‘I’m going now,’ he shouted. ‘I’m going before I do something I regret.’ He stepped backwards and kicked the tray across the room. ‘But I’ll be back. You needn’t worry about that, Margaret. I’ll be back before you know it.’

He walked out and slammed the door.

Seconds later the light went out.

6

It was dark – black, black dark – for a long time. She didn’t know how long, exactly. Many hours, certainly. Days, probably.

Long enough to get very, very hungry.

But that was the least of her concerns. It was the thirst that tortured her. It was all she could think of. Her tongue swelled in her mouth and visions of glasses of cold water swam in front of her eyes. She reached for them, her hands groping in the darkness for a drink that did not exist. The only liquid she tasted was the salt tears that ran down her cheeks.

And then she heard the scraping sound. The light came on. She squinted, the brightness hurting her eyes.

The door opened. The man was stood there, something in his hand.

A tray, she thought. With food and drink.

But it wasn’t a tray.

It was something much worse.

The man locked the door – this time keeping his eyes on her – then put the thing down. It looked like some kind of helmet.

‘Please,’ she said, her voice a croak. ‘I need a drink.’

‘You need to be punished,’ the man replied, his voice flat. ‘That’s what you need.’

‘What’s that?’ she said, pointing at the helmet.

‘It’s a cage.’

She didn’t understand. Now her eyes had adjusted she could make out that it was a motorbike helmet.

‘It’s not a cage,’ she said.

‘Oh, it is.’

She was puzzled. There was nothing here to put in it. ‘What for?’

He looked at her, his head tilted sideways.

‘For my pet.’ He grinned at her. ‘My other pet.’

She blinked. ‘I don’t understand.’

‘You will,’ he said. ‘You will.’ He picked up the motorbike helmet and walked towards her. When he got to the mattress he lifted it up and, before she could do anything, he put it over her head. He tightened a strap under her chin, and secured it with a small chain, through which he threaded a padlock.

‘There,’ he said. ‘Fits perfectly.’

It didn’t fit perfectly at all. It was way too big. Maggie shook her head; there was plenty of space around her face and between the helmet and her neck.

But not enough to get her head out, not with the strap secured. She tugged at it, but the padlock – clearly his own addition – held fast.

It was uncomfortable, but not that bad. She started to relax a little.