There was a faint rustle behind her. She turned round. Max’s ball of tinfoil had fallen off the bed, rolling out of his hand as he slept.

She could put some bleach in that. Fold the tinfoil into a bowl then pinch the top shut. She considered hiding it between her mattress and the wall, but that wouldn’t work. It would be too soft. If she rolled on it in the night it would disintegrate. She needed somewhere solid.

She looked around the room. At the toilet and the bucket. At the water jug. At the plastic basin. At the pile of Duplo Lego bricks. At the walk-in barrel bath and the pipe that drained out of the bottom and ran out of the room.

The pipe that was lower than the floor of the bath.

There was a hollow space between the base of the bath and the carpet where the drain and the pipes went. If she could prise up the base of the bath, she could store the bleach in there. It would break the seal which would mean the bath would leak and the man would know, but that didn’t matter. Bath day wasn’t until next Tuesday, by which time she wouldn’t care.

Either she’d have found a way out, or Max would be gone and she’d have drunk the bleach …

She walked over to the bath and looked down. The base was lined with plastic. At the sides was a line of white rubber. It was caulk – she’d helped her dad install their bath and recognized it from that. It was easy to apply and easy to remove.

She picked at it until she had a piece she could pull on. It came away quickly, and, when it was all up, she banged on the base. It came loose and she lifted it up. She looked at the pipes beneath.

Plastic. Not much use as a weapon.

But still, she smiled. Something, finally, had gone right.

She unwrapped the tinfoil, took the cap off the bleach and began to pour.

3

She took her pencil and the calendar. It was no longer necessary to mark the days, the calendar was all she could think of, but she did it anyway. It was a ritual, and rituals have power.

The door opened and she glanced up. Max was still sleeping. She was glad when she saw the man.

He was wearing his blue bathrobe. He stared at her, then picked up the tray – her food still uneaten – the bottles of blue liquid and bleach, and turned to the door.

For a moment she thought he was going to leave, but then he put the bottles and tray outside, closed the door, and walked into the middle of the room.

‘Put him on the floor,’ he said.

Maggie didn’t move.