Anger pulsed through my veins and I opened my mouth to say that she was lying, that she had kidnapped me, that she had taken Emma too, but the words melted away as the young man made sympathetic noises, glanced pityingly at me, then dropped his bag to the floor and took a seat at the table, a huge sigh whooshing out of him.

I hovered in the doorway staring at the back of Patrick’s head, indecision rushing through me. Patrick. Such a simple, nice name. Could someone called Patrick who looked so normal on the outside be secretly evil on the inside?

Mother handed him a glass of water which he glugged back noisily. Then she turned to me and said brightly, ‘Off you go now, darling, up to bed for your afternoon rest.’

She walked over, seized my wrist in a painfully tight grip and dragged me out of the room glaring down at me, a warning clear in her small dark eyes. I did not fight back, though I longed to. She shut the kitchen door in my face and I stood there, small and pathetic in the shadows, battling the urge to cry.

Laughter – his and hers – erupted from behind the door, making my tummy hurt.

I heard a noise coming from above and strained to listen. It was Emma and she was crying. I tensed, fearful that Mother would hear. I glanced from the kitchen door to the ceiling, stuck again. Should I go to Emma and calm her down or should I burst into the kitchen