It took a few minutes for the stench to subside, but eventually Elspeth stepped out of the shower and took a small towel from the radiator.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said quietly as she rubbed herself dry.

‘That’s okay,’ Meggy told her. ‘Do you have any clean clothes anywhere?’

‘Pyjamas, in the bedroom. I’ll wrap the towel around for now. His name’s Fergus.’

‘Fergus,’ Meggy repeated. ‘Did he tell you that? Only it might not be his real name. He wouldn’t tell you his real name in case you escaped. Then you’d be able to identify him to the police straight away and they’d find his address …’

‘I don’t know if it’s real,’ Elspeth murmured. ‘But we got married. He said it all had to be legal and binding.’

‘You’re married?’

‘Not in a church. We did it here. He made me put on a dress and …’ Her words got swallowed between a breath and a cry, the noise a seagull might have made.

There were too many questions in her head. About Fergus. About the wedding. What he’d done to Elspeth. If he’d hurt Elspeth. If Elspeth thought he was going to hurt Meggy, too. But she didn’t want to hear the answers. She knew that sooner or later, she’d end up asking anyway. But not yet. Not while she could barely stand and her whole world had become comic book quicksand.

‘Show me everything,’ Meggy said. Lamp, hands joined, onwards.

She tolerated playing mum and pulled Elspeth along behind her, lamp tucked under one arm as she used her free hand to follow the path of the wall through the door, across the hallway, bend down, find the socket. Plug in the lamp. It flickered then lit up the room. Meggy made a mental note to be careful with it. Break the bulb and they were in for a long, dark night.

Disentangling herself from Elspeth, Meggy waited for her eyes to understand the room. It was a painting. All of it. A rectangular room, much like a sitting room in any other flat, but the windows …

Meggy stepped forward to run her hand across the wall, reassuring her eyes that they hadn’t disconnected from her brain.

‘They’re painted. Badly. He just painted windows onto the walls. Why would he do that? There won’t be any light. I don’t understand.’ She looked at Elspeth, who shrugged uselessly.

Crude squares with the outlines of waving curtains at each side attempted to give the illusion of a blue sky and green fields beyond their glass. The cruel cartoon was badly rendered. The paint had run, as if the windows themselves were crying at the sickness of the world they hid.