TRUE-LIFE
Pulling back the living room curtains, my eyes darted up the street outside.
When I spotted my daughter shannon, 12, my heart sank.
Her fingers were linked through the hand of Barry Nash.
‘Inside, now!’ I yelled, rapping on the glass.
Shannon's shoulders slumped and she dropped his hand, before stomping through the front door.
‘I’ve told you not to hang around with him,’ I snapped as she dumped her bag down.
It was summer 2014, and I’d read her the riot act already after spotting them strolling through town.
And again when I caught her in his car.
He insisted they weren’t doing anything wrong, but it made my stomach churn.
Barry was
