Elliott is just taking me in his mouth when the drilling stops and the shouting starts. We continue, undeterred for a few moments, but there’s an uneasy sense that something isn’t right. Both our minds are distracted so we end up going through the motions without really being able to focus.

The floor is vibrating in a way it hadn’t before. The yelling which had started stops with a sudden hush which is plain wrong.

Even in the other room, time slows. Our eyes lock and in that instant we both know what is about to happen. We rush to dress, to dash into the hallway in the vain hope we can prevent the inevitable, but it’s already happened when we arrive.

The corridor is filled with a cloud of dust. As we pick our way through the disaster, the floor is barely visible.

Elliott rushes in front. I grab his flexed bicep. “Stop. Let me go first.”

I don’t let him reply, pulling him backwards and holding him behind me, ensuring he has no choice but to allow me to take a tentative steps forward. I feel the floor with the sole of my foot, scanning it before allowing it to support my weight. The process of reaching the rubble on the soiled carpet by the entrance to our bedroom seems to take an eternity. In fact, it’s probably only a few seconds longer than if we had rushed forward.

But when we do get to the site, the scene we’re met with is worse than either of us could have imagined.

The wall between the bathroom and the bed is now on the ground floor, having taken the floor and all the furniture with it. It’s at this point that I notice a commotion. The workers are shouting, but it’s like someone has pressed the mute button and their cries are dimmed. One builder hangs over the edge of the hole, another dangles from his grasp. The remaining guys are forming a chain, rescuing their co-worker from the precarious perimeter of the unsafe support with what disregard for the risks they are now taking to themselves.

“Let him go,” I scream as I push forward, the dust cloud now clearing.

“We can’t,” one hollers back.

“You must. The rim of the hole is weak. You could all fall through with the additional pressure.” I lie myself flat on the floor and hang over, assessing the situation.

The guy is about five meters from the ground. He’ll be fine if he falls on his feet. The problem is, there’s a pile of rubble below him which means he won’t land evenly.

“Let him go,” I repeat.

Elliott lies down next to me. “Shit, the high ceilings are great until you fall through them.” He mutters this and thankfully no one other than me hears him. To the guy hanging, he shouts, “Swing your legs so you land over there.” He points, indicating a clear space ahead of him.

The scream that emanates from the guy’s mouth is more akin to a girl than a burly builder and I have to resist the urge to show my frustration. Elliott is right. All he has to do is give himself some leverage and he’ll avoid breaking his leg. He just needs to do it. If the ceiling caves in, the damage will be way worse with at least five people, including Elliott and myself, landing on our heads slap bang in the middle of that pile of stones.

I find my voice and bellow at him, “Just do it, otherwise everyone else will fall. Swing your legs and jump.”

To my relief, he does and avoids the impending broken bone by vaulting in the clear.