I do not always have time to do my own developing, but it feels like cheating to hand the film on to be done by a professional’s apprentice.

As I poured in the fixer solution, I heard footsteps, and the sound of something being dragged across the floor.

“Don’t come in!” I called.

No one answered.

There is always a moment of excitement when seeing a picture emerge, as if by magic.

Recently, I bought a second-hand but more up-to-date enlarging box. I can make postcard-size prints from my negatives, using the daylight method. Thanks to the cellar door that led to the garden, it should have been easy to go out into the light and time my exposure, but the day was dull and I am still getting used to it.

There was something forlorn about the picture of the small heap of toys and shoes left behind after the closure and demolition of the children’s home. When my efforts were clipped to dry, I felt satisfied. That was enough for now.

After clearing up, I turned to leave the room, and made to open the door. It was stuck. Perhaps because of this room being small, the door opened outwards. Or it would open outwards if I could do it. I pushed harder. No movement. Something was stopping it. I put my shoulder against the door and pushed as hard as I could.

This was not just annoying, it felt humiliating. How could I end up fastened in a room without a lock?

Milly knew I was here. Raynor knew I had come back. Alec would have seen my car.

Someone would come.

After listening for footsteps and hearing nothing, I began to knock. I knocked until my knuckles were sore. I shouted, took off a shoe, banged with that.

And then I waited. It was hard to believe that I was trapped. I tried the door again, absurdly expecting it to move this time. Something was holding it firmly shut. Once more I banged, with the heel of my hand.

I could imagine the conversation between Gertrude and Benjie. She has become very odd. Doing nothing but snap, snap, snap, ignoring the fact that she is a guest. Refuses church, goes with a servant to chapel, marches in procession to the prison. Snap, snap and snap again, taking over the cellar, treating the place as a hotel.

And now, Benjie would know where I had been this afternoon. Raynor would have given him an account.

A cellar is a terribly silent place. This felt like a tomb. It was reassuring to hear, briefly, the groan of pipes somewhere.

There is nothing dangerous about the chemicals I use for developing my pictures. Yet the smell now seemed overpowering. I began to feel slightly dizzy, needing to sit down. The only place to sit was the floor. Once more I banged on the door, once more—no reply.