It rings and rings.

‘Please answer, Isobel,’ I mutter under my breath. ‘Please.’

But she doesn’t answer and, after a pause, I hear an automated voice asking me to leave a message.

‘Isobel, it’s Lisa,’ I say, trying to catch my breath. ‘I’m at the house and … Mark was here when we got back. He’s taken Joe and locked me in the room upstairs. Please come and help me … if you … when you get this message. Please.’

It cuts off and I’m left holding the phone in my hands, staring impotently at the screen as it fades from light to dark. I press the screen. It stays dark. The battery has gone.

Fuck.

I have to get out of here. There must be another way out. A window or something.

I step further into the room and shine the torch into each corner, finding nothing but dust and spider’s webs. There’s no light trickling into the room but that might be because the moon has gone behind a cloud. There must be a window here somewhere. The problem is that the ceiling is curved in such a way it’s impossible to see clearly from this angle. I switch the torch on again then spot a wooden chair in the corner of the room.

I lift the chair and ease it closer to the wall. It wobbles as I climb on but I steady myself by putting my hand on the back of it. Once I’m up there I turn off the torch and squint to adjust my eyes. A faint silver light trickles down on to the floor from above. From this angle I can see a wide ledge running round the edge of the ceiling. I place my palms on the ledge and ease myself forward. Following the diminishing trail of light, I look up to the right and see a tiny, rectangular window just within reaching distance.

The window is thick with grime and dust and has an old-fashioned iron stay that juts out at an angle, away from the frame. Taking the stay in one hand, I push at the glass with the other. It’s stiff with dirt but after a couple of tries it finally yields and I’m met with a shock of cold air.

Leaning forward, I open the window wider and poke my head out. I can see the hills in front of me and the outline of the cages in the garden. So this room is at the back of the house then. If it was at the front I could have shouted towards the road, shone the torch, hoped some motorist would notice and come to help. But out this way is just an expanse of wilderness with only the rabbits and foxes to hear my cries.

Still, I have to try. There could be someone out there, a hunter or poacher, some overenthusiastic rambler taking a midnight stroll. The window is too small to climb through but I push my body as far out as possible and scream at the top of my voice.