My heart thumped against my ribs. Azra had a plan, I realised that now. Whether she was conscious of this or not was irrelevant. I would buy a house and look after her, for the foreseeable future. Sexually she could do what she liked with me. In return, she’d keep her mouth shut. Never again, however, would I be able to sleep easy. She knew, and I knew, that she could break our Faustian bargain at any time. I could never escape.

Half an hour had passed. Azra was still snoring but soon she’d wake up. I didn’t have much time.

I removed the antlers and pulled off the blanket. Quietly, very quietly, I slid out my suitcase.

It took ten minutes to pack it with essentials. What were essentials? I was too flustered to gather my wits. The bathroom cabinet creaked as I opened it and grabbed my toiletries. In the wardrobe the hangers rattled as I pulled out some random clothes. Ah, my laptop! I’d nearly forgotten it. I shoved it, with its charger, on top of my clothes. The zip screeched as I pulled it round my bulging suitcase. I’d have to walk past Azra but the sofa faced away from my escape route to the front door.

I couldn’t risk the noise of the wheels so I carried the suitcase, as cumbersome as a human body, across the living room. I glimpsed the top of Azra’s hair, jutting above the back of the sofa.

I paused, to listen. She’d stopped snoring. Was she faking it? Nothing would surprise me any more.

The grey hair didn’t move. For a mad moment I thought it was a wig. Azra had laid it on top of the sofa and was actually standing behind me. Where do you think you’re going?

But by now I was by the front door, fumbling with my suitcase and shoulder bag while rifling amongst the layers of garments hanging on the hooks. It wouldn’t be warm forever; I’d need my winter coat.

Finally I got everything down the stairs. I had to make two trips. A few moments later I was outside in the street, loading my stuff into the car. I was breaking lockdown, of course, but that was the last thing on my mind.

Seven

Seven

‘I hope you don’t mind sleeping in Mother’s room,’ said Pam. ‘The others need a good old clear-out. I’ll get round to it one day. And the boxroom’s absolutely chocka, shall I show you? Look! There’s enough in here to last us months—pasta, tinned tomatoes, toilet rolls, flour, sugar, tins galore. We could feed an army! And, of course, now I can put my baking skills to good use. It’s so lovely you’re here, Pru, because it’s no fun baking on my ownsome and I know how you love my cakes.