‘How long before we asphyxiate down here – or is it suffocate?’ Libby whispered, adding, with a humourless laugh, ‘What’s the difference? We’ll be just as dead.’

‘Whoa! Slow down there. We’re not in a bank vault. This room isn’t airtight.’ I frowned. ‘There must be airbricks in the walls otherwise it’d stink of damp and mould – well, a lot worse than it already does.’

‘Airbricks? Really?’ Hope lit her eyes and lightened her voice.

‘Yeah. Of course. I felt a draught on my foot coming from one of them when we first explored the room.’

Not exactly a lie. But not exactly the truth either. There had to be some kind of ventilation down here and, on the plus side, that meant we’d die of thirst or hunger long before we ran out of air. Silver linings.

‘If we don’t suffocate, we’ll just starve to death,’ Libby said, reflecting my thinking.

Scrape … scrape … Libby went back to rubbing her forearm against the crate.

‘Liberty, stop it. Seriously. How does getting sepsis in your arm help our situation?’

‘God, you’re Mr Sensitivity, aren’t you?’ she replied.

‘At this precise moment, I’m Mr We’ve-got-enough-on-our-plates-without-you-adding-to-it. So give it a rest.’

‘Like I said, Mr Sensitivity.’ Libby scowled at me – and I deserved it. I was being a dick. Yes, I was terrified and my ankle felt like it was on fire, but that was no reason to take it out on her. Time for a subject change.

‘I spy, with my little eye, something beginning with—’

Libby’s eyes rounded like dinner plates. ‘Seriously? Seriously? We’ve literally been left to rot and you wanna play I spy?’

‘Not in the mood for that?’ I queried. ‘OK, how about Animal, Vegetable or Mineral? You can ask me up to twenty questions, then you have to guess the object I’m thinking of.’

‘How about I slap you back to factory settings?’ Libby glared.

I wagged a finger at her, imitating my Nana Meggie. ‘Violence is never the answer. Embrace love, peace and cheesecake.’

‘Oh. My. God. You’re so annoying,’ Libby said, exasperated.

‘But adorable with it.’

‘A legend in your own head,’ said Libby.

‘And beyond.’ I winked.

Libby shook her head, but at least she’d stopped rasping her arm against the crate. Mission accomplished. ‘How about you channel that anger you’re currently feeling and help me figure out a way to get us out of here?’

‘We’ve already tried that. There isn’t one.’

‘Yes, there is. We just haven’t found it yet,’ I argued. ‘Besides, I refuse to die before I’ve met Beyoncé.’

Libby and I regarded each other. I raised an eyebrow, deadly serious. She reluctantly smiled. ‘Troy, you’re an idiot. You know that, right?’

‘Yeah. You’ve told me that at least once before,’ I reminded her – and myself.

‘But this time I’m saying it with appreciation.’