By this point my arms had gone so numb it felt like they’d disconnected from my body. I tried to focus on Sarge’s voice cos it was the only solid thing. And then, all of a sudden, it stopped. He stopped. I heard his footsteps on the stone floor and then he began to untie me. My arms were like jelly and flopped by my side. Sarge just stood there, looking at me. His face was completely blank. It was like he was looking at a stranger. I wanted him back. I wanted my dad back.

‘Sarge,’ I said, my voice trembling with nerves. ‘Can we … can we stop now? I’ve learned my lesson. I promise you I’ll never do it again.’

I was saying what he wanted to hear, not what I believed because I didn’t know what lesson I’d needed to learn or what I’d done wrong. But I didn’t want to stay in that room. I wanted to get out and see what had happened outside, see if Isobel was all right.

Maybe he read my mind because instead of letting me out he just shook his head and said I had to carry on looking in that mirror to remember who I was and what I could become. ‘What are you?’ he cried. ‘A good soldier or a sheep? It’s your choice.’

He left me then and I lay curled up on my side staring at myself in that bloody mirror. As the hours passed I memorized every little bit of my face: the dark eyes swollen with tears, the long nose with the bump at the bridge, same as Sarge’s, the lips chapped from lack of water. But though I stared and stared as hard as I could, what I saw wasn’t a good soldier or a sheep. I saw me, a scared little kid, crying for her daddy to come and set her free.

In the end he did come. He brought with him a plate of bread and dripping and a mug of tepid water. I was so famished I wolfed it down within seconds, almost choking as I stuffed it into my mouth. When I’d finished I told him once again that I’d learned my lesson. I even lied and said that I’d seen a good soldier in that mirror, seen the person I had been and the person I still could be. I told him that I was ready to leave this place, ready to get back to normal, but he just shrugged his shoulders, picked up the empty plate and cup, and headed for the door.

I screamed then, begged him to let me out, but it was hopeless. I knew that by the expression on his face when he got to the door and turned to look at me.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said, his voice all husky and quiet. ‘But I’m afraid I can’t let you out. You see, this is just the beginning. And believe me, girl, you’re going to wish that you’d never been born.’