I retch and stagger back through the kitchen and out into the hallway. I stand looking at the two doors that lead off to the left. I open the first one and step inside. The smell is different here, a sweet, musty scent that reminds me of a perfume my mum used to wear when I was a child. She used to douse herself in it and Dad would tell her she smelt like she’d ‘raided the perfume counter in Selfridges’. Dad meant it as a joke but Mum used to get upset. Any little comment like that would set her off. She would sulk for hours and Dad would try to coax her with freshly baked biscuits or suggest we all go for a nice walk on the heath. But once my mother got into a bad mood there was no shaking her out of it. I push my parents to the back of my mind as I look at the room I’ve entered. The bare walls are painted a pale-blue colour, like a hospital waiting room. It’s empty except for a pile of sheets and blankets in the corner. I step towards them tentatively. There could be rats or mice under there. Or worse.

I prod the pile of blankets with my foot. Thankfully there’s no sign of life. I breathe out. Every nerve in my body is on edge. I crouch down to see if any of the blankets are salvageable. They don’t smell as bad as the ones in the living room. I lift the top one off and see a khaki sleeping bag beneath. I lift it up and press it to my face. It smells of damp and must. Then I hear an ear-piercing scream.

Joe.

I drop the sleeping bag and run to the living room. He’s standing in the doorway, his face red and swollen with tears.

‘It’s okay, Joe,’ I say. ‘Mummy was just in the kitchen.’

But he’s inconsolable.

Then I notice the dark patch on his blue joggers.

‘Oh, darling, it’s okay,’ I say, taking his hand in mine. ‘Let’s go and get washed.’

As soon as the words are out of my mouth, it hits me. There is no bathroom, no proper toilet or bath or shower. I have fresh clothes for Joe and a couple of packets of wet wipes in my handbag but he’s going to need a proper clean and the only source of water is the great bloody lake out the front.

‘Hey,’ I say, crouching down so my eyes are level with his. ‘Would you like to play a game?’

He shakes his head furiously.

‘Come on,’ I say, scooping him up into my arms. ‘It’ll be fun.’

‘Not want game,’ he shouts, smashing his fists into my shoulder. ‘Want Daddy. Want to go home.’

Unable to withstand any more punches, I put him down then go and retrieve my suitcase from the entrance. Luckily, I packed some towels in case there weren’t any here. Little did I know they would be the least of my worries. I pull out a large bath towel and a flannel.