Patrick was standing close to the spare room door, his ear pressed against the wood. He was nodding, tugging his earlobe, frowning.

‘Patrick?’ I said, walking towards him.

He turned slowly. His face looked different, harder somehow. I took a step back, suddenly worried. What had she said to him? Had she convinced him not to trust me?

‘Patrick, please, have a look …’

‘Where’s the key?’ he said. ‘She’s having an asthma attack. You have to let her out now.’

‘She doesn’t have asthma,’ I said, thrusting the newspaper article forward, ‘Please, just look. This is proof. If you don’t believe me after looking at this, I’ll give you the key. I promise.’

‘Help … me,’ Mother’s voice floated through the door.

‘She’s lying,’ I repeated as his head jerked towards her voice.

He snatched the paper out of my hand. ‘What am I supposed to be looking at exactly?’

I said nothing, just watched as he studied the picture of me. His eyebrows rose a fraction and he glanced at me then back at the black-and-white photograph, at me then back at the article. His eyes darted side to side as he read the article. A few moments later, his back straightened and his eyes widened. He slipped the article into his pocket and looked back at the spare room. He put his finger to his lips and pointed to the stairs.

Relief exploded in my chest – he understood! He was on my side. Our side. Mine and Emma’s. We were going to get out of here.

I wanted to scream with joy but I kept quiet and followed him down the stairs to where Emma still sat, hugging her knees. I tapped her shoulder and put my finger to my lips. Patrick beckoned us to follow him into the kitchen and we did, hand in hand, Emma looking curiously up at me through wet, swollen eyes.

Once we were in the kitchen, Patrick said, ‘I can’t believe it – it all seems so far out – but that is you. You’re her. The girl from the paper. The one who went missing all those years ago.’

I nodded, waited for him to take charge.

He cleared his throat. ‘Is there a spare key anywhere? For the front or the back door?’

‘I don’t know,’ I said.

‘Let’s have a quick look. If we can find a spare key, it’ll be a helluva a lot easier to get out of here, and she’s not going anywhere, crazy bitch – excuse my French.’

‘I’ll look upstairs in her bedroom. You two look down here,’ I said eagerly. I’d hunted high and low before, so I knew it was unlikely we’d find a spare front or back door key, but we had to try.