‘Theriouthly!’ moaned a scrawny knave, pushing a large boulder up a nearby hill. They were in some kind of valley, although one bereft of any natural sunlight. Patricia tried not to lash out with a handbag as a woman with wet hands barged past her. ‘You’ve been here for prethithely three thecondth and already you’re futhing! Thome of uth have thingst to thort out. Tho thtick a thock in it!’

‘Oh, quit your whining,’ moaned another gentleman, inexplicably standing in a pool of water at the base of the hill. ‘Some of us have a horrendous hangover . . .’

‘Oh, let me get you some water!’ cried one of the line of women carrying water from the lake with their bare hands. ‘Oh, no, that’s right – I CAN’T.’

Patricia had no idea who these hooligans were. But she was delighted she didn’t have to spend very long with them.

‘So . . . here’s the thing, sweetheart,’ said the American, lighting a cigar and leading her away from this wasteland. ‘Yous have been a bad, bad goirl.’

‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘So what?’

‘So . . . it’s payback time,’ he continued menacingly.

‘Did Charles send you?’ said Patricia, stiffening. How could she have been so stupid as to get in the car when she knew her ex-husband was on the rampage?

‘Nah,’ said her companion, steering her towards what appeared to be a small shopping precinct up ahead. ‘I’m acting on a . . . higher authority than him. Allow me to introdoose myself. My name is Hades.’

Patricia didn’t feel the need to conceal her distaste at the ridiculous name. Americans were so very, very frightful.

‘Enchanted,’ she droned. ‘Now, where’s the nearest exit?’

‘Now, here’s the thing,’ said Hades. ‘You can leave anytime – you just need to complete a simple task. That’s all.’

‘What if I don’t want to?’ Patricia snarled. She’d had enough of this absurd charade.

‘Oh, dollface,’ he laughed. ‘Trust me. No one’s here cos they want to be! Nah – the only way out is to do what I tells you to.’

‘And if I refuse?’

‘Then you stay here. For ever. Welcome to Tartarus, baby.’

Patricia looked around her. This wasn’t hell. It was a suburban high street. That was much worse.

‘What do you want me to do?’ she sighed, thinking only of the gin and tonic she’d have the butler pour when she got back to her mansion.

‘Simples,’ said Hades, producing a clipboard. ‘All yous need to do is get people to donate money to this charity.’

‘Children in Poverty?’ sneered Patricia. ‘Listen, if children aren’t prepared to go out and get jobs like the rest of us, why should anyone give them handouts? Layabouts . . .’

‘Doll,’ whispered Hades. ‘If you ever want to get out of here, you might wanna work on your patter. Here, take this.’

He handed her a bright red tabard. The nerve of the man.