Page 73 of Scars of Silk

“They’ve never had someone stand up to them before. Now, I’m guessing I’m a bit bigger than your dad.”

I eye the height and breadth of him. “Yes.”

“Well let's see how he gets on picking on someone his own size.”

“My mum?”

“Can leave or stay, but it’s time for you to fight, just for you.”

The gravel pathway crunches under the wheels of the Mercedes. Three times I nearly turned the car around, that was until Dan told me to pull over and made me swap seats with him.

It’s fair to say the car does go fast.

The house is silent as we walk up. I’m expecting some shouting, maybe screaming. I’m expecting some form of fallout. There is no single way Scott Harrington hasn’t called my dad already. If I ever see him again, I shall shove his phone up his arse sideways just out of principle.

I ring the bell but don’t receive a response.

“Maybe I won’t need to punch your dad’s lights out after all.”

“This is strange. Mum should be here; she’s only just got out of hospital. Marta should be here. Oh wait, it’s Saturday, her day off.”

We both jump as a shout echoes from within the house.

“Shit.” I grab at my keys and fumble with them, trying to get the right key. Dan takes them, his fingers smoothing over mine, and slots the right key into the lock.

Inside nothing meets us apart from an eerie quiet. “Mum!” I call, shattering the silence.

“Sienna?”

I almost drop with relief when I hear her call back.

I grab Dan’s hand and run for where her call had come from, at the back of the house, in the kitchen.

“Maybe Dad’s out?” I say to Dan as we turn the corner and enter into the farmhouse style kitchen. The scene in front of me makes no sense. Mum’s whole body is shaking, a red mark across her cheek. But hanging loosely in her hands is one of Marta’s large stainless-steel frying pans.

“Mum?” My brain is chugging like a steam train on an uphill.

“Oh crap.” Dan leaps into action kneeling at the misformed shape of my father on the floor. He’s bent all crooked like he’s made from paper and has been tossed out with yesterday’s newspaper.

“Sienna,” Mum says. “I just had to make him stop.” She walks for the Range and places the frying pan down like she’s about to make an omelette. “I think he’s stopped now.”

“He’s got a pulse.”

My gaze swivels to Dan who’s crouched next to my dad.

“Sienna!” he shouts. “Call an ambulance and the police.”

Mum’s eyes widen. “The police?”

A burst of adrenaline rushes through my veins and I pull my phone out of my pocket and dial. Just as quick as I start, I stop.

Dan’s eyes harden on me. “Sienna, you need to dial now. His pulse is weak.”

I can’t make myself do it though. If I didn’t, and he died, this would all be over. Every bad weekend, every forced dinner, every bruise and every cut on my mother's skin. We’d be able to grieve for Will, properly.

“What would Will do?” I stare at mum wide-eyed. “What would Will want me to do?”

A tear drips down her face and then another. My own chase along my cheeks, faster and faster until uncontrollable sobs wrack my body and I drop my phone. Through the veil of saltwater, I see Dan grab it and finish hitting the buttons. “There’s been a domestic fight.” He turns to me. “Sienna, what’s the address?”