I was shocked when I heard this. I didn’t think Isobel had it in her to be a thief. And what about the vicar? He didn’t deserve that. All he was doing was looking out for his daughter. I didn’t say this to Isobel though, just listened as she told me how she wanted me to come and keep a lookout while she and Steve made their escape.

‘You know how to look after yourself,’ she said to me, gesturing to the bloodstains on the doss bag. ‘If my father follows us I’ll just go to pieces, but if you’re there you can threaten him.’

She stopped then and looked down at her hands. She was twisting the sleeve of her coat between her fingers.

‘Threaten him?’ I asked, still not sure quite why the vicar needed to be dealt with like this.

‘Just keep him distracted,’ she said, still twisting her sleeve. ‘So Steve and I can get away.’

She stopped crying then and looked at me. Her face was so sad it made my heart hurt. But I couldn’t promise her anything, so I told her I’d think about it and give her my answer tomorrow. She said she understood, then she got up, hugged me, told me I was the best friend anyone could ever wish for and that if I helped her she’d be grateful to me for ever. That was strange to hear, though it was quite nice too as it meant that she would always be my friend.

However, when she left I started to feel uneasy. I went over what she’d told me again and again in my head and the more I thought about it the more I felt that it was Steve who was making Isobel do this. He was a bad influence on her. Isobel loved her father and she loved her home. Now she was going to have to leave both and it was all down to him. I felt sorry for the vicar. He just wanted what was best for his daughter, like all fathers do. And that made me think of him, the man I used to call Sarge. Maybe that’s why he did what he did, because he wanted the best for me. And instead of sticking around and asking him, I’d just bolted.

The sun is fully up now and I have made a decision. I’m going to try to forget about the room and the torture, the book and the mother in the desert, and go back to the house. One last time.

35

Lisa

I stand on the side of the road and watch as Isobel’s car disappears over the brow of the hill. We had driven through the village in silence. Isobel kept her eyes fixed on the road ahead, her hands gripping the steering wheel tightly as though fearful the car would skid off into a ditch of its own accord.

She was polite when we left the car, smiled at Joe, said she was glad we’d enjoyed the party, though there was a frostiness that hadn’t been there before, a sense that I’d offended her in some way, though I couldn’t for the life of me think how.