The carrier bag was unusable. Barty took it and chucked it in the bin by his car, and Mary formed a scoop to hold her father’s shopping by pulling up the bottom of her jumper. At home, she pinched the jumper scoop beneath her chin and fished her keys from her pocket. The items jostled, but she kept them in place as she unlocked the door and rushed to the kitchen. The living room door was open. As she scurried past, she heard a grunt over the telly, and her father’s powerful baritone joined her in the hall.

“Hon, that you?”

The grogginess in his tone indicated that her arrival had woken him. The slur in his words suggested he was not yet sober. If she were lucky, he would get there before picking up another can, though she wouldn’t hold her breath.

“Yes, Daddy,” she said, hoping he was too drunk to hear in her voice the pain that roared in her stomach. “Just putting the shopping away.”

She hoped he would stay put. If he followed her into the kitchen, he’d insist she lower her hood. Once she had, he’d demand to know why her lip was bloody, her cheek swollen, and her eye puffy. He’d demand to know who had hurt her. She’d lie. If he saw through the deception… Mary dreaded to think what would happen. Since the drinking began, she found it increasingly difficult to predict her father’s reaction to any situation. And his temper seemed to worsen by the day.

She was in luck. He didn’t follow. When she re-entered the hall, her father was still on the sofa. He said love you as she jogged upstairs. Thankfully, he did not get up.

In her bedroom, alone and closed off from the world, Mary let tears spill, feeling the first drop roll over the raised area where Paige had punched her. The mirror offered her the first look at herself since the beating. Seeing her face made her relive the attack.

The bag had gone first, ripped from her hand by Samaya. An attempted slap by Ruby missed her cheek, but one of those fake red nails sliced her lip. A trickle of blood ran from the wound now. Mary stopped its trail down her chin with a finger, tracing it back to the cut as if to return the blood to her body.

Paige had dropped Mary’s phone and crushed it with a boot, then punched Mary in the stomach. With utmost care, Mary removed her jumper and the top beneath it, the pain swelling with each second until she was done. The punch had bent her double, and it felt like her organs were in the wrong places. A purple patch was spreading from the attack’s epicentre, and she was sure the pain would only deepen and grow through the night. Pulling her phone from her pocket, she was relieved to see it still worked, although a spider web of cracks spread across the screen, making it hard to read any text. She doubted it would survive long.

What would she tell her dad?

Ruby had grabbed her hair, yanking. Samaya had smacked her face. This time, the slap did not miss. Paige had punched her in the eye and kicked her left foot into the right. Assisted by Ruby, still pulling her hair, Mary had gone to the ground elbow first, spasms of pain rocketing through her arm and into her shoulder. Upon examination in her bedroom, she was not surprised to see another bruise developing at the elbow.

Paige had dropped beside Mary, pressing a heavy hand into her chest and leering.

“You’re a dumb slut. An easy bitch who spreads her legs for anyone. Everyone knows it now. Everyone.”

Mary was not stupid. She understood that while the first ‘everyone’ meant everyone, the second was intended to mean someone specific.

Paige was a bully. That was who she was. Over the years, she had picked on loads of kids, but it was never personal. Not until a few days ago. Mary knew that – knew Paige hated her. Yet, only as she lay on the ground, looking into Paige’s face, did she realise the depth of loathing in the bully’s heart.

And it terrified her.

Today’s beating was already a level above the abuse Paige usually dished out to her victims. As Mary looked into those hate-filled eyes, she had wondered how far the attack would go.

Paige had taken Mary’s cheeks in a pincer grip.

The shop door had opened, and someone stepped outside. Paige’s head whipped back. She seemed to realise this attack was playing out in broad daylight. Anyone could walk by. She turned back to Mary.

“I’m going to ruin your life, Not-So-Virgin Mary.” She spat in Mary’s face. “You just fucking wait.”

Then the girls were gone, leaving Mary sobbing in the street. The spit was gone, too, wiped clean before Barty arrived. Even so, standing in her bedroom, she touched her face where it had been and felt new tears spring from her eyes.

What was she going to do?

Her hand went to her pocket, her finger making contact with Barty’s card. Was he an option? Could he help?

More importantly, could she trust him?

Before she could get into that question, her phone buzzed.

Her first thought was to wonder whether the vibration had knocked any glass from the cracked screen, but when she rushed to the device, it was all still in place. Her eyes fell to the texter’s name. Except, it wasn’t a name. It was a number.

She unlocked the phone. A trickier than normal task because the cracked screen did not want to register her touch. She had to press hard on each number of her code before the phone unlocked and the message appeared on her screen.

And her heart stopped.

The message was short and sweet.

Hey, it’s Tyler. You about later?

Once again, memories rushed at her. This time, she was not lying in the street but standing in the classroom. Paige, the vicious bully, was not looming over her. She was across the room, watching as Tyler, the best-looking boy in school, came to Mary. Paige had threatened to make Mary’s life hell; Tyler said he hoped what he was about to do was okay. Without warning, Paige had spat in her face; Tyler had kissed her.

That kiss. That perfect, amazing, wonderful kiss. Her first. It made her forget that the whole class was watching, jaws dropping. It left her dazed until she turned and saw Paige, face like a spewing volcano, looking her way.

Three days had passed since the kiss. Since then, she had replayed it in her mind a thousand times. Maybe more.

Another text came through.

Would be good to see you again.

Once more, his lips were on hers – that perfect kiss. She so wanted to see him again. Wanted it more than anything.

But if she agreed, Paige wouldn’t spit in her face.

She would kill her.