The sandcastle was built and hungry mouths arrived, waiting to be fed. We grazed on our mini feast, watching the gulls flock overhead, swooping down into the water and collecting their catch, then flying away with it. Afterwards, I packed up the picnic, shook the crumbs off the rug and watched the gulls flock to the debris. I looked upwards towards the cliff and suggested a walk. Strong hands were on mine, taking the picnic basket from my hands, then a bristly kiss founds its way to my lips. Heat and salt air muddled my senses. We walked back to the car to deposit the rug and picnic basket, then my hands were free again, but only for a second before I felt tiny hands, sticky from strawberries, on my mine. I looked down at the messy locks and the blue long-sleeve T-shirt with the huge rainbow, one of his favourites. We marched up the hill, a firm family of four, arms swinging, singing songs that had been recited time and time again at pre-school and were now making their way into the home as his confidence grew enough to belt them out. I began to tire and I slowed down, a firm hand was on my back, helping me on the rough terrain. I looked at the view, and I noticed how the cliff face grew into a path cluttered with thistles and purple heather. I veered off course and was dutifully followed. The view from this angle was better than where we had come from. You could see where the bay scooped round, where we had been playing just before. From here you got the full view, the sky, the sea, the sand. It was breathtaking. It felt like a new discovery, a place I imagined we would return to often as a family.
We plodded on and I felt a sense of pride at having discovered this spot for my family to enjoy. It felt like a safe haven away from the world. I was a curious soul, and I had inadvertently instilled that trait in my children. Tiny hands pushed past me and I watched little legs and a flash of wild, untamed hair rush past me. I turned and smiled into big brown eyes, eyes that held my own reflection, who had seen me change from girl to woman overnight as I gave birth to his children. But my smile slipped from my face as I heard the gut-wrenching sound that haunts every parent’s nightmares.
My legs couldn’t get me there quick enough, but when they did, I wanted to run off the edge of the cliff. I felt a hand on my wrist, it was so tight, and I was being pulled backwards whilst I used every piece of my energy to run forwards. I couldn’t feel the pain in my wrists until afterwards when I was questioned and they asked me where I got the bruises. I couldn’t remember, I said. The sensation lingered for years after, surfacing as the horrors replayed over in my mind.
‘I did it,’ my husband, Lee, said. His voice for the first time in his life was small and weak. ‘I had to stop her from following our son over the cliff.’
47
Now
The hospital was stark and hot. I spent one night in a ward with a woman who called for a Freida in her sleep every hour. I barely slept a wink.
As I suspected, I had broken two ribs and fractured my wrist. I also had plenty of bruising from the fall down the basement stairs. When Lee came to collect me the next morning at eight, he had all the information I needed to satisfy my endless questions.
‘Her name is Hero Dante. Her mother was a Spanish immigrant, came over twenty years ago. Dead father. She is twenty-one years old. Moved in with Demetrius Angelos when she was nineteen. She was what we call a modern slave. She was put in that house to initially make them money as an Instagram influencer. There are about another twenty women who are all scattered around different venues around London, all working for them. About six months ago they started using the house as a drugs den. It was the perfect place
