‘I don’t think I can climb, Dalip.’

‘Let me worry about that.’ He waved his fingers. ‘We have to hurry.’

She got her knees on to the chair, then one foot, then the other. Slowly, shakily, she stood, her arms out wide trying to hug the wall.

‘Reach up. Right up.’

She was shorter than both Luiza and Elena. They both stretched, and could just about touch.

‘Elena, hold my legs. Stop me going over.’

He leant right out, over the parapet with both hands, and with Elena gripping his knees, he was able to take hold of Mama’s wrists.

‘You ready?’

‘No,’ she whispered.

‘We’re not leaving without you,’ he said. He started to straighten up, taking all her weight through his arms and into his back. Her feet left the chair, knocking it over in the process.

It clattered to the pit floor, and she looked down at the sudden height. She started to wriggle in his grasp.

‘Don’t do that,’ he said.

‘It’s too far.’

He kept on pulling, and she was rising despite herself.

‘You want to get back home? You want to get back to your kids and grandkids?’ It hurt, from his elbows, through his shoulders to the small of his back. He was speaking through clenched teeth. ‘This is the only way.’

Luiza left her post at the door, leant herself over and took a handful of boilersuit at Mama’s side. She pulled as Dalip leant back, and that was enough to drag Mama up as far as the parapet, getting her on the wide stone wall and over the right side.

They lay together, in a heap.

‘You’re strong, Dalip,’ said Mama. ‘You’re a strong man now.’

‘Maybe.’ He didn’t feel strong at that moment: he was breathing hard, and everything felt over-stretched. But it seemed Stanislav had been right. He couldn’t have managed to pull any of them up, not even himself, before he came to Down. He heaved himself up and looked over the edge. The pit was empty, save for a table, tipped chair, and weakly burning lantern.

‘Where is he?’ asked Luiza, extricating herself from under Mama. ‘What better thing does he have to do than be here?’

‘I don’t know.’ He stared at the pit door, as if it’d make the man appear. ‘Stanislav? Stanislav!’

It was more a stage whisper than a shout, and even that seemed too loud.

‘What do we do, if he does not come?’

‘He’ll come. Go and listen at the door again.’

He didn’t know what to do. It seemed like an age before Stanislav trotted back into the pit, though it was probably no longer than a minute. He was holding a hessian sack heavy with loot in one hand, and Pigface’s knife in the other.

‘Where the hell have you been?’ hissed Dalip.