If I can get to him in time, I can prevent his death – hoist him up, cut the rope. Something. I have to save him. I walk, then run towards him – but I never get any nearer. I’m on a treadmill, a road to nowhere. I race until sweat pours from my forehead like a waterfall, stinging my eyes, running like ribbons of salt water between my lips and onto my tongue. My blouse sticks to me like a new plaster. And still I run, until my lungs burn in protest and my vision grows blurry. I’m moments away from passing out. Only then do I stop. My heart shatters like dropped glass because Callum is just as far away as he ever was. I reach out, but it’s no use. Slowly my hand drops to my side. In despair, I turn away, and there he is in front of me again, gently swinging, the noose still around his neck. I turn left. He’s there. Right. He’s there. I turn my back. He’s in front of me. I spin round: he’s before me. My world view is a kaleidoscope of Callum dying. With tears streaming down my face, I fall to my knees.

‘I’m sorry, Callum. I’m so sorry,’ I cry. ‘Forgive me.’

Without warning, his head jerks up like he’s listening.

And I stumble back and scream.

Scream till my ears ring.

Scream myself awake.

And, for the rest of the night, sleep and I are strangers. So I sit on the edge of my bed, staring into the darkness as I rock slowly back and forth. Back and forth.

And remember.

seventeen. Libby

A cough I couldn’t suppress woke me up. I was being held, and felt warm and safe, emerging from the most vivid nightmare I’d ever had. How bizarre! I’d dreamed I was stuck in a basement with – I opened my eyes and there was Troy looking down at me, his arm round my shoulder. My head had been tucked into his armpit like a sleeping penguin. With a jolt, I drew away, sitting bolt upright. Awkward! Troy’s arm fell to his side. He smiled.

‘Feeling better now?’

‘What happened?’ I asked, confused.

‘You cried yourself to sleep.’ Troy looked around. ‘It feels late, like it’s night-time, though it’s hard to tell. I miss my watch.’

So not a dream after all.

Troy looked at me, puzzled. ‘Are you OK, Libby?’

‘Yeah, I—’ I pinched the sleep out of my eyes. ‘How long was I asleep?’

‘Maybe an hour. Maybe longer.’ Troy shrugged. ‘Does it really matter?’

‘I need to use the bucket.’ I stood up.

Troy nodded. ‘I’ll turn my head to give you some privacy.’