It was different from the other houses, because it was set back from the road, and accessible by a rotting double gate, which hung loosely from its hinges and creaked every time the wind gusted. I pushed it open. This was my last task. In a few minutes, I would be through with this; I would have done everything that I could. Inside was a yard, full of iced-up potholes. It was littered with objects that loomed out at me in the darkness a pile of sawdust, a wheelbarrow, a rusty trailer, a stack of rubber tyres, a couple of what looked like storage heaters, a chair, lying on its back with a leg missing. The house was to the left of the yard a two-storey, red-brick building, with a small porch over its front door. There was a broken terra cotta pot in the porch, and a pair of large rubber boots, which for a moment made me hope that the man was in after all. I pressed the bell at the side of the door but couldn't hear the sound of its ring, so I hammered with my fists instead, and waited, stamping my feet to keep the feeling in them. Nothing. No one came. I pressed my ear to the door and listened. I couldn't hear a sound.
So that was the end of that. I turned round again to face the yard, which I looked at properly for the first time. I realized that this was an old stableyard. Under the clear sky, I could just make out the individual horse boxes and, when I looked closer, there were still names written above each doorway in fading capital letters. Spider, Bonnie, Douglas, Bungle, Caspian, Twinkle. But there were no horses here any longer, and obviously hadn't been for a long time. Many of the doors were missing. Instead of straw and manure, I could smell oil, paint, mechanical things. An upper door of one of the horse boxes hung open; inside it was dark, full of objects paint tins, planks, panes of glass. Instead of the whinny and snort of horses, there was thick silence.
Then I heard a sound. I thought it came from the low building at the other side of the yard, opposite the house. Perhaps the landlord was here, after all. I took a few steps in the direction of the sound. I still wasn't scared. Not really.
"Hello?" I called. "Hello, is anyone home?"
Nobody replied. I stood still and listened. I could hear cars in the distance; somewhere music was playing, the faint pulse of its bass quivering in the night air.
"Hello?"
I went across to the building and stood outside, hesitating. It was made of breeze blocks and wood and had no windows. The tall door was held shut by a heavy latch. There was another sound, like a long hum or groan. I held my breath and heard it again.
"Is anyone there?" I called.
I lifted the latch and pushed the heavy door till it swung open enough for me to peer inside. But it was cold and dark almost pitch black, out of the moonshine. There was no one in here, after all, except perhaps an animal. I thought about bats, and mice, and then I thought about rats, always nearby, growing large and bloated on rotten food and dead animals, creeping about under the floorboards, with their sharp yellow teeth and thick tails ... I heard the sound again as the door creaked, blown by the wind.
Gradually I could make out dim shapes inside the building: straw bales heaped up at one end, a machine like an old plough near me. Something indistinguishable at the end. What was it? I edged forward. The door shut behind me and I put out my hands. There was damp straw under my feet now.
"Hello," I said again. My voice sounded small and wavery; it floated in the air. There was a smell in my nostrils now; a smell of shit and piss.
"I'm here," I said. "I'm here." I took a few more steps, on legs that felt as weak as bits of string and weighed down by the boulder of terror in my chest. "Jo?" I said. "Jo? It's me, Abbie."
She was seated on straw bales at the end of the building, just a dark outline in the dark air. I felt for her: thin shoulder beneath my hands. She smelt rank of fear and shit and stale sweat. I put my hands higher and felt the rough fabric where her face should be. She was making small noises through the cloth, and her body jerked at my touch. I put my hand up to her throat and felt the wire there. I felt round her back and there was stiff, cold rope twisted around her wrists and leading back away from her body, towards the wall behind her. When I tugged violently at it, it pulled taut but didn't give. She had been tethered like a horse.
"Ssh," I murmured. "It's OK." A high noise came out of her shrouded face. "Don't struggle, don't do anything. I'll do it. I'll rescue you. Oh, please, please, stay still."
I pulled at the hood. My fingers were shaking so badly that I couldn't do it at first, but eventually I tugged it up, over her head. I couldn't see her face in the darkness and her hair was just a greasy tangle under my fingers. Her cheeks were icy and wet with tears. She kept making the same high-pitched noise, like an animal stuck fast in a trap.
"Sssh," I hissed. "Keep quiet, please, shut up. I'm trying."
I untwisted the wire round her throat. It seemed to be attached from the ceiling or something, so she had to keep her head tilted backwards. Because I couldn't see what I was doing, it took ages, and at first I twisted it in the wrong direction, making it tighter. I could feel the sharp pulse in her throat. I kept whispering that everything would be all right, but we could both hear the hissing terror in my voice.
Her ankles were tied together, rope wound round and round her calves so she was trussed. But this time it was easier than I'd expected. Soon her legs were free, and she kicked out like a drowning person kicks for the surface. Her left foot thumped into my stomach and her right clipped my elbow. I got my arms around her knees like a rugby player and held her. "Sit completely still," I begged. "I'm doing my fucking best."
Next I found the knot behind her back. As far as I could feel, it was absolutely tight. I pulled and tugged uselessly at it, my nails tearing, and it didn't give. I knelt down and dug my teeth into the rope, which tasted oily. I remembered the taste of oil, I remembered the smell of shit and piss that was in the room and on her skin and in my lungs. And the smell of fear. And the way my heart banged against my ribs and my breath came in shattered gasps and bile rose up in my throat and there was darkness in every direction .. .
"Hang on," I said. "I'm going to see if I can untie it from the other end. Don't worry. I'm not going. Please, please, please, don't make that noise. For God's sake."
I followed the rope from her wrists to the wall, where it was tied to what felt like an iron hoop. If only I could see something. I felt in my pocket, in case I might miraculously find matches, a lighter, anything. There was none, but I did bring out my old car keys. I dug the end of the key into the bulge of the knot and worked it in deeper, wriggled it around until I felt the faint creaking give of the rope. My fingers were stiff with cold. At one point I dropped the key and had to scramble around among the straw on the floor to retrieve it, my fingers scraping on the rough surface. She started to make muffled screams inside her gag again and then she half stood up, before collapsing across the bales.
"Shut up," I hissed. "Shut up shut up shut up shut up! Oh, shit, don't tug on the rope like that, it'll only tighten the knot. Keep still! Let the rope go slack. Oh, Christ! Please please please."
I worked away with the key. I could feel the knot loosening, bit by bit, but, oh, God, it took a long time; such a long time. Sweat was gathering on my forehead and turning clammy there. I could just run away, I thought. Now! Run and call for help. Why the fuck didn't I run into the road and stand there howling and screeching for help? I could hammer at doors and flag down every car. I had to leave, at once. I mustn't, mustn't, mustn't be here. The eased further.
Nearly," I gasped. "A few minutes more and you'll be free. Ssssh, please."
Done! I stood up and pulled the gag from her mouth and a terrible wailing sound escaped from her.