I grappled for the pictures, trying to wrest them from his grasp. He pinned me down and threw one leg over the top of me. I couldn’t move.

‘That’s not all. Let’s have a look through the other envelope before we decide which one’s the best.’ I squirmed under his weight. He flicked a couple more photos in front of my face.

Who was the woman with James? Why was he showing me James kissing some random person? They were on a railway platform, boarding a train, hand in hand. Through the train doors I could see they were kissing.

‘Let me up, you shitty bastard. Let me up.’ I screamed, kicking and thrashing with futile effort. His huge hand reached for his zip and the other hand ripped my trousers apart. A small button catapulted against the wall. My bladder emptied in fear but that only excited him further.

‘Oops. Wetting me already,’ he sneered as he released his manhood and pinned me down.

‘Mitch was impressed with the pictures. You’ll not see him again.’ Oliver’s breath came in rancid gasps and red wine bled from his stained lips. A caustic odour seeped from his pores and I prayed I would vomit. I screamed out until he covered my mouth with his arm.

‘I don’t think anyone’ll hear you,’ he spat. ‘The landlord passed us on the stairs on his way out. Remember?’

I could see the chain pulled across on the door but it was slightly ajar. I hadn’t released the Yale lock so the door hung loose, swaying on its hinges.

Oliver thrust into me and time stood still. I was trapped in a nightmare, unable to move; paralysed. I counted down from a thousand, willing the time to pass and for me to wake up. I would wake up soon. I always did.

It’s hard to piece together, into any coherent timescale, what happened next. I must have awoken from the nightmare, jolted alert by the breaking of the chain. The door smashed back against the wall as semen from my assailant spurted over my face. I threw up at that moment; a minute too late. The intruder grabbed the long pole which opened the skylight and swung it hard across Oliver’s back, skimming his skull with the hook.

I couldn’t piece together what was happening. I saw a small familiar overnight bag atop the coffee table, alongside the mess of photographs. Someone had come to stay. I ran into my bedroom while the two men wrestled in the living room and opened my bedside drawer. I lifted out a wallet, my passport and a bank book. There was nothing else to take except a couple of pieces of jewellery and my car keys. I changed my ripped trousers for denim jeans and threw on a hooded sweatshirt, leaving my sodden underpants on the floor.