‘But each day he got a little weaker and a little less focused. He’d drift off. Staring at nothing. Stop talking halfway through a word. Coughing all the time, and sneezing and sweating. He got twitchy. Would suddenly laugh at nothing and then get scared or sad. Drinking more and more. Sometimes I’d watch him when he didn’t know I was looking, and he’d be talking to himself. Eventually he couldn’t leave the farm. He was too weak. So I put him upstairs in the farmhouse where he’d be safe. It got so I hated to be in there with him, listening to him shouting and screaming and muttering all through the night, screeching with laughter. I moved into the barn, left him alone in the house.

‘I got used to it in there, with the sky above me, and I got used to being able to hear everything that was going on in the outside world. Birds in the trees, dogs in the fields, grown-ups coming past. Roy screaming. I felt at home there. I really was becoming half wild. Somehow Roy was holding on. Days went past. I’d go out in the day – I didn’t need to stay hidden from the light like grown-ups – wandering in the fields and woods, fishing in the lakes. Keeping out of Roy’s way. We ate together and that was about it. He stopped talking too eventually. We were like two animals sharing a kill.

‘One morning I went down to the lakes at Virginia Water. You remember where those weird sort of Roman ruins are? It was beautiful. The sun was just coming up and I undressed and washed myself. Something I never did. Took all my filthy, crusty clothes off and washed them too. And for the first time since the attack I saw myself naked, reflected in the water. Saw what my body looked like. It was awful. I was this broken thing. I was tempted not to get dressed again, to wade out into the lake and go under. I don’t know, water always does that to me. Like it’s calling to me. “Malik … Malik … Come to me, let me give you rest …”’ He gave a little snort of laughter.