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seven-year-old’s favourite programmes. Something Gemma let her stay up and watch if Roy was out. Which was most nights.
    ‘Not Benidorm, petal, no. But somewhere nice. Somewhere we’ll feel…’ What? What could she say to her daughter, tell her about where they were going? ‘Safe. Happy. Somewhere happy. Come on, get your coat on.’
    Carly turned to go to her own room, stopped, came back. ‘Can I bring Crusty?’
    Her toy bear. She took it everywhere.
    ‘He’s already packed. We won’t forget him. Now come on, we’ve got to go.’
    But Carly didn’t move. A thought had occurred to her. Gemma stood, waited. She knew what the child was going to say. Had her answer prepared.
    ‘Is… is Daddy coming with us?’
    ‘Not, not just yet, petal. D’you want him to?’
    ‘He’s Daddy.’ Her voice flat, monotonous. The words like something learned by rote at school. ‘We’re his family. He’s the head. In charge. Just like God. He has to know what we’re doing all the time.’
    ‘That’s right. He’s Daddy.’ Not dwelling on the rest of her daughter’s words. Hoping she was young enough to forget all that stuff in time. ‘Well, look. We’ll get going and he can come and join us later if we want him to. How does that sound?’
    Again those wide war-zone eyes. Carly nodded.
    Gemma knew she didn’t mean it, knew she had done it more out of fear of disagreeing than because she wanted him to join them. She knew also the conflict that would be raging inside her daughter, tearing her apart. But it had to be done. It had to be.
    ‘Good,’ she said. ‘Right, just a couple of things to do before we go.’
    She took out her phone, dialled a number she had memorised. Waited.
    ‘Gemma Adderley,’ she said when someone answered. ‘Safe Haven, please.’
    The voice on the other end of the line asked her where she was. She told them. She was given directions, told where to be.
    ‘The car’ll be with you in ten minutes. Is that okay?’
    ‘Yeah,’ said Gemma, hardly believing that she was actually doing this. After toying with it for years, wanting to but not having the strength, the courage to actually do so, she was leaving Roy. And with him would go all the pain, hurt and suffering that she and her daughter had endured for so long.
    ‘Yeah,’ she said again. ‘That’s fine.’
    ‘The driver needs to give you a word so you know it’s from us. The word is strawberry. If they don’t give you that, don’t get in, okay?’
    ‘Okay.’
    ‘See you soon.’
    Gemma ended the call, looked down at Carly. Her daughter had her coat buttoned up and was staring up at her, trying to be excited but unable to hide the fear in her eyes. In that moment Gemma thought it wasn’t possible for her to love another person more.
    ‘Come on, petal,’ she said. ‘Let’s go.’
    They reached the front door.
    ‘Oh,’ said Gemma, ‘one more thing.’
    She went back into the living room, took the book – Roy’s only book – from pride of place on the shelf. The Bible. The family Bible, a source of guidance and prayer. A template to live your life by. She felt the edges. Hard leather, scuffed and indented where it had struck her and her daughter. A weapon of anger, of fear.
    She felt rage build inside. Wished she had a fire so she could throw the book on it, watch it burn away to nothing. Instead had to content herself with opening it up at random and ripping out pages, throwing them round the room in a frenzy.
    Eventually she wore herself out, dropped the book on the floor, knowing it would serve as a goodbye letter, and went to join her daughter.
    She looked at the front door once more. He never locked it when he went out but she knew she was expected to remain inside. Imprisoned not by lock and key but by fear. Of what would happen if she dared to be out when he returned. If she dared to even think about leaving. Well, now she was. Leaving for ever. And it had taken her longer than she could remember to build up the