Mr Summerton stayed in the kitchen reading his paper. He had coped with the house being turned into a women’s shelter, had even enjoyed it for a while, but now it was best to stay out of the way. His wife was honest down to her bones, he had always known that. She had made a few missteps in her overeagerness to help, that was all, but now she was exploring strange new territory, enjoining the women to discover their innate psychic powers and leave their husbands—encouraging suspicion and hatred of all men, of which he disapproved.

Still, she was a force of nature when she made up her mind, and he knew better than to raise his voice in protest. There had always been too many women in the house, Kate’s friends, their daughters—even the cat was a female. His mother had once warned him that all women go mad eventually, and he was starting to believe it. Overlooked and outnumbered, he sipped his tea and turned to the sports pages.

Madeline walked home in the rain, clutching Ryan’s hand too tightly. ‘Why are we walking?’ asked the boy. ‘It’s bloody freezing.’

‘Don’t swear,’ his mother admonished. ‘I haven’t got enough bus fare. It’s not very far, and the exercise is good for you.’

‘That’s because you gave all your money to her.’

It was true that Mrs Summerton charged for her services, but you couldn’t expect her to do it for nothing. Kate had made sense of her life. During her lonely childhood years, Madeline had been sure that some secret part of her was waiting to be discovered. But instead of gaining self-knowledge she became beautiful, and the curse began. Boys from her school hung around her house, laying their traps and baiting their lies with promises. She had even seen that terrible crafty gleam in her own father’s eyes. She trusted easily, and was hurt each time. Beauty made her shy, and shyness made her controllable.

Now, at thirty years of age, she was finally discovering a way of standing up to the men who had always manipulated her. She owed Kate Summerton everything.

‘Is she a lady doctor?’ asked Ryan.

‘Not exactly. What makes you think that?’

‘You went to see her when you hurt yourself.’

Madeline had told her son that she’d fallen in the garden, and he seemed to believe her. ‘She was very kind to me,’ she said.

‘You were ages in there,’ Ryan probed, watching her face in puzzlement. ‘I was stuck in the smoky kitchen with her horrible daughters and her boring husband. What were you doing?’

‘Mrs Summerton was helping to teach me something.’ She was unsure about broaching the subject with her son. He was at the age where he seemed simultaneously too clever and too childish.

‘You mean like school lessons?’ Ryan persisted. ‘What was she teaching you?’