When Fran taps on the window, Renata looks up sharply, panic in her eyes, her face pale and blotchy. She stares at Fran, both hands resting on one of Tom’s shoulders then, with a sharp shake of her head, she snaps out of her trance and frantically beckons her in. Fran doesn’t think twice; she heads back to the porch and pushes open the door to the hall. She’s a First Aider at work and though she’s never actually given someone CPR before, the procedure has been drummed into her. She’d certainly be capable of performing it while they wait for an ambulance to arrive. She just hopes Renata has rung one, because every minute that Tom’s not breathing is a minute his body and brain are being deprived of oxygen.

She sprints along the hallway and into a large, open room. In a flash, she takes in the decor: a large, tan leather sofa to her right and another smaller sofa with its back to the window. There’s a gilt mirror above the fireplace and a log burner in place of an open fire. The place looks tired and dated with its floral wallpaper, opaque glass light fitting and a mottled grey rug. It’s this rug that Tom is lying on, his face turned to the side, eyes closed, his arms spread above his head. But there’s no sign of Renata.

‘Renata?’ Fran calls as she crouches beside Tom’s prostrate body. ‘I’m going to give him CPR okay? Tell the ambulance crew I’ll keep doing it until they arrive.’

She reaches for Tom’s wrist and moves her fingers over the veiny underside, searching for his pulse. It takes her a couple of seconds then she feels it, pounding against her fingertips. It’s a good sign. She lowers her face to Tom’s and feels his warm breath on her cheek.

‘He’s breathing!’ she shouts. ‘I need to get him into the recovery position. When you’ve finished on the phone I could use your help.’

She gets to her feet and puts both hands around one of Tom’s arms. She grimaces as she tries to lift him. He’s not a large man but he’s heavier than she anticipated.

‘Renata!’ she calls again. ‘I could really—’

She doesn’t hear Renata creeping up behind her, barefoot on the carpet, but she feels the blow, connecting with the back of her head.

The first thing Fran becomes aware of as she opens her eyes is how dark it is; the second, that every part of her body aches. She tries to reach a hand up to the base of her throbbing skull but she can’t. Her hands are bound tightly behind her back, her ankles are tied, and there’s tape across her mouth.

‘You’re awake, then,’ says a voice.