My hands found brick and I sidestepped as quickly as I could, heading in the direction of the stairs. Above our heads the door opened a snatch and light winked and glimmered in the opening; one blinding ribbon of brilliant, shocking light that drew me like a bee to honey. Tripping over my feet, I stumbled, righted myself, sidestepped again. My foot found a step and I scrambled upward on my hands and feet.

The door opened several more inches, flooding the first three steps with light.

I glanced back into the gloom, which remained ink-black. ‘Come up with me,’ I whispered urgently, ‘maybe she’ll listen to you this time, if she won’t listen to me.’

‘Fat chance,’ came her voice, which now sounded as hard as stone. But her voice sounded closer and I wondered if she’d moved off the bed.

‘Please,’ I begged.

A hand holding a sandwich lowered itself through the opening. Food. My mouth began to salivate. I recognized those knuckles, that skin, those nails. It was her. Mother. Who else?

She placed the sandwich on the step, withdrew her hand then lowered another sandwich onto the step beside it. I was overcome with relief: she was evil but not so evil that she would starve two helpless people to death. Hope spiked in my heart. She was not a lost cause. She would listen to one of us, let us reason with her, let us persuade her – and I had one glittering diamond with which to bargain. Something priceless she craved. The diamond was fake, but she didn’t know that.

‘Mother?’ I said.

The hand was lowering a large bowl of water through the gap now, quivering from its weight. The hand stilled an inch from the step, responding to my voice.

She was human. She was only human.

‘Mother?’ I repeated. I reached out my hand and touched hers. Her skin was papery and hot. Her hand flinched at my touch and water splashed onto the step. I kept my hand on hers, my touch light.

‘Mother? Please let me out. I miss you.’

She placed the bowl on the step then withdrew her hand. I almost cried out for fear that she was going to lock us in again, but the door remained open. I raised my head and peered through. I could see her knees. She was kneeling on the ground on the roof of our prison. Behind her I could see lush green grass. I could smell fresh air and grass and pollen and hear a bird tweeting merrily, unaware of the fear and misery happening at its feet.

‘Mother?’ I said, my heart a throbbing lump in my throat.

‘I can’t let you out.’ Her voice was flat and hard.