The storm was fast approaching …

Elle hunkered down into the sofa, shoulders hunched and arms crossed. The voice – his voice – carried on its hectoring. What had Elle thought she was doing? Why had she taken up with those difficult women? What did she, a comfortably off middle class mother and wife, have to do with that rag tag lot?

He had driven to the Common to fetch her, ignoring her note saying she was away for three days, would return on Monday evening. There was food in the fridge.

How were the children meant to c...