She wasn’t. At least she hadn’t been until she had been locked down in the cellar. But, of course, she couldn’t tell Rosie that.

‘Come on, Hannah. It’s just a silly cellar. I’d go myself, but my knees play me up. We can’t have the barbecue without my special pickled sauce.’

‘I’ll go,’ Rosie offered.

‘No, I need you to help me lay the table. You do such a lovely job. Hannah will go and get the sauce, won’t you, Hannah?’

Mrs W’s tone was firm. There would be no arguing with her, and Hannah was actually more fearful of any consequences than she was of the cellar. She wouldn’t get locked down there this time. Not while Rosie was here. Mrs W wouldn’t dare, would she? Not in front of witnesses.

‘I’ll go.’

Her legs were jelly as she descended the stairs, the familiar dank dusty air threatening to paralyse her. With each step she took, the more light-headed she felt, and she was scared she was going to pass out, topple down the stairs.

She clung on to the banister.

Breathe, Hannah.

The only light came from the open door, Mrs W telling her that the bulb in the cellar was broken, and as she neared the bottom, she glanced frantically at the shelves.

‘Can you see it?’

Mrs W’s voice sounded so far above, but she heard the goading tone.

Hannah saw jars, but couldn’t make out what was written on them. ‘It’s too dark. I can’t read the labels.’

‘Give it a moment. Your eyes will adjust.’

She didn’t want to wait. She just wanted to find the jar and get out of the cellar.

‘I’ll go help her look.’

‘No, Rosie. I need you to start taking things outside. Can you do that for me?’

‘Yes, Mrs W.’

No, don’t go, Rosie.

Hannah glanced back up the stairs, could see Mrs W standing in the doorway watching her.

‘I can’t find it. Please let me come back up now.’

‘It’s just a jar, Hannah. For goodness’ sake. Do you really want me to have to come down these stairs?’

There was that edge to her voice now, that suggested Hannah was annoying her. She didn’t want to make her angry.

‘I’m trying to find it.’ She could hear the panic in her voice and tried to keep calm.

She pulled down a jar to read the wording, blinking and trying to make her eyes adjust. She managed to make out the words blackberry jam. No, that wasn’t it.

As she put the jar back, there was a shuffling sound behind her.

Please don’t be Mr Bennett. Please don’t be Mr Bennett.

She didn’t dare turn around and look.

‘Have you found it yet?’ Mrs W sounded impatient. ‘Try the bottom shelf.’