Sara saw that the true child was Marion. She wondered whether to break into the reverie or let it pass and again looked to Elizabeth for instruction. This time the response was a shrug. Sara told herself there was no point in coming here if she did not at least try.

‘Did you live with Kareem, Marion?’

Marion stared into the middle distance. Using Sami’s information, Sara risked a further hunch. ‘Do you remember the place where you lived? Was it like a farm?’

‘A farm.’ Marion paused – it seemed she was now making a rational effort to remember. Her eyes lit up. ‘Yes. A big farm. Down in the dark valley. Hills all around. Our high table in the big hall.’

‘What was your high table for?’

‘It was exciting. He said it was our new mission. I would be his queen.’

‘What was the mission?’

Marion’s face distorted into an ugly combination of menace and thrill. ‘To find traitors. We were hunting traitors.’

‘Traitors to what?’

‘Traitors, traitors, traitors.’ Her eyes whipped past Sara and Elizabeth onto the interior wall opposite. ‘I went to see them in the cells. When he told me to.’

‘Was one of them called Sami?’

Marion concentrated ever more fiercely on the wall. Sara wondered whether she was hiding in its blank space or some kind of vision was appearing on it.

‘Yes, Sami. And others. I don’t know what happened.’

‘What did Kareem tell you to do?’

‘He wanted them to confess.’

‘Confess to what?’

‘Confess,’ she repeated, her voice draining away. Her face dropped, both hands closed over it, and a frantic nodding overwhelmed her. ‘There was screaming, the animals screaming,’ she wailed.

‘Enough,’ said Elizabeth quietly. She went over to her daughter, wrapped her arms around her body and pulled her close. ‘It’s all right, Marion.’ She stroked the back of her rocking head. ‘You don’t need to do this. You’re safe now.’ The agitation subsided; Marion sunk into her chair, reverting to the drooping figure Sara had seen when she’d entered the room.

Elizabeth pulled herself away. ‘Come into the kitchen, I’ll make coffee.’

‘Will she be all right?’

‘Yes, it’s not unusual. It used to be panic attacks, sweats, dizziness, racing heartbeats, yelling that she’s going to die. Now she tends to do this. Her way of coping, not as bad as it looks.’ She smiled weakly. ‘Sometimes I think she might mend.’

Elizabeth shut the kitchen door behind them – its top half was a broad pane of glass with Marion’s chair in its line of sight. ‘We’ll never know exactly what happened. The psychiatrists rather enjoy the mystery of the different causes of agoraphobia. And the different effects it can have. A sudden shock, violence, living under the constant oppression of a man like him—’

‘Did you believe he was violent?’