Even though she fought to stay awake, a strange tiredness overcame her too and, lulled by the soporific beating of the waves against the shore, she fell into yet another deep sleep.

She awoke what must have been hours later, with her face in the direction of where she’d seen Jay enter and leave the cave and from where she caught the occasional whiff of fresh air. The rotting smell that surrounded her was overpowering. She strained her ears to hear every breath that was not her own, every cough and wince of pain from the man who’d told her he was her granddaddy. The panic rose in her chest and threatened to choke her as she shook off the half sleep and was once again fully aware of where she was and who she was with. She took deep breaths, and, closing her eyes, placed herself back in her home, with Nicholas, in the avenue.

‘Nicholas…’ She whispered his name, imagined her arm linked in his as they walked around the lake in the park, her holding Jet’s lead as the mischievous dog trotted beside them, sensing their happiness, content. She pictured them sitting listening to the band on a warm Sunday afternoon as Jet dozed across her feet and Nicholas held one of her hands in his lap, using both of his. If she tried hard enough, she could imagine he was lying next to her and that if she just reached out her hand, she would touch him.

Her eyes opened wide. There was a noise, a crack – like a whip. No, it was a stone, a voice, a man’s voice. She pushed herself up onto her side; raised up like that, she could smell the whiskey fumes coming off Jay and filling the air. His chest rumbled in his stupor. She held her breath; there was no other noise, but she could hear voices out on the beach.

If she shouted out, she would alert her captors, but if she stayed quiet, how would she ever be found? She tried to shuffle along on her side, starting first with her bound feet, moving one heel and then the next a few inches to the side. She lifted her backside, and, finally, her shoulders followed. She had moved maybe four inches; she was yards from the entrance. Tears of frustration filled her eyes. Admonishing herself for being feeble, she did it again. Grit on the hard stone floor pierced her elbows like needles but she made not a sound.

Listening hard to see had she been heard, she was met by a black void of silence. She held her breath, blinked. His breathing had gone quiet. There was no constant gnashing of teeth or terrifying screams of pain. She focused her hearing; she was right. The loud whiskey-snores were coming from one man – Jay. She lifted her feet again and followed the same routine: another few inches. Three moves, one foot; three feet, one yard. She steeled herself for the next painful shuffle. Not far to freedom, she told herself: ten yards, the entrance.