But there he was. And I found out, after I’d taken the walk to the privy by night a couple more times, that while he was in the outhouse he wasn’t sleeping, he was curled up muttering to himself, same as in Mathuin’s lockup. I didn’t look in on him, because that would be breaking an unspoken rule about privacy. But I knew he’d be crouched down at the back, in a corner, trying to be invisible. Trying to shut out the bad things, to keep the shadows at bay. The nonsense words were like a spell or charm. An incantation. Fill his mind with them, and he need not hear Slammer crashing his stick on the bars or yelling insults. He need not hear Poxy or Dribbles or me screaming as we were beaten, or worse. Even here, long days and longer miles from that hellish place, Grim’s nights were full of those sounds and sights. He hadn’t slept at night in that place. He’d kept the darkness away with his relentless exercises, and when he hadn’t been doing those he’d been talking to me. When I’d been asleep, when everyone had been asleep, he’d probably kept on talking anyway, until morning came.

Once I’d worked this out, I wished I hadn’t, because it meant I had to find a solution, and I didn’t much like the only solution that presented itself, which was that I should invite Grim to sleep in the house. There were two parts of me arguing with each other and I couldn’t shut up their voices. One said, He didn’t ask you for help this time, so you don’t need to do anything. He’s never complained about the outhouse. The other said, You were in that place too. It turned you upside down and inside out. He helped you escape and now he’s mending the house for you. You owe him. And the first voice replied, to my shame, I never asked him to do either of those things.

It ate away at me until I had to do something. But I needed to go carefully or I’d only make matters worse.

We were sitting by the hearth – the fire burned well now he’d unblocked the chimney – as evening shadow spread itself over the wood, turning the green and brown quilt of daytime to a soft blanket of purple and grey. Grim had made rabbit stew with dumplings, one of the best meals I’d tasted for a long while, and I waited until we were finished eating before I asked him.

‘Grim?’

‘Mm?’

‘Must be cold in that outhouse.’

A pause, then, ‘Roof over my head,’ he said. ‘Not complaining.’

I drew a couple of long breaths. ‘You don’t sleep, though, do you?’ I asked, hoping this would not send him back into silence.