‘I tried to run past her, but she grabbed my arm and pulled me in front of her, pressing the knife against my throat, cutting into my skin. She pushed me into the back garden and locked me down here.’

I clutched her hands in the dark. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘You’ve nothing to be sorry for. I’m only sorry I ever came back. And I told no one where I was going. I’ve hoped and prayed someone would find my car and track me here, but surely they would have found something by now.’

I let myself imagine being rescued by a kind-eyed, gentle man, someone like Captain Crewe. Imagined the in-pouring of light as he opened the little door and let us out. Imagined the smell of the clean air, and the bright green of the trees. And Mother’s face. Mother’s angry, red face as she attacked Captain Crewe with her knife. I exhaled shakily and stroked the back of Olivia’s hand.

‘How’s your neck now?’ I said.

‘It’s fine. She only grazed me. It’s the hunger that’s killing me – and the dark – so much dark. It makes my mind do crazy things.’

‘I know,’ I said. ‘When you were asleep, I began feeling really weird. I was so relieved when you woke up. I can’t imagine how you’ve coped being alone down here all this time.’

‘My boys. And Robert. They’re all that’s kept me going. But I’m ashamed to admit I’d started thinking of ways to end it, then you came along. You’ve saved me, Polly. You really have. Just talking about everything is helping a little.’

‘We’re getting out of here,’ I said.

She said nothing. I could hear her stomach rumbling. The snip, snip, snip as she bit her nails too.

She was silent for a long time. We sat holding hands, both shaking with too many emotions to name.

Finally, she cleared her throat. ‘How? How are we getting out of here?’

I didn’t reply. I didn’t know what to say.

Chapter 44

After braving the disgusting brick toilet I groped my way back to the bed and lay in the dark with my eyes open. Hunger and fear kept me awake, but Olivia slept again. I listened to her long, slow breaths and brought my hand to my lips. My fingers trembled, my mouth felt like it had been dried out with toilet paper and my head banged. Each bang was the fist of someone trapped inside my skull, desperate to get out. Each bang echoed the anger and fear that throbbed in my veins.

I was still running on adrenaline. I knew that and it terrified me. When that adrenaline melted away, fear would beat anger back down into the dirt, and I needed the anger that thrummed in my chest like a bird’s wings. Anger gave me courage. Anger was good.