Chapter 1

In the half-light of dawn on a clear April morning Samantha pushed her front door key into the lock, succeeding on the second attempt. Her hands slipped off the key momentarily before she steadied herself against the frame. Finally she got the door open and lurched inside the house, hearing the taxi that was ferrying her and her friends back home pull away.

She pulled off her shoes, almost overbalancing in the process, and made her way down the hallway towards the kitchen. Water, then bed, she thought to herself. Her mind was still pleasantly fogged from six cocktails, half a can of cheap lager and a quarter of a bottle of something claiming to be vodka that more likely started out life as some sort of industrial cleaner.

As she came into the kitchen, it occurred to her that something wasn't quite right. It was early on Saturday morning so why were her parents up? Her father was pacing back and forth in front of the fridge while her mother sat at the breakfast bar, both wearing warm dressing gowns. They both turned to look at her. She wasn't a pretty sight.

Samantha's make-up was a complete mess. It had looked great at eleven o'clock the previous night when she and her friends had got into that club, but the cheap foundation had started to run under the hot lighting on the dance floor. Her mascara had streamed down her face when she'd burst into tears at 2am over what a bastard her ex-boyfriend was (even though she still loved him). Her lipstick was now smeared across one cheek where she'd tried to drunkenly re-apply it at 3.15am after snogging a fit bloke with a mermaid tattoo who'd tried to put his hand down her knickers. Her dress had a tear on one side where she'd snagged it on a nail. It was about as short as it could be without being indecent: the sleek black material just covered her backside and came down to the top of her thighs. She knew she looked amazing in it: the skinny, long legged, nineteen year old had spent enough hours taking selfie after selfie in her bedroom mirror and selecting the best for Facebook and Instagram to be well aware that the dress showed her body off to its best advantage.

Her parents were less impressed.

″Where the hell have you been, Sam?″ Her father asked. She really did need some water, she thought.

″Just out, Dad. Calm down, alright. I'm not late am I?″

Her Father gave a resigned sigh. ″It's 6.45 in the morning, Sam. What were you doing?″

Even in her current state, she wasn't stupid. She realised that 'We went to a club, then we went off with some guys we met and drunk knock-off vodka till six in the morning' wasn't going to go down well with her parents.

″Just out with my friends - get off my case Dad. You're always on at me, it's not fair. Anthony gets to do whatever he wants.″ She made her way unsteadily to the sink and filled a large glass with water from the tap.

″Samantha.″ her mother said. ″You're nineteen years old. You've got exams in less than two months that are going to shape the rest of your life. And here you are, disappearing for the whole night, leaving us with no idea where you are, who you're with, what you're doing or when you'll be back. It's not on.″

″Whatever, ″ Sam said dismissively. ″I'm going to bed.″ She drained the water from the glass, banged it down on the work surface and made her way up the stairs to her bedroom.

Her parents watched her go, a glum silence descending in her wake. ″I give in, ″ Sam's father said. ″Call Jack.″

When Samantha's mother had woken at five o'clock that morning, the first thing she had done was to see if her daughter had come home. It had not been a huge surprise to find the bed unslept in: this was maybe the sixth or even seventh time she'd stayed out overnight in the last few months. In that time they'd tried grounding her and stopping her allowance. They'd lectured, argued, shouted, cajoled, reasoned. Nothing seemed to make the slightest difference. Seeing her failing all her exams was rapidly becoming the best-case scenario as visions of their daughter being wheeled into hospital with alcohol poisoning or passed out drunk at the mercy of any passing man filled their nightmares.

They had always prided themselves on their parenting. Both Samantha and her younger brother Anthony were good kids, doing well at school, right up until six months before when Sam had gone off the rails. They seemed powerless to do anything about it.

Jack was Samantha's uncle - her mother's brother. About four years before, Uncle Jack's daughter - Samantha's cousin - had gone through a similar phase. It had been sorted and, though no-one ever went into details, they had the definite impression from both Jack and their niece that it had involved some very tough love. Sam's father had never approved. He had often been critical of Jack, saying that had he been a better parent he would not have needed to resort to those sort of measures. At the same time, he knew Jack thought their parenting was too soft.

When Samantha's mother had suggesting enlisting Jack's help, her father had said no. Not ″let's discuss it″ but a point-blank refusal. It would be admitting he was wrong, admitting Jack was the better parent. But as, yet again, they saw their daughter staggering home in the early hours he had to agree that anything was worth a try. They had done their best and failed, so why not give Jack's method a go. If it worked then the embarrassment of being wrong was a small price to pay for saving his daughter.

10am. Samantha was still fast asleep, the sound of her snoring drifting out across the landing. Her mother picked up the phone and dialled.

