After his breakfast he took a cigarette paper out of his pocket. He held his hand out in front of him: it had just about stopped shaking. The bruises on his chest, legs and stomach had turned green. He’d been lucky to get away alive. Bastards. He pinched tobacco from a pouch in his bomber jacket, rolled the paper and stuck the cigarette behind his ear.

‘Delicious as always,’ he said, standing at the till.

‘You on holiday?’ She pointed at his battered suitcase.

‘I wish. Looking for work as a matter of fact. Been staying at a hostel but now I’m at a mate’s house in West Drayton.’ He stacked a column of fifty pence pieces on the counter.

‘It is a good area for work.’ She tipped her head to one side, the rich chocolate eyes drawing him in. ‘So, what do you do exactly?’ She counted the coins, chucked them in the till and pressed the drawer shut.

‘Painting, decorating, building, carpentry, you name it.’ He leaned on the counter and grinned at her.

‘I’ll ask around for you.’ She smiled.

‘What about you? Got any jobs you need doing?’

‘I can think of a few.’

He laughed. ‘Seriously?’

‘Yeah, actually. My mum died recently and the house needs sprucing up; it’s badly out of date.’

‘Won’t your fella do it?’

‘I don’t have anyone.’ Her cheeks flushed pink.

‘Oh, right, on your own then?’

She nodded.

‘Me too. Near here, is it?’

‘About ten minutes’ walk. Close to Uxbridge Common.’

‘I’ll call round and give you a quote if you like? No obligation.’

‘All right then.’

‘Great, speak to you soon, Madeleine.’ This was potential long-term work, just what he needed.

‘Call me Maddy. And you are?’ She held his eyes with hers, hand on hip.

‘Oh right, yeah, I’m… er… Max.’ His cheeks flashed with heat. Jesus, look at him getting all flustered. He took down her address on the back of his receipt and smiled to himself. This looked mighty promising in more ways than one. With any luck he’d landed on his feet.

Chapter Four

Maddy: Late September 2019

Maddy wakes in the night and senses Max isn’t there. The bedroom door that doesn’t shut properly has swung open. He must have gone downstairs for a drink or is he away on business? Sleep fogs her memory. She turns to the space next to her, the duvet pulled up, untouched. A shot of adrenaline surges through her body; she sits bolt upright, eyes wide, chest clenched tight so she cannot breathe – he’s not away, he’s not downstairs, he is missing.