I wake up, naked and alone in that big, grand bed. Thorne is long gone. I never sleep naked so I feel cold even though I am under the duvet. I feel a strange unreasonable anger start bubbling up. It’s not really him I’m angry at. The anger is coming from a dark place I have had inside me for almost my entire life.

I should call her.

It is like an itch that must be scratched.

I get out of the bed and put on a quilted dressing gown. Then, I pick up my mobile and make the call. The phone rings several times before it gets picked up. I close my eyes and imagine her in her dingy little apartment. It always smells musty and stale. I see her shuffling towards the phone, a cigarette dangling from her lips.

“Hello?”

My fingers grip the phone harder. “Mama.”

There is a long pause. “So you decided to call me,” she says finally, her voice flat.

The right words don’t come to me. Always when I am around her I become unsure of what to say or do. “I’m back in England,” I blurt out.

“I know. Melody called me.” Her voice is monotonous. There is no feeling there. I don’t know why, but in my mind, I was hoping there would be more emotion than that. I should be used to this by now. It’s not something I’ll let myself dwell on for long. My relationship with my mother has always been a strange one, but I am still more loyal to her than to anyone else on earth. That is not a comforting thought, that is just how it is.

“I’d like to come see you, Mama,” I say. There is no reason for me to say this other than the fact that it will be an excuse for me to get out of this house where I am constantly obsessing over Thorne.

“Suit yourself,” is all that she says.

I swallow the hurt of her callous words. Nothing changes between us. No matter what I do or say. “I’ll come around right after breakfast,” I mumble and hang up.

I didn’t much care for all the men that Mama brought home, but I like Dave Stevens. He is quiet and he has kind eyes. He works as a night porter at a hotel nearby so when he comes in after work in the mornings he makes sausages and toast for Mama, and takes a tray into her bedroom. While he is making breakfast he always talks to me. Mostly he tells me stories of what happened at the hotel. Funny stories that make me laugh.

That day he doesn’t tell me what happened the night before at the hotel. He tells me about the time he was my age. He says he was brought up in an orphanage. No one cared for him. The men who worked there were very cruel to him.

“Did they beat you?” I ask, alarmed.

He smiles sadly. “They beat my spirit, sweet little Chelsea.”

I frown. “What’s a spirit, Uncle Dave?”

“It’s the invisible essence of a human being.”

My eyes widen. “Does everyone have a spirit?”

“Yes, everyone has a spirit?”

“Even me.”

“Even a little monkey like you,” he says with a smile.

“If the spirit is invisible how did they beat yours?”

“People beat your spirit when they hurt your feelings, or do something to you that makes you feel sad and broken.”

I nod. At that moment, I realize that my spirit must have been beaten too.

“Actually, I have something to ask you,” Uncle Dave says switching off the cooker and coming to crouch in front of me.

“What is it?” I ask.

He takes a deep breath. “Will it be okay with you if I became your stepdaddy?”

“Mama is getting married to you?” I ask surprised.

“Yes, do you mind?” he asks eagerly, his eyes shining with excitement, as if being my stepdaddy is the most exciting thing he can think of.

Papa is long gone, even his urn has been hidden away in a dark cupboard, and I like Dave a lot. He has a warm smile and he makes Mama happy. “No, I don’t mind,” I tell him with a smile.

“Thank you,” he says. Suddenly his eyes fill with tears.

“Are you crying, Uncle Dave?”

His lips tremble so much he can’t answer me.

I take his hand. “Don’t cry, Uncle Dave.”

“Oh, Chelsea,” he cries. “You are such a good child. You don’t deserve this. I wish I could take you away from this life, but I can’t. You’re not my daughter, but I promise you this. As long as I am alive I will always protect you. No matter who tries to hurt you, just come to me straight away and I will sort it out for you. No matter who tries to harm you, okay?”

I don’t understand why he is crying, or why he pities me, or who he thinks wants to hurt me. Or even why he wants to take me away from this life. “Okay,” I say softly.

“Is there anything you want me to do for you?” he asks.

I hesitate.

“Don’t be scared, poppet. You can ask me anything. I will never tell anyone. It’ll just be between us.”

“Promise?”

“Promise,” he says immediately.

I look into his warm brown eyes and I believe him. “If I write a letter can you post it for me?”

