Dr Carter sat down on the edge of the bed and folded the girl’s hand in his. ‘Tell us, darling. It’s cold in the shed. Too cold to spend a whole night there. There’s a nest of spiders. And mice. I saw one earlier when I was getting the rake.’

Eighteen. Nineteen. Twenty. Twenty-one. Twenty-two. Twenty-thr—

When she didn’t answer him, his voice hardened and he tugged on her hand. ‘Have it your way then. Let’s go.’

No.

No, no.

Her father pulled harder, anger soaking his words. ‘Come on.’

Twenty-four. Twenty-five. Twenty-six.

He dragged her from the bed across the floor, towards the door. She made herself as heavy as she could, but she was slight and he was strong, his temper making him rough with her. The carpet burned her skin. She hit the back of her head on the corner of the wall and cried out.

Her mother put a hand on Dr Carter’s forearm. ‘Go easy, Richard,’ she murmured, but he shook her off.

‘Tell us—’

May my sister—

‘—where they—’

—forgive me—

‘—are.’

—for what I am about to do . . .

‘The disco.’ She whispered it. He made her repeat it. A metallic bitterness flooded her mouth, the flavour of betrayal. She was not yet old enough to understand her parents had long since guessed the whereabouts of her sister, but got a kick out of manipulation and power play.

Dr Carter helped Sara to stand up. He gave her a flannel to wipe her face with. He kissed the top of her hair, murmuring his thanks. He coaxed her downstairs with promises of warm milk and biscuits.

And then he locked her in the shed.

33

I don’t know what to do with myself.

Shannon and Kit are holding hands and grinning at each other, and I’m standing next to them, close but not too close. The spare part. The gooseberry. It’s not like I’m not used to threes. Mother, father and me. Shannon, Sara and me. But in each of those triangles, I have my place. Not here, though. This is for them.

The disco pulses with noise and light and music. I’ve had enough. I’m ready to go home. But Shannon has lit up like a burning candle, and I can’t ask her to leave now.

The crowd has loosened up. Five or six couples are shuffling around the dance floor, full of contraband cider and self-conscious smiles. Danielle has retreated to the corner, but she’s still throwing venomous glances in Shannon’s direction. My friend hasn’t noticed. She’s too wrapped up in Kit.

I can imagine what we’ll be talking about all night, buried under our duvets. Giggling and whispering, replaying every word. But I’m not envious. I like seeing Shannon smile. She doesn’t do it enough.