My heart calmed a little. I pushed damp strands of hair out of my eyes, pasting them to the sweaty hair on top of my head, and shielded my gaze from the sun. Up ahead, at the end of the next field stood a few buildings. I blinked several times, desperate to believe what I was seeing, to clear the stinging tears from my eyes. Was it a dream or was it real?

Emma jumped up and down pointing, ‘Look, Polly! Look!’

‘I know,’ I said, beaming down at her. It was real. A real, bricks and mortar farm. Just like the ones I’d read about.

Emma grinned at me and squealed. We ran over the mud ripples using the last dregs of our energy, the sun doing its best to slow us down and losing as we flew across the dirt, carried by hope and excitement, driven by need. Anticipation blasted away some of my concerns and I felt my face relax – we were going to find someone who could help us, help Patrick. Someone grown up and sensible and responsible and full of knowledge about what to do in a situation like this. They would call the police and the police would go to the cottage and they would find Patrick and he would still be alive and they would rush him to a hospital and the doctors at the hospital would save him, and then, when I had been reunited with my parents and Emma with hers, Emma and I would go and visit Patrick in the hospital and take him a present to thank him for helping us get away. And Mother would be locked up in a prison and I’d never have to see her ever again …

We slowed to a walk when we got within yards of the farm. There were three buildings in total. The first building was a small house with a low, tile-topped roof and pebbly walls that were an unhealthy off-white colour. We approached from the back of the house and entered an open patch of barren land upon which stood two other buildings and a big metal cage. There were two large, black dogs in the cage which immediately stood up and pressed their faces against the metal wire, baring their teeth and snarling. A third dog lay on the ground chomping on a huge bone. The dog was attached to the biggest outbuilding by a long, thick, metal chain. It was sturdy and muscular with a sloping face and white fur. It paid us no attention other than a couple of glances, too interested in its bone to bother with us. I couldn’t take my eyes off the dogs. They were fascinating. So real. So alive, so …

Emma hugged my side and shook her head. ‘I don’t like it here.’