I came home eleven months early without telling anyone and found my wife sitting against a wall with her head shaved and her face bruised, while my mother shouted at me to throw her out. I didn't argue. I looked at what had actually been broken in that room, and then I asked my wife for the notebook.

She was on the floor against the wall by the dresser with her arms round her legs. Her face was b.r.u.i.s.e.d down one side. There were scrapes on both forearms. Her blouse was torn at the shoulder seam.

And her hair was gone. Cut off at the scalp, badly, in handfuls.

My mother had hold of my arm. "Look what she's brought on us. Men came to this door. Margo says it's over a hundred thousand dollars."

My sister came out behind her.

Twenty-nine years old, hair done, nails done, a gold bracelet on her wrist that I have never seen in my life.

"She didn't just borrow," Margo said. "Those men said she's been spending for months. And we all know who comes round when he's away. That electrician from Verrick. Always finds a reason to come inside."

I looked at my wife and I waited for her to shout or deny it or get up.