These were things she couldn't conceive of doing with her brother. He would look at her differently for the rest of his life. But... if she did them... and he didn't rape her, she would be free. It would be worth it.And he would never fuck his own sister. She was sure of it.She had better be sure of it, she knew, because if he fucked her while she was on these drugs, he would impregnate her. She would be pregnant with her brother's baby.In any case, she wouldn't need to see her brother till. It was the room that, through my developing years, had been the scene of much laughter and tears for various reasons.Its décor was a mixture of antique and uber-modern; Ikea meets Victoriana. Somehow, though, mum’s artistic flair made it work and, as it had when I was a child, it remained my favourite room in the house.Mum was sitting in an upholstered wing-back chair. She sat stiffly upright, her hands clasped together on her lap, her face drawn with strain. Her watery-blue eyes peered at me. More

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