‘We haven’t stolen anything,’ I said, pushing Emma behind me. ‘Please, we just want—’

‘Come here!’ he shouted.

I froze and clamped my mouth shut. He swayed visibly. He let the bag drop to the floor then cursed and bent over, scrabbling to pick up cans as they rolled across the carpet.

‘Please, sir.’ I said. ‘Please may we use your phone? That’s all. We weren’t stealing. I promise.’

He didn’t seem to hear me. Still swearing, he lurched upright clutching a can and tottered out of the room. I looked down at the telephone piece that lay on the carpet, its twisty chain spiralling upward like some kind of bizarre umbilical cord. I could hear a faint dead-sounding tone coming from it and wondered what that meant. Before I could do or say anything, Emma crouched down and grabbed the telephone bit then replaced it on its machine on the table.

‘We can try again,’ she whispered, tugging me round.

‘No,’ I said. ‘We need to get out of here.’

I pulled her out of the room into the hallway. We crept up the short, narrow corridor towards the kitchen. The man was behaving in a weird way so there was no telling what he might do. I knew a little about alcohol and it was enough to make me wary. Mother had told me everything I knew about it, but I felt quite sure, having now seen this man and the way he was acting, that what she had told me about alcohol was the truth. Not everything she had told me was a lie. Most of it, but not all. A strange pain squeezed my heart. I frowned, told myself to concentrate. We had to get out of this place, find someone who was capable of helping us. This man was not trustworthy. Not in the slightest bit.

He had his back to us when we reached the kitchen. I could see the crack in his bottom. It was gross. He stood in front of the oven humming to himself. A tune I had never heard. It didn’t sound anything like the Eagles.

I tried to think straight. We had to get away. If we were quiet and quick, we could creep past without him seeing us and get out.

I hesitated a second, another second, and another, then yanked Emma into the room and towards the door that led outside. Emma tripped, making a scuffling sound. He whirled around, a wooden spoon raised in his meaty fist, a cry bursting from his lips. He reached out and grabbed my shoulder as I pushed Emma forward.

‘Go!’ I yelled – but she didn’t. She stopped and turned around, tears welling in her eyes.

‘Come here!’ the man bellowed, grabbing Emma’s arm. He pulled her towards himself and pushed us out of the kitchen back into the hallway.

‘You’re not going anywhere yet,’ he said with a gurgling cough.