Hours I sat there – he kept coming back in, checking his watch, checking I was still there. Like, where the fuck else would I be? He’d tucked the machete into the back of his pants but clutched his pistol tightly, pointing it straight at me at regular intervals.

‘Need a piss yet?’

‘Yes.’

‘Piss your pants.’

He’d never have shot me – he needed me too much and he knew it. The worst he could do was torture me – shoot my legs, maybe rape me. Get the remaining Chipmunks, Ming and Stuzzy, in to rape me too until I confessed. But I couldn’t confess. I truly didn’t have anything to confess. I kicked out at the fender whenever I’d summoned some more strength but as hard as I tried, I couldn’t get the cuff over my hand.

I watched the clock on the oven display tick down – one, two, three thirty. At four fifteen, Paco sat on the armchair nearest me but not so close that I could touch him. I was waiting for another threat or at the least for him to start cutting off my fingers one by one. And I’ll be honest, I felt sick to my bones. I had no plan in place to stop him. No cunning plan, or even a snarky retort. I was at whatever mercy he was about to throw down.

‘Last chance. Where has Tenoch gone and where is my money?’

‘I. Don’t. Know.’

‘Yes. You. Do.’

‘Go. Fuck. Yourself,’ I spat. ‘Hard.’

My mouth betrayed me where my body was paralysed with fear. This was me as I hadn’t seen myself for a long time – a victim. Helpless. Trapped. I was the six-year-old sitting on the rug again at Number 12 Priory Gardens, watching Fireman Sam, drinking milk and munching a custard cream. Seeing the man in the garden. Hearing Alison scream. Him running at the window. The smashing glass. Kimmy’s high chair falling over. The screaming in the crib. Ashlea calling for her mummy.

‘You think I can’t break you?’ he hissed in my ear. ‘You’re wrong, Sweetpea. You are so wrong. Conoce a tu enemigo. That is what we say in the cartel. It’s time.’ And he licked me all the way up the side of my face.

I think that was the moment I realised I was broken – my wrist certainly felt like it from all the wrenching. But Paco strode out of the room without a second look. I heard voices, distantly. I couldn’t make out words or tones but the next thing I knew, a sweaty-looking Ming strode in, heading towards the refrigerator. He clicked open a soda, gulping it right down and belching unapologetically. Then he saw me on the rug. He knew I’d be there.

‘You’re not gonna let me out either, are you?’ I said.