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‘About me being safe. In here.’

‘Exactly.’ The faint smile swelled into a grin. ‘I knew you’d start to understand, eventually.’

‘I needed time to consider it.’ She smiled back. It took a huge effort. ‘Tell me more. About how you decided on all of this.’

The man nodded. He gripped the key in his fingers, the chain taut.

‘Of course,’ he said, a look of something like triumph in his eyes. ‘Of course I will, Fruitcake.’

5

He turned, and bent down to put the key in the lock. As soon as his eyes left her, she sprang off the mattress and threw herself across the room.

She hit his back, hard. He was much bigger than her but he was off balance and his head smashed into the door. He twisted away from her and she slammed her knee into his balls. His eyes widened and he puffed out his cheeks, then groaned and clutched his groin. He sank back on to his haunches, his face pale.

Maggie tried the handle.

It turned, and the door opened. Ahead of her wooden stairs led up into blackness.

To a hatch of some kind.

To freedom.

She had done it.

She ran up, her hands over her head, feeling for the way out.

And felt a hand on her ankle, pulling her back. Pulling her back hard.

The hand yanked and her foot slipped, and then she was being dragged backwards down the stairs and back into the room.

The man threw her on to the mattress. He stood over her, his face purple with pain and rage.

‘You lying fucking bitch!’ he screamed. ‘You’re not my Fruitcake! You’re not my Fruitcake at all!’

He stamped his right foot on the floor.

‘I’m going now,’ he shouted. ‘I’m going before I do something I regret.’ He stepped backwards and kicked the tray across the room. ‘But I’ll be back. You needn’t worry about that, Margaret. I’ll be back before you know it.’

He walked out and slammed the door.

Seconds later the light went out.

6

It was dark – black, black dark – for a long time. She didn’t know how long, exactly. Many hours, certainly. Days, probably.

Long enough to get very, very hungry.

But that was the least of her concerns. It was the thirst that tortured her. It was all she could think of. Her tongue swelled in her mouth and visions of glasses of cold water swam in front of her eyes. She reached for them, her hands groping in the darkness for a drink that did not exist. The only liquid she tasted was the salt tears that ran down her cheeks.

And then she heard the scraping sound. The light came on. She squinted, the brightness hurting her eyes.

The door opened. The man was stood there, something in his hand.

A tray, she thought. With food and drink.

But it wasn’t a tray.