I asked her to hurry - we needed to meet the officers out on the road. And I was concerned about the father coming back. By now she was pulling crumpled clothes, medicines out of a cupboard stuffed with things, strewing them on the floor. You go ahead. I'll be there soon. I wondered how old she actually was.

I went and stood on the road's edge, fiddled with my phone. Headache. Dust. Text from the officers saying not to move, they had been delayed.

And then there was a short, high-pitched squeal, and my stomach filled with lead, and I turned as in a big bad dream back to the trees, the greenery grey with dust from the road and all this growth thicker than ever, incomprehensible, animal shapes of its former growth hidden within it and how would I press through there? There was a sharp cracking sound and I thought I must wait for the officers, it wasn't safe, but I remembered how I had told her she could come to stay with us and I felt shame at the thought of leaving her there. My legs, brave soldiers, carried me in.

They were not at the summer house. The rubbish sack of her things was burst open and scattered through the open doorway. I heard his angry voice deep among the trees, so walked to where I knew they were - by the old shed - but when I got there they were silent. The door was completely off its hinges. He was pulling cages from within the shed, one by one, stacking them against its outside wall. The sables were squirming and pacing.