Stumbling into the bedroom, Fergus pulled the gag from the girl’s mouth and leaned down to see her clearly.

‘Emily,’ he whispered. ‘I can’t find something. What is it?’

The girl squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head.

‘No, Emily, you have to help me.’ He shook her shoulders. ‘Open your eyes now.’

‘I’m not Emily,’ she said. ‘You’re insane.’

He sat up.

‘Then who are you?’

The girl opened her eyes. They were a different colour than he’d been expecting.

‘I’m Meggy,’ she said. ‘I’m Meggy, and you took me away from my dad. I want to go home now.’

‘What happened to Emily?’ he asked.

Meggy sobbed and shut her eyes again.

‘Did Emily run away?’ Fergus asked.

The girl screamed. She screamed in his face, then turned her head and screamed into the floor. The woman next to her groaned and dribbled blood from the corner of her mouth. Fergus looked up at the hole in the ceiling. That’s where they’d come from. The flat above. Perhaps that was where he’d left … the thing he’d forgotten.

‘Be quiet now, Emily,’ he said, slipping the gag back over the girl’s mouth.

She simply continued screaming into the wad of material. He decided to let her. Negotiating was exhausting.

He took the final flight of stairs one by one. Muscle memory kicked in and he stepped towards the upper peephole. The view inside was a bleary grey. The right-hand side of the corridor was completely obscured. Fergus took the key from the ring on his belt and opened up. The door budged three inches then jammed. He put his shoulder against it and shoved harder. There was another inch of movement, but the door rebelled, springing back to hit him in the face. He recoiled angrily and kicked it.

‘Let me in!’ Fergus yelled. ‘You can’t shut me out. This is my place, d’you hear me?’

He stood, head cocked to one side. Giving a final kick, he stormed off down the stairs to the ground floor, out of the kitchen door and into the tumbledown garden shed. Minutes later, he was on the stairs again.

He swung the axe high over his shoulder, bringing it down into the upper panel of the door with crushing force. The wood groaned and splintered but refused to break. Changing his grip, Fergus gritted his teeth and went again. This time the blade made some headway into the surface.

He moved to the left and swung again and again. The sound of splitting wood was music each time he pulled out the axe. Finally, he was able to damage enough of the upper panel that he could chop vertically downwards into the lower panel. He muttered encouragement to himself as he swung, each blow a monumental effort, but the pain was clean, refreshing, and real.