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mouth. You can take the mask off.” The zip went down.
    ‘I was glad to get the smelly mask off and to blow my nose to try to get rid of the hairs. Then I waited, listening to the activity outside, the whispering voices.
    ‘The zip went up. I smelled at once that it was Butcher and tensed up with fear.
    “‘Move over, I have to get something from the back.” I shrank away from the big black ski mask as it came towards me and he crawled past me to take a blue polythene bag from the back of the tent where all the stores were. Coming out backwards he stopped. My heart started pounding as I saw what he was looking at. I must have fallen asleep with the piece of bread in my hand and there were crumbs and lumps of it in the top of my sleeping bag and on the floor of the tent. The black head turned towards me and he threw the bag he was holding aside. There was nowhere to hide, no way to defend myself except by shielding my face with my one free hand.
    “‘Filthy! Filthy! Filthy! Bitch!” A blow to the side of my head accompanied each word. Then he got hold of my hair and dragged my head close to his to be sure I could hear every loud whispered word. Fat and stale blood. I stopped breathing. “We’re not your fucking servants. You’ve spent your life with some poor bugger going round behind you cleaning up the filth you leave but you don’t do it here! We already have to clean your shit up—”
    “‘That’s not my fault!” I couldn’t stand it any longer. What was the use of being submissive if he beat me anyway? “You brought me here and you chained me up! I could have gone outside in the woods. It’s not my fault!” I thought he would kill me then but another black head poked into the tent.
    “‘What’s going on?” Woodcutter.
    “‘Nothing.”
    “‘Come out of there. I’ll do it.” Do what?
    ‘The head retreated. Butcher gave me a push. “Get it cleaned up, every last crumb, slut!”
    ‘He crawled out. I started cleaning the bread crumbs up with a paper napkin dampened with mineral water. I knew that Butcher wanted to hit me, whether because he thought I was rich or for some other reason, and that he would always be looking for excuses. How stupid that he should look for excuses when I was chained up and helpless, anyway. Or was it because the other two didn’t agree with it? I remembered the ones in the car.
    ‘ “Don’t touch her unless I say so. I’m responsible for the goods …”
    ‘Who was responsible here? I had to keep calm and work these things out. They had to keep me alive if they wanted money for me. A blow to the head, a neglected infection, food poisoning, so many things could kill me. I had to collaborate, stay alive. I hoped Woodcutter was responsible. He had ordered Butcher to get out, so he might be.
    ‘The zip went up. A black hooded head poked in. I knew at once it was Woodcutter.
    “‘Move over. I have to come in.” He crawled in beside me and lay on his right side, facing me. I tried to see his eyes but it was so gloomy in the tent and the eye-holes of his ski mask had been sewn to leave the thinnest crack. He was a big man, muscular, not fat, and his voice sounded young. There was a gun in a holster at his waist.
    “‘Lie on your back. I have to do your eyes.”
    “‘No! Oh please, no. It’s so dark in here, and I promise never to peep out—”
    “‘Be quiet. It’s in your own best interests. If you see anything, you’re dead.”
    “‘But I’m always in here. I can’t possibly know where we are and you all have masks on.”
    “‘It’s a pain wearing a mask all the time. You’ll be safer if you don’t risk seeing anything.”
    ‘He was opening the polythene bag that Butcher had pulled out. He began ripping at a broad roll of cotton strapping.
    “‘Lie still, blast you!” He yelled this at me. I was lying still, hardly breathing. Why did he yell? The noise frightened me after all the distorted whispering and yet his anger didn’t sound real.