I was halfway to the barn when I stopped. Stared. Listened. Then I broke into a run. The open side of the Dutch barn was facing me. Both the floor and the loft were stacked solid with hay bales, ready for the winter, neatly piled and crammed in. But from the other side, where the loose boxes were, came an almighty commotion. A banging and a crashing. I raced along the track. Round the other side of the barn I darted. Tommy, red in the face and wracked with exertion, was wrestling with a lock on a stable, which I knew could be locked from the inside. He stood back and smashed it with what looked like an iron scaffolding bar. The heavy bar broke the wood but not the lock. There was a terrible smell. Noxious. Gas, and it was seeping from inside.

“W000!” I shrieked in horror, as I raced towards him.

He turned. "Get an axe!" he bellowed. "From the woodshed — quick!"

I froze for a moment. Then tore back down to the stables. I remembered nothing later of the journey to and from the yard, except that I've never run so fast in my life. There were two axes lying on the top of the woodpile. I reached up and grabbed them both. Then, as I turned to go, I remember glimpsing the old Mule bike, which Hugo and I had roared around on as teenagers. It was kept in the corner, and it was covered with sausages and pans. I choked back a sob and fled. Back at the barn, I thrust the larger axe at Tommy, who'd almost broken in but not quite. The huge axe was the thing.

"Hurry, Tommy — hurry!" I pleaded, standing back, tears streaming down my face.

“Stand clear!" he shouted.

He swung the axe back in a great arc behind his head, and then, with tremendous force, brought it crashing down on the lock and the wood around it. It shattered the entire area, so that with one yank, the door was open. Fumes came billowing out and I had to cover my face as nausea and panic overcame me.

"Get back!" Tommy yelled, advancing on the car, his forearm over his mouth. He bent and seized a tube on the exhaust pipe and pulled it off easily. I ignored him and followed, and saw the other end, feeding through a tiny gap in the front window. Hugo was in the driving seat, visible through the fog within, slumped back, acres of neck exposed, eyes shut, his mouth open.