″Hi Jack, it's Helen.″

″Hey, Sis. How are you?″

″Not good. It's Samantha. She's getting worse.″

″I've said I'm happy to help - you only have to ask.″

″I know, and I've - we've - decided that we would like your help Jack. I'm really worried about her and nothing we do seems to make any difference at all.″

″When did she last stay out, Helen?″

″Last night. She got home just before seven this morning. She looked a complete sight, Jack - God knows what she'd been doing, to be honest I don't want to think about it.″

″It's OK - we can sort it. We need to get started right away, though - it's not going to work if we leave it. I'll come over in a few hours.″

″Thanks, Jack, I really appreciate it. I'll do you some lunch.″

″No problem. One thing though. This is only going to succeed if you and Ryan get behind it. If Samantha thinks for a moment that she can avoid my discipline then it's a waste of time. I know you won't approve, I get that, but you can't show it. As far as Samantha's concerned, you both have to be one hundred percent behind me.″

″I understand, Jack - I'll speak to Ryan. We'll see you for lunch.″

Samantha woke to see bright sunlight shining through her bedroom window. The house had an afternoon feel to it: warm, no smell of breakfast and the muffled sound of voices from downstairs. She checked her alarm clock. 2.15pm.

It was nearly three o'clock when she finally put in an appearance. She'd cleared off her make-up before washing. Not bothering to dress, she walked down the stairs in her pyjamas, dressing gown and slippers. She knew she was going to be told off - probably the lecture this time. No big deal.

″Hey Sam, how you doing?″ OK, that was odd. She wasn't expecting to see Uncle Jack here today. Her Uncle was a big man: a brickie by trade he stood over six feet tall and had the sort of neck and arms you'd expect to see on a body-builder, though he'd never set foot inside a gym in his life.

″OK, thanks, Uncle Jack. Bit tired.″ She smiled at him - she'd long since learnt that her slim young body, put together with an innocent smile, was enough to get most men to do what she wanted. If it didn't work first time round, exposing more flesh did the trick. Not today though.

″I hear you've been upsetting your parents, staying out all night.″ He said.

″They worry too much - I'm just having a good time. You're only young once, right?″ She picked up a bread roll and nibbled at it.

″No, you're not just having a good time, young lady. You're being stupid, putting yourself in danger, scaring your parents and probably throwing your life away. And I'm going to put a stop to it.″ Her Uncle's words were sharp - he had never spoken to her that way before. What was going on?

″When Roxy started behaving the way you are, I sorted it.″ He continued. ″Now I'm going to sort you out. You won't thank me for it now, but one day you will.″ This was getting scary. What was he talking about? At that moment her parents walked through into the kitchen.

″Mum? Dad? What's going on? What's Uncle Jack talking about?″

″You've brought this on yourself, Samantha.″ Her mother replied. ″You won't listen to us, so perhaps you'll listen to your uncle. You do what he says now.″

″Dad, you can't do this to me!″

″You've left us with no choice, Sam.″ Her father replied sadly.

″Now, Sam - go up to your room and wait there.″ After Jack spoke, Samantha looked around, searching for some sign of weakness on any of the three faces, but there was none. Turning on her heels, she stormed up the stairs, the house shaking as she stamped her feet down hard on each step and slammed her bedroom door behind her. She was an adult - nineteen, not twelve - how dare they treat her like this.

At first Samantha sat on her bed and fumed, but after a minute or so she heard raised voices from the kitchen. Putting her ear to the door, she listened. She couldn't make out every word but it was enough.

″You can't be serious Jack. A belt?″ That was her dad talking. Her mum said something else, but she couldn't quite catch it.

″You agree to do it my way, Ryan.″ It was Uncle Jack that time. Then he said something about Roxy, muffled again.

″But taking a belt to her? On her bare... ″ Sam couldn't quite catch her father's final word, but she'd heard enough. I'm not putting up with this crap, she thought. Quickly throwing on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, she slipped opened her bedroom window. It was a while since she'd done this, but give it a few hours and all would be forgiven, once their darling little girl came home.

Carefully, being sure not to make any noise, she eased herself through the window onto the flat roof below, and pulled it closed behind her. Carefully squatting down, she shuffled round to lower herself down by her hands. As long as no-one came into the back room, she wouldn't be seen. She just had to cross the garden, slip out of the back gate and she was away.

Holding onto the edge of the flat roof, she dropped her legs down past the window. Now she was no more than two feet from the ground, hanging on with her fingers. The trick was to get a quiet landing. One ... two ... three ... drop. Perfect, she thought. She turned to cross the back garden, and bashed her nose straight into Uncle Jack's chest.

″I don't think so, young lady.″ He said, grabbing her easily by one arm. ″I was hoping we wouldn't have to start like this, but so be it. Back up to your bedroom. He dragged her into the house where her parents were still in the kitchen.

″Take her up to her bedroom and stay with her. I need to get something from the van - didn't want to have to use this, but so be it.″

Five minutes later, Jack came into Samantha's bedroom. He was carrying a stool and had a rucksack on his back.

″Time to get down to business - strip naked Sam. Now.″

″What? No!″ Samantha was incredulous. Even her mother hadn't seen her naked since she was about twelve - there was no way she was about to strip off in front of her dad and Uncle Jack.

Jack sighed. ″Let's try again. Either you take off your clothes right now, or someone else does it for you. Anthony just came in while I was getting things from the van - perhaps you'd like me to call your brother up to help.″

Again she looked to her parents for support and again found none. Turning away from them, she took off her T-shirt and then, huddling down, wriggled out of her jeans. She hadn't had a chance to put on bra or knickers before making her escape earlier, so the skinny nineteen year old was now completely naked.