He pushed our backs, forcing us into the living room, shouting at us to sit on the sofa. We did as he commanded. He whirled around and headed back towards the kitchen. I pulled Emma onto my lap and hugged her close, whispering reassuring things in her ear, trying to keep the tremors out of my voice. The fear and worry.

What was he going to do to us? Why wouldn’t he let us go? Mother’s talk of evil men crawled into my mind, and for a split second I found myself wishing the most unimaginable thing: that I’d never discovered that she wasn’t my real mother. If I hadn’t learned the truth, we wouldn’t be here right now; we would be back in the cottage, our food, beds and clothes provided for us …

But not-knowing wasn’t right and she was dangerous. I knew that. I did. Even so, right now, I would rather be in Mother’s company than this man’s. If he wanted to, he could do worse to us than Mother. Much worse …

My body began to shake. I couldn’t help it. Couldn’t stop the tremors from taking over my limbs. Emma was trembling too. I pulled her closer and she buried her head in my shoulder and began to cry.

Think. Think.

A greasy meat smell wafted into the room.

I looked at the window above the small table. The window was small, but I wasn’t exactly huge. Emma would definitely fit through. I glanced at the door to the living room. He wasn’t back yet, but we didn’t have much time until he joined us.

‘Get up!’ I whispered sharply, pushing Emma.

I ran to the window and unlatched it. It opened about a hand’s width. Emma would fit through, but would I?

I hoisted her up and helped her slide herself through the narrow space between the window frame and the window itself. She fell to the ground on her hands and knees and looked back at me, panic making her eyes wider than ever.

‘Polly?’

‘Go,’ I said.

She stared dumbly at me, still on her hands and knees. I pulled myself onto the sill and tried to slide through, but my chest was too wide. I couldn’t go with her.

‘Go!’ I screamed.

She shook her head and grabbed at my hands.

I pushed her away, looking into her eyes, ‘Run, Emma. Get help. Find someone. Tell them where I am. And about Patrick. Go!’

Tears spilled down her cheeks. She hiccupped. Her face scrunched up into an unrecognizable version of itself, then she turned and fled.

Chapter 30