As she got nearer to the house she could hear a dull thudding.

It was relentless. He was beating the door with his fists. Again and again.

She looked around her. The only window was high up in the end wall above the toilet cistern. It was double-glazed, but the top of it opened. Could she get through it? It looked tight. But she’d give it a bloody good go. Clambering on top of the cistern, with the sound of fist on wood behind her, she tried to pull the metal handle upwards. Was it just stiff? She almost wrenched her arm out of its socket trying to force it open. But it was no good. It was locked.

The key. Where was the key? It must be here somewhere. She climbed down from the toilet cistern and started to rummage frantically through the assortment of old shampoo bottles and shaving kit. Behind her she could still hear hammering, but now the noise was heavier. The sound of metal on wood. This was it. There was no way out.

Fuller had killed Beth. And he’d killed Crabby too. And now it was her turn. She slumped down on the toilet seat, her head in her hands. On the verge of tears, she found herself mumbling, ‘Crabby, oh, Crabby. Where were your gods when you needed them?’

Then somewhere in the distance she thought she heard someone yelling. She lifted her head up. It was a male voice. She recognised it. It sounded like Mark Stone. Jo’s text. She’d said, ‘We’re coming.’ Jo and Stone. They were here. Clare felt a sudden rush of fury. Fuller wasn’t going to get her. He wasn’t going to make her his next victim. Because she wasn’t going to bloody well let him.

Looking back towards the door for the first time, she saw there was a floor-to-ceiling cupboard built in at the end of the bath. She had no idea what she was hoping to find. But when she opened the cupboard door she discovered a washing machine and tumble dryer stacked one on top of the other.

For a second the hammering stopped. She could hear Fuller in the kitchen, his breathing now coming in erratic bursts. He was dragging something heavy. Scraping it across the tiled floor.

She had no idea how she would do it but if she could just drag the washing machine and tumble dryer out of the cupboard and in front of the bathroom door she might be able to keep Fuller out for long enough to let Stone and Jo get to her. She grabbed the sides of the washing machine, desperately trying to get some sort of grip. She heaved with all her might and it shuddered, but it was jammed. It was wedged on the bloody bathroom lino. What the hell was she going to do?