It’s strange where your mind takes you in a situation like this. The first thing it compelled me to do was pace out the room and measure its size. Then I walked around the entire room rubbing my hands against the brickwork to see if I could find any feature or detail that might allow me a better mental picture of the basement. The walls were damp to the touch and occasionally, as I felt my way, little lumps of mortar or plaster would drop onto the floor. I picked up the bucket and had a good smell of its plastic surfaces. I turned the bucket upside down and climbed on top of it to see if I could inspect the airbrick, but it was just beyond my reach. I crawled up the concrete steps to the door to the rest of the house. It was locked solid and definitely impossible for me to open. I couldn’t locate a handle or a keyhole. I turned on the tap and lowered my mouth to take a gulp of water; it was cold at first but then ran slightly lukewarm. It tasted metallic and the taste seemed to cling to the walls of my mouth and my tongue. I opened a snack bar and took a bite. I think it involved oats and blueberries but the overall sensation was of eating a square of damp and abandoned plasterboard.

Then I couldn’t think of anything else to do, so I put the bobble hat back on and sat down on the concrete floor. My arse bones started to panic almost immediately. My problem was that I had left the flat wearing a pair of stiletto-heeled shoes that Grace had given me to go with the trouser suit. My DMs were in my rucksack which was still in Tommy’s car. How I wished I had them now. My feet were freezing and aching due to the stilettos, but if I sat on the concrete, within minutes my arse would cry out for relief. My compromise was to alternate between sitting and standing, with my feet forced deeply inside the bobble hat at all times.