‘I can hear you,’ he sang, before he let out a high-pitched giggle. ‘This is a fun game. Do you want me to come and find you?’

‘No, I want you to go away,’ I replied silently. The man would take breathing as a come on.

Still skirting around the giant round object, my hand found what felt like a handle, and the handle was attached to a door. For want of a better option, I opened it, climbed inside, and ducked down. The floor was covered in what felt like bits of shredded paper that rustled against my dress, and I held my breath, attempting to stay as still and silent as possible.

‘Princess?’ he called, so close I could smell him. Andrew’s scent was not warm or spicy or expensive. He reeked, like someone who had drunk too much and possibly pissed on his own shoes.

‘Excuse me, sir, you can’t be in here.’ A new voice cut through the darkness and a slice of blinding light illuminated the storeroom for just a second.

‘I’m looking for someone, she came in here!’ Andrew protested as his skittering footsteps moved further and further away from my hiding place.

‘This area is off limits for safety reasons,’ another voice said. ‘We’ll redirect your friend if we find them.’

‘What do you think you’re doing? I’m going, I’m going, get your hands off me. Say, you chaps don’t know anyone who’s carrying, do you?’

The curtains flickered open again and Andrew’s voice was gone. My shoulders sagged with relief as I pushed myself up on my knees. Now all I had to do was climb back out from my hiding spot in the dark without breaking my neck. Easier said than done. Clinging to the rounded walls, I felt for the door, but before I could make my escape, the entire thing moved.

‘Be bloody careful!’ One of the men who had turfed Andrew out of the storeroom bellowed below me. ‘Are you even pulling on your side?’

‘Are you pulling on your side?’ replied the other. ‘Because it doesn’t feel like it. I don’t remember it being this heavy earlier.’

‘And I don’t remember you being such a lazy bastard. When I say pull, pull.’

My hiding place shifted again, upwards this time, swirling around in the air and knocking me onto my backside. I braced myself, clambering on all fours as I rose onwards and upwards, swinging back and forth in the darkness.

‘Hello?’ I called, patting the walls for the door. Why was there no handle on the inside? What had I climbed into? This was not good. Not good at all. ‘Can you hear me?’

But they couldn’t. Outside, an orchestra was blasting a bold interpretation of ‘Don’t Stop’ by Fleetwood Mac, the ambitious horn section drowning out my pitiful cries.