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Her eyes were glued to the tall woman at the front of the queue. They had been ever since she started arguing with the owner, intrigued by her desperate tone and his obvious desire to get rid of her. Curiosity turned to surprise and confusion, however, when the woman mentioned the name ‘Selima’.

At first, Viyan thought she’d misheard, perhaps even imagined it.

She had after all been obsessing on the terrible fate of her friend ever since that awful night.

But the strain, the anxiety in the woman’s voice convinced Viyan she was on to something, a suspicion confirmed when the athletic woman started gesturing at her own face, indicating the positioning of Selima’s tattoos.

Any thoughts of this being a coincidence now evaporated, Selima having visited this money transfer outlet many times during the last few years.

Despite his angry denials, the owner not only knew Selima well, he’d even had a bit of a soft spot for her, bestowing smiles on her that few others received during their weekly visits.

But why was this strange British woman so concerned about Selima?

She clearly wasn’t police, otherwise she wouldn’t have allowed herself to be dismissed so easily, so who was she?

A charity worker? A concerned citizen? Viyan longed to know, but already the woman was on the move, casting only a fleeting look over her shoulder as she headed for the exit.

Viyan hesitated, her half-finished transfer form in her hand, wondering what to do next.

Here was someone who might help her, someone who perhaps was kind, sympathetic, desperately seeking a vulnerable young mother who, to the wider world at least, must have been completely invisible.

How did this well-wisher even know of Selima’s existence?

And why did she appear so convinced that some harm had befallen her?

Instinctively, Viyan took a step away from the shelf on which she’d been filling out her form.

This ally, this potential saviour, was almost out the door.

If she didn’t act now, she might never see her again.

Was this the moment she’d been waiting for?

Was this woman’s sudden appearance a sign?

Viyan had spent a sleepless night at the camp debating how she might escape.

Could she evade the nightly patrols and tunnel out under the fence?

This plan seemed fraught with peril, especially as she’d heard rumours that there were electronic sensors hidden in the foliage that bordered the fence, designed to pick up the faintest movement.

What about smuggling herself out then? Strapping herself to the underside of a departing lorry and hitching a lift to liberty?

This she’d also dismissed as being too dangerous, the idea of falling off and being crushed under the truck’s heavy wheels too awful to contemplate.

By the time dawn eventually broke, Viyan had come to the conclusion that better opportunities to escape could be found in the outside world, during their gruelling work shifts.

Had fate already thrown one such opportunity into her path?

Dropping her form on the floor, Viyan cursed loudly and bent down to pick it up, stealing a look at the two minders.

Normally bullish and observant, both seemed distracted today.

One of them was tapping vigorously on his phone, whilst the other was pawing at Beydaan.

Normally, Viyan would have intervened, asking the vicious thug a question to try and pull his attention away from the cowering woman, but today she was happy to entertain his distraction.

Today she had to put herself, her children, first.

She took a careful step, then another, quietly padding past the queue of customers.

She was now only a few feet from the door.

If she could just get outside, catch up with the departing woman, then maybe she could escape.

Exhaling slowly, trying to keep her breathing regular, she took another step towards freedom …

then suddenly felt herself tugged violently backwards.

‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’

The texting minder had come alive, clocking Viyan’s bid for freedom and angrily yanking her back in line.

‘That’s the end of the queue. Wait your turn like everyone else …’

His eyes were boring into hers, challenging Viyan to resist, threatening violent retribution at the first hint of disobedience.

Desperate, Viyan scanned the room, looking for some opportunity to fight back, even to escape.

But the middle-aged owner seemed uninterested in their spat, as did everyone else present.

Many of those waiting in line were her fellow captives and those that weren’t were immigrants of one kind or another, who generally preferred to keep themselves to themselves.

There would be no help from anyone else, so her only hope was to run, but already her captor was on the move, positioning himself between her and the doorway, blocking her path.

Tears filling her eyes, Viyan turned away, angrily clutching her half-filled form.

She had come here hoping to send a meagre amount of money home, but instead had been presented with a golden opportunity to escape.

But she had been too slow to react and the chance had gone begging.

Why hadn’t she just sprinted after the strange woman immediately?

Why hadn’t she called out? Caution had been her undoing today, caution and fear.

She had been close to liberating herself, but not close enough.

Something she would regret for the rest of her life.