.

‘Oh dear,’ he said. ‘You’ve had an accident. Shall we get you cleaned up?’

Sara didn’t move. The last time this had happened, her father had given her antibacterial surface wipes to clean herself with. The insides of her thighs had been raw for days.

‘Get up,’ he said.

She dragged herself from the bed, her wet pyjamas clinging to her legs, her head bowed. Mrs Carter forced her to look at them by pinching the girl’s cheeks between a polished thumb and forefinger and jerking her chin upwards.

‘We didn’t want you,’ said Dr Carter conversationally.

‘We should have got rid of you,’ said Mrs Carter, squeezing harder.

‘We don’t love you.’

‘You’re disgusting.’

‘Filthy.’

‘No better than an animal.’

Sara’s eyes glazed over. She looked beyond her parents to her sister’s curtains, a jaunty gingham print. She counted the squares to distract her from the barrage of words. Their voices faded to a distant echo.

One. Two. Three.

‘Worthless.’

Four. Five. Six.

‘Pathetic.’

Seven. Eight. Nine.

‘Ugly.’

Ten. Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen.

Mrs Carter kicked the pizza box that Sara had put back on the floor when she was ordered onto the bed. The corner of it grazed Sara’s shin. ‘Fat.’

Sixteen. Seventeen.

She pinched her daughter’s arm. ‘Are you listening to us?’

‘Yes, Pamela.’

Dr Carter bent until he was at eye level with his daughter.

‘Do you want me to take you to the shed?’

No, no, no.

Sara hated the shed because it was dark and cold, but mostly because of the spiders. The thought of them crawling into the hollow spaces of her body made her want to scream for the rest of her life.

‘No thank you, Richard,’ she said, not quite able to disguise the waver in her voice.

‘Then you know what you need to do.’

‘Where are they?’ said Mrs Carter, dripping with honey. ‘Tell us, sweetheart.’ She put an arm around her daughter’s shoulders. ‘Come on, now.’

This was a common trick, to reel her in with endearments. But Mrs Carter’s touch was surprisingly tender and Sara, starved of affection, leaned into her mother, confused by her feelings.

While Dr Carter peered out of the window into the darkness of the garden, Mrs Carter bent closer and whispered into her ear so he wouldn’t hear. ‘It will be better if you do as he asks. Get it over with quickly. Shannon will understand.’ This kernel of humanity was so rare and unexpected that Sara began to cry again.