Olivia drifted in and out of consciousness as I worked on extracting the nail from the wall. I couldn’t tell how much time had passed since Mother had left, but it felt like a very long time. I was plagued by hunger again, there was only an inch of water left in the bowl and the fingertips on my left hand were raw bloody nubs. But I kept at it with few breaks, changing hands when one felt too sore to twist the rusted nail. Wobbling the nail seemed to help; little by little I felt the thin metal rod edge out from its brick prison. That was one thing that kept me going. Another was the fact that Olivia’s hand felt strangely hot. When I hovered my hand above hers, heat radiated off it. And it was beginning to smell. It was a putrid smell. Did that mean it was infected? Did it mean she was dying? I thought about her twin boys and her husband and how devastated they would be if she died, and I twisted the nail harder. I thought about Derek. He shouldn’t have died. He wasn’t a nice man, but he didn’t deserve to die. I thought about Emma and hoped she had found her parents – or at least someone kind who could help her find them. I pictured Harold finding Dot and taking her to the hospital. I prayed she was alive. Prayed she made a full recovery. Lastly, I thought about Patrick and hoped he was still alive. I had barely known him, but he had been a good man and he’d tried to help us. Did he have people out in the world who were worried about him? Did he have a wife or children or a mother and father? If he did, they would be going through hell right now. They would not know what had happened to him, what Mother had done to him. They wouldn’t know he was a hero. Mine and Emma’s hero. If I ever did get out of here I would make it my mission to find Patrick’s family and tell them how brave he’d been.

Olivia groaned so I rushed back to the bed.

‘Water,’ she croaked.

I lifted the bowl to her mouth and helped her sip.

‘Careful. There’s not much left now,’ I murmured, but she seemed not to hear me. I tried to move the bowl away but she grabbed it with her unharmed hand and held it fast. I was surprised by her strength.

‘I have to tell you something,’ she rasped, ‘before I die.’

‘You’re not going to die. She’ll come back soon and—’

‘She’s not coming back,’ Olivia said.

‘Yes, she is. She always comes back. You told me she comes back with food and water. She came back before, she’ll come back again.’