All at once, her hands were free. He stepped smartly clear of her. Bev looked round to see him dangling a pair of pink furry handcuffs, the novelty kind sold in sex shops. His lips were turned up in a parody of a smile. ‘Don’t be under any illusion, Bev. I don’t want to hurt you, but if you make me, I will.’ He backed away from her, putting some distance and a breakfast bar between them. He pulled out one of the high stools and set it against the far wall. She wasn’t good at estimating distances, but even she knew they were less than twenty feet apart.

Bev looked around her, trying to work out whether she had any options. A dining kitchen in a modern house. The rear wall had been opened out to lead into a conservatory. All the blinds were drawn and they were effective. She couldn’t even tell if it was day or night. She couldn’t see out and nobody could see in.

She was shackled at the far end of the room, nearest to the garage door. She could reach the appliances – cooker, hob, dishwasher, fridge. But she wouldn’t make it past the island in the middle of the cooking area. All the doors of the ground-level cupboards had childproof fasteners. There might be potential weapons inside but they would take too long to get at, she reckoned. By the time she’d unfastened the locks, he’d be on her, taser knocking her over, boots flying.

The worktops were clear of appliances and there was no sign of chef’s knives or utensils that had anything approaching an edge. On a thick wooden chopping board sat a fillet steak, half a dozen chopped mushrooms, a sliced onion, a plastic bottle of olive oil and three new potatoes. On the stove was a heavy frying pan and a small saucepan. A wooden spoon rested against the frying pan. She couldn’t quite take it in. Did he want her to cook his dinner? Had he gone to all this trouble to have her wait on him? She’d seen plenty of crazy people at her hospital counter but this was madness of an order she had never previously encountered.

‘So get on with it.’ He sat on the stool, looking perfectly normal and relaxed, apart from the little black box that rested casually on his thigh. She wasn’t fooled, though. She knew he was alert for the slightest reason to hurt her again. She shrugged and spread her hands wide, as if to indicate she wasn’t sure what he wanted.

‘Cook the fucking dinner,’ he shouted, exploding into sudden loud anger. ‘I can’t make it any more clear, can I?’