I blink when she mentions ‘other girls’. How many of us are there? Do we all live down here, behind a locked door? I knew there was one other, of course. I’ve met her, and I noticed there were two occupied rooms, but are there others?

For some reason I don’t feel able to ask, although it seems obvious that these girls – and I include myself in that number – are the cleaners, the women she didn’t want to know about my existence.

‘That’s not a problem,’ I say, eager to please.

She spins on her heel as if to go, but turns back and glares at me, her face a hard mask. ‘Oh, and Judith – you will eat and drink whatever is put in front of you. If you don’t – and trust me, I will know if you don’t – we will call the police and tell them where to find you. We can’t afford for you to be ill. How would we explain who you are and why you’re here if you need medical treatment? Now drink your tea.’

I am so stunned by this new version of Thea that I say nothing. She goes out of the room and closes the door.

I sit down on the bed. My legs are trembling and I am no longer sure they will hold me up. What is going on?

I get a sudden glimpse of my future – living down here, cleaning for Thea and the doctor, being told what I can do, what I should eat, when I must sleep. And then I think of why I’m here. It’s because I’m a killer.

It’s not until I decide to stir myself from the confusion Thea has left in her wake that I consider drinking the tea. Almost as an act of defiance, I decide to have the shower I’ve been promising myself and then maybe come back and take a few sips. I pick up the clothes that I discarded when I rushed back in here and take a towel from the foot of the bed.

That’s when I remember the photo under my pillow. I must return it to its hiding place.

I pull it out and look at the image for the first time. I see the small eyes, the hooked nose, the face that looks like an eagle. He looks much younger, but I know this man.

I swallow and reach for the mug, taking a swig as if the tea will drive his image from my mind.

I have to get it back to its hiding place – I must – but I can’t move.

The face staring at me is the one that disturbed me from the first day of my trip to Myanmar.

It’s Paul, the man from the boat. The man who said he was watching me.

CHAPTER 36

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