There was nowhere to hide.

Hurry-hurry-hurry.

‘Come on.’

But Marie was swaying on her feet, drained and wan.

‘Just a bit further.’ Carly half-dragged her sister through the next corridor, which opened up into something Carly recognized from Mr Webster’s class.

The ballroom.

There were three large holes in the ceiling where the chandeliers had been yanked down. Glittering shards of glass blanketed the floor. She remembered feet dancing across plush carpet that now lay in shreds, some of it burned, the red pattern dull, the cream part filthy.

In the middle of the room, a huge pile of empty boxes, wooden pallets, faded floral curtains, as though someone had gathered the rubbish for a bonfire.

Outside, the sound of an engine, squealing tyres, brakes, a slamming door.

‘Where the fuck are they?’

Moustache had arrived.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Leah

Now

Beetles.

Archie’s tray is crawling with beetles.

Instantly I am back in the cold and the damp and the dark. Insects in my hair, my mouth. Sharp feet scuttling over my skin. One plummeting down my throat, meeting the scream that rose.

The smell.

The sound.

The knowing they were there but unable to see them in the blackness.

Now I can see, in the light, bright cloakroom. The tray has slipped from my fingertips. The beetles scurry over the shoes that I will feel compelled to throw away.

‘Leah!’ George pulls me away, back into the classroom as Rebecca runs towards us.

‘What’s happened?’ she asks, a worried look on her face as her eyes flicker between me and George. I don’t answer.

I can’t.

My body is here but my mind is back in Norwood. Back in the place that was worse than the room we were first held captive in. The place with scratching rats and glowing eyes. My vision tunnels until all I can see is a pinprick of light, and then nothing.

‘I am so sorry.’ Rebecca can’t stop apologizing. We are in the staffroom. She offers me a glass of water. I shake my head. I can’t hold it in my hand that still shakes violently and anyway, I wouldn’t be able to drink from the glass. ‘It’s the damp. We’ve had a problem with insects coming in now the weather’s turned. There’s a small hole they scurry through. Someone’s coming out next week to have a look.’

‘It’s not your fault.’ George assures her again.

‘Sometimes the children hide their snacks in their trays too. It doesn’t help…’ She looks mortified.

‘Honestly, don’t worry. Leah, are you okay to stand?’

I’m not sure of the answer but still I nod.

George helps me out to the car.

He pulls out of the car park and I shrink in my seat. Night has drawn in and every approaching car looks black. We don’t talk, the Nineties radio show a low drone.

Steps begin to sing ‘5, 6, 7, 8’. I wrap my cardigan tighter, convinced it’s a sign that I’m right. That he’s somehow been to Archie’s nursery and planted those filthy beetles in my baby’s tray. I should have asked if there were any visits from the maintenance men today.