The pig bit the coat. Thank God. She bit and pulled. She dragged the coat slightly towards me.

Thankfully, the pig never tried dragging the coat in the wrong direction. She knew that good things were coming from me. She pulled it closer. And closer. I was ready to get it as soon as it came within reach.

‘I think I can get it.’ I was only talking to myself now. There were no more noises from below.

I shifted forward, quickly but smoothly. ‘Oh my God,’ I whispered. ‘I’ve got it. I don’t fucking believe it.’ I threw a huge handful of pig food on the floor, scattering it for the pig to eat.

I dragged the coat to me and pulled the key from the pocket.

I fiddled with the key and eventually managed to shove it into my handcuff. It flipped open.

Hardly able to believe I was free, I crept to the other side of the barn and looked at the keypad. I didn’t know how to shut the carbon monoxide off. And I couldn’t get into the basement without knowing the code.

I ran to the edge of the barn, slid the door open an inch, and peered out. I was sure I’d heard noises from outside the barn a few minutes earlier. Tony was out there somewhere and I didn’t know what state he was in. What’s more, as a farmer, he most likely owned a shotgun.

The barn was isolated from the house, on the edge of the woods. It was approached by a dirt track that you could drive along, and Tony’s car was parked at an angle with a door open. He was nearby.

I inched the barn door closed again, and crept back in to look for some kind of weapon.

The pig was still snuffling around hoovering up the last of the pellets. The other pigs were grunting softly, and the hissing was steady in the background.

The blood-soaked knife was on the floor where I’d dropped it when I’d stabbed Tony. I picked it up.

A noise outside.

I dashed back to the wall and slumped down where he’d chained me earlier. The knife was next to me, hidden from sight.

The barn door slid open.

Tony walked in. He was moving stiffly, and a bandage encased his middle. He was wearing a coat identical to the blood-soaked one on the floor. He must have had a few of them – standard-issue farmer-coats.

He was carrying a shotgun.

His eyes flicked to the pig, who was trying to get the remaining pellets, snuffling and stamping on the coat on the floor.

Could Tony see that the coat was closer than when he’d left, close enough for me to reach? He gave no indication that he’d noticed.