When I step in the smell from the room hits me in a wave so I am reminded of Proust and his madeleines. It’s the wax, the scent of it transports me, capturing memories and then scattering them. Is it Mum waxing banisters that I remember now, or is this just the smell of art galleries? I can’t remember precisely but Mum is definitely there, hovering, remote, aloof. I think she’s warning me.

It takes a minute to adjust to the gloom but slowly the room crystallises. There’s a large square bay window and then I see leather chesterfields along two walls. I look to the right and start at the sight of a tall, square-shouldered man in the corner. But it coalesces, into a grandfather clock. At the far end of the double room, there is a dining table and chairs, neatly tucked in. I stand still, listening, with the thumping, rhythmic beat of my heart playing in my ears.

Books and records are stacked on shelves either side of the fireplace, in neat rows safely behind glass. I crouch down, spreading my hands on the floor. This carpet is unfamiliar. It is silk. Otherworldly under my skin.

My head drops against it as I lie down, and I breathe. After a few breaths I double over as tears spill from my eyes. Soon, though, I sleep.

When my eyes snap open, I don’t know how long I’ve slept. Something I cannot now process, something in the past, has jolted me awake. I sit up. There must have been a sound. As soon as I scramble to my feet, I clamp a hand over my mouth to give my ears space to hear.

Voices in the hall.

I freeze.

The front door slams and I hear the click of heels against the tile. Two voices blow in, a man and a woman, and suddenly it’s clear that I have to move. I don’t know what’s upstairs, or even how to get there. Maybe the way up is there to the right of the dining table and chairs. Could there be a nook there where perhaps stairs are nestling? I can’t be sure, I know only these connected living rooms down here. I should have gathered myself earlier and explored my surroundings. That’s what I do when I find somewhere new. I look around to make sure that the place hasn’t already been cuckooed. I make certain of my exits and of all the weak spots so that if I have to I can make a run for it. Why didn’t I do that? How badly did he hurt me?

The voices are near now. In a second that door will open and they’ll burst in. After that, the lights will blaze on. A nano-second later, I will be trapped in that light, frozen in view. Caught with no way out.