The Doll House. Phoebe Morgan

puts an arm around me, I am shaking.

      ‘It’s all right, my love. It won’t be anything personal – think about it, who do we know living out in deepest darkest Kent? No one. Except your mum of course, and somehow I don’t think she’s behind this.’ He smiles at me, trying to make me laugh. ‘Whoever did it was probably too scared to pick one of the fancy BMWs round here. Chose the scruffy car that looked as though its owners weren’t bothered!’ He sniffs. ‘You go on, join your family. Don’t let it upset you, my love. I’ll speak to the landlord of the pub too, report it. I bet you’ll find there’s been a spate of this kind of thing.’

      My eyes flit across the car park. There are a couple of other cars: James’s Golf, a little red Mini and a dirty white camper van with the number plate loose. One of the waitresses is emptying a big barrel of bottles in the alley by the pub, the green glass smashing loudly. As I watch, two women come out of the restaurant area, both groaning and holding their stomachs as though they’ve eaten too much. A man with a little terrier holds the door open for them, smiling broadly. They look like mother and daughter.

      My heart is beating fast through the thickness of my coat and I try to be logical, keep my gaze away from the poor bunny lying on the car. The sight of its bloodied fur makes my legs feel weak. Dominic is right – nobody knows us in Kent, nobody even knows we’re here.

      Dominic has opened up the car, is looking for a plastic bag. The rabbit lies prone in front of us, its stiffening body a dark shape just in front of the windscreen. We used to have rabbits in Hampstead, two pet bunnies. Bertie and Nosie. They belonged to me and Ash.

      I put my arms around Dominic, wanting his warmth and security. I don’t want to go on the walk without him. I look back at the car, at the bunny’s splayed legs, the way its skull has smashed in on itself. The poor thing wouldn’t have stood a chance.