Lorna’s only hope lay in going on the offensive. A stripe of burning pain crossed her left leg just below the knee-cap, indicating an open wound. She guessed it would hurt even more to put weight on that limb – and it did, severely, so much that the leg almost buckled – but she still catapulted herself forward off it, bypassing the flailing knife, trapping the hand that held it in her left armpit, and slamming her right fist into the newcomer’s left eye socket.

The balaclava-covered head hinged backward, though it was a miracle that, whoever this was, they stayed upright, given that Lorna routinely trained with twenty-pound weights. It was even more of a miracle that the newcomer had enough fight left to retaliate in kind, landing a punch on the side of Lorna’s head that sounded like an explosion in her skull. As Lorna staggered, her opponent fly-kicked her, catching her hip, sending her tottering. Lorna slithered through the gory smears covering the tiled floor, rebounded from the bed – a blow that itself accounted for a rib or two – and landed on her front, the air bursting from her lungs.

The mingled stenches of sweat and blood now befouled the air of the enclosed space.

‘You bitch,’ came a strained, hissing voice.

Wheezing, Lorna lurched over. The newcomer was less than a yard away, still wielding the knife but struggling with a left eye that had already swollen closed.

‘You fucking bitch!’ The knife soared upward in both hands, the intent clearly to plunge it into Lorna’s throat and rip her open to the groin.

Lorna moved like lightning, and the blade struck the tiled floor with such force that a tile exploded, and the knife skipped loose. Back on her feet, Lorna attempted another kick. The newcomer again caught her ankle, lifting it. Lorna fell onto her tailbone, the juddering impact of which sliced through her. The newcomer swung a kick at Lorna’s face. Lorna dodged, and the boot sailed past, a shinbone cracking on the edged steel of the bed-frame. The newcomer hopped away in disbelieving agony.

Scrambling to the nearest wall and using it to lever herself up again, Lorna was now dabbled all over in blood and hurting in half a dozen places. She’d been hit more times today than in the whole rest of her life. And it wasn’t over yet. Tireless and determined, the masked figure came at her again, firing in another ferocious punch. Lorna ducked away, and with a meaty smack the flying fist struck the brick wall.

But Lorna knew that constantly running was of no value when there was nowhere to run to. As her agonised foe jerked around to face her, she did something she’d only ever seen drunken hooligans do: she launched herself forward, headbutting her opponent clean on the bridge of the nose.

It was surprisingly effective.