He wound the watch. ‘You were away from your house. Where were you?’

‘I went out to think.’

‘Where?’ He looked up with an expression of mild surprise on his face.

‘I … just walked.’

‘With your husband in custody?’

‘I do it when I’m upset.’

And then he dropped the pretence, his eyes boring into me once more. ‘You returned to Lorelei Addington’s house.’

‘No,’ I cried. ‘I didn’t.’ If he found out, the consequences …

‘Why did you go back there?’

‘I didn’t. I just walked.’

‘Don’t lie to me!’

‘I’m not!’ I shouted.

‘You are!’

‘No,’ I sobbed, genuinely breaking down. ‘No.’

He waited, considering me in the blue light. Deciding whether I was telling the truth. My nerves felt like they were on fire. ‘Where were you walking? Which streets?’

My mind sped. I picked a route – the one I took to go to the bakery and greengrocery. ‘Calward Road. Then into March Street.’ His eyes moved to the side, as if he were picturing the path, mentally checking if it were possible. I prayed he wouldn’t find some fault, such as a road closure that would have prevented me from taking that route, or a street that I had missed out along the way. Then his eyes returned to mine.

For what seemed an age he simply stared, unblinking, at me before thumping twice on the panel separating us from the driver. The engine started up again and we began to move.

He was silent while the van shuddered and the wheels turned through potholes. Eventually, with a whining of the brakes, the vehicle stopped. ‘Do you know where we are?’ he asked. His voice was calm again. I shook my head.

He stepped out of the cage and pointed to the rear door. Hoping that this really was the end, I frantically scrabbled on the floor for my purse and bag, before shuffling to the back of the vehicle, grabbing the handle and turning it.

‘Have you got a stepdaughter?’

I froze, my back to him. His words echoed metallically off the sides of the van. It took me a while to answer. ‘Yes.’

For a moment there was silence. ‘How old?’

‘Fourteen.’

Another pause. ‘Nice age.’

The air was damp as I hauled myself out, clutching the leather bag.

8