In the end I ate the soup. I didn’t have much choice, given what I now know. I don’t want to be thrown out of the house, and I need Thea and Garrick’s protection, even if I don’t like the fact that they are spying on us, drugging us. Why are they doing this?

I want to ask the other women why they are here, but neither of them have said anything. Judith doesn’t seem quite as institutionalised, and I get the feeling she is more aware that things are not quite right. Because they are not.

Perhaps they are both simply cleaning staff. Maybe they are paid to work here – they know the code to get out and can come and go as they like. Thea is right: this house does take some looking after. Then I risk a quick glance up towards the tiny green light and I know that the others are no more free to leave than I am.

As soon as we have eaten, I excuse myself and make my way to the bathroom, checking around, hoping that they wouldn’t stoop so low as to hide a camera in there. I turn off the light to look for a telltale glow, but there is nothing and nowhere to hide a camera. I kneel down by the toilet bowl. I have never done this before, and I’m not looking forward to it, but I close my eyes, count to ten and then push my fingers down my throat.

It’s awful. It’s the most dreadful feeling, and the temptation to give in and let the soup perform its magic is massive. But I feel my stomach heave, and finally the contents of my meagre supper spew out of me, leaving my throat sore and burning with acid. God help me if I’m going to have to do this after every meal. I could have trusted the bread, I think, but that has all come back too. I rinse my mouth out, gargle with cold water and, feeling far worse than if I had left well alone, I stagger back to my room.

There is a mug of tea by the bed, steam rising from it. Once more I cast my eyes around, searching every corner, but there is nowhere to hide a camera as far as I can tell. The one in the kitchen isn’t well disguised. It’s as if they want us to know that we are being watched. I sit down on the bed and rest my head in my hands.

I don’t realise anyone has come into the room until I hear a small cough.

‘You need to drink your tea, Judith,’ a quiet voice says. It’s the same woman again, the one who says she is called Judith too.