We’re ready. Danny goes over to the window and removes one of the slats. He looks up and down, left and right.

‘All clear,’ he mutters.

We leave the flat, Danny first, holding one plate and the gun, me behind him with two, one in each hand. God forbid we see anyone who has their own gun, but we’ve never mentioned that. I push the thought to the back of my mind three times daily, every time we do this. We go down the stairs into the basement and that’s the tricky bit, the part where I’m most scared, as Danny has to put down the plate to open the flat with a key. Even though he still has the gun, his back is turned and my hands are full. That would be the perfect time to jump us if any kill parties were watching. Or that man. We can’t see what’s going on above us. The streets are quiet, but even that’s not reassuring; it could just mean someone’s trying to sneak up on us. I wait, and listen, and realise even the birds have stopped singing. I wonder when that happened. I’ve never noticed it before, and it makes me more afraid. I start crying until I hear the basement door creak open. I wipe my eyes with my sleeve, go inside.

The flat smells of musk, bodily waste, imprisoned air. The pipes emit a monotone thrum. I keep swiping at my eyes, but this is just an excuse to cover my nose without Sherwin noticing. It’s a studio flat, the front door leading to the open-plan living room, which goes into a bedroom on the right of the alcove that houses the kitchenette. The bathroom is at the rear, hardly used. Sherwin’s tied by his wrists to the black leather office chair in the centre of the room. His head is bowed. He’s either asleep, or comatose.

I put down the plates, go over, shake him and call his name. He raises his head. His eyes are dim even in half-light, blank like a soft toy. The smell of urine is stronger. I step back, seeing the dark patch around his crotch. He catches my grimace.

‘I couldn’t wait …’

My hand is pushed into my mouth, forcing it all back. I don’t know how it got there. I catch him watching me. The hand falls, my fingers spasm by my thighs. Danny touches my shoulder.

‘I’ll get the bowl,’ he whispers, and he’s gone. Sherwin’s head cranes to follow. His eyes are fire. I don’t want to know.