Doug’s dungeon isn’t any of these things. The St. Andrews Cross in a corner does look intimidating. And the ceiling is criss-crossed with visible metal beams, some with chains hanging down. But aside from these things? The room is, like the upstairs, warm. There are windows set high in the walls, looking onto the backyard, and through this, beams of sunlight come streaming down. The floor is tiled, with throw rugs spread across; shades of red and oranges everywhere again. There’s a bed in the room; a comfortable looking king-size bed – made with pristine white sheets, and a white throw on top. I pause, look around and take it in. Doug watches me, a twinkle of amusement in his eyes. “Not what you expected?” he asks me. “No,” I confess. “I thought it’d be more like the House of Pain.” Doug laughs. “The House of Pain stage? Come on, Sara, John is creating a world of make-believe; his stage needs to be dramatic.