He frowns. “Of course. Who is it for?”

“It’s for Monsieur Lemarie. He has my dog, Momo, you see, and I just want to find out if Momo is all right, and maybe ask if he can send me some pictures. I miss my Momo every day.”

As if a dam breaks, Uncle Dave’s face contorts. He pulls me to him and hugs me tightly. “Of course, I can send your letter for you, you poor, poor, child. Of course, I can.”

Years later, I would wonder if it was my fault. If I had not asked him to post my letter. If I had not let him hug me. If I had just stayed in my room. Mama would not have come into the room, picked up the brass candlestick standing on the counter and smashed it into the back of Uncle Dave’s head. She doesn’t stop with the first blow. She carries on smashing it into his head.

When the man stabbed Papa in the woods, I froze. The world stopped turning, I became numb, I couldn’t speak or move, but I knew it hadn’t happened to me. When Mama slams the candlestick on Uncle Dave’s head, I feel it all, the pain of my skull smashing, my blood rushing out of my head. I hear the sound the blood makes, like someone pouring orange juice out of a carton.

I even feel faint.

I look down at Uncle Dave, at his still face, at the dark red stain spreading on the green carpet. I’ve seen that look before. In my father’s face. Uncle Dave is dead.

I can’t understand it. Why did this happen? It’s so terribly wrong.

I look up at Mama. Her face is white and she is staring at Uncle Dave as if he has suddenly become a snake, but I see something else in her eyes. Something that terrifies me. For the first time in my life I become afraid for her. In her eyes I see a light. A strange light. Like she is secretly happy and excited. As if she has been given five scoops of ice cream and told she can go to Disneyland, but she mustn’t tell anyone, or she cannot have the ice cream or go to Disneyland.

“Why did you do that, Mama?” I gasp.

She tears her gaze away from Uncle Dave. “He was interfering with you,” she says in a high, shrill voice.

I stare at her blankly. “What does inter … fering mean?”

“It means he was doing something he shouldn’t have been doing to you.”

“He was not interfering with me. He was just hugging me, Mama. He wanted to protect me.”

“Protect you?” she screeches furiously. “It’s not his bloody job to protect you. I’m your mother. I’ll protect you.” Her face twists. “I know his game. The sick pervert. Don’t think I didn’t see exactly what he was doing. He was touching you.”

Mama calls the police, and when they come she shows them Uncle Dave’s body. She looks frightened. Her hands are shaking, and she is crying. She tells them she caught him interfering with me. They turn to look at me with pity in their eyes.

I don’t say anything.

Then she tells them she has parents who can take care of me. I look at Mama astonished. Once when I asked where my grandparents were, Papa said I had no grandparents. He never wanted to speak to his parents again, and both mama’s parents were dead. I wonder why Papa lied. Maybe he didn’t know. Maybe Mama didn’t tell him the way she didn’t tell me.

They take Mama away, but before they do she crouches on the ground, and opens her arms to me. I walk into them and stand there while she hugs me and kisses my cheeks. Her lips are cold. Her breath smells of peppermint toothpaste.

“I did it to protect you. I’m all you’ve got and you’re all I’ve got now. I love you. Nobody will love you like I do,” she says. There are tears in her eyes.

I want to ask her if she loved Uncle Dave, but I don’t. “I love you too, Mama.”

“I know you do. You will be good for your grandmother and grandfather, won’t you?”

“I will.”

“Don’t make me ashamed of you,” she warns.

“I won’t,” I promise, with a shake of my head.

“Stay with them until I come for you,” she says, standing up.

My throat chokes up and I can’t speak so I just nod.

I watch them lead her away. I don’t cry. I don’t resist when a female police officer takes me to one side and asks me if I am all right. If I want a little drink of milk.

I am no longer bewildered or surprised by her offer. In exactly the same way the social worker thought that offering me biscuits would make me feel better, this police officer is offering me milk to comfort me.

I think of Uncle Dave, lying dead on the kitchen floor. Uncle Dave is dead. He won’t be coming back. He has gone where Papa went.

I drink the milk she gives me, and tell the two Officers that it’s true. Uncle Dave was interfering with me. He was touching me when Mama came into the room and saved me.

I’m so very sorry, Uncle Dave, but I have to protect Mama now. She’s all I’ve got and I’m all she’s got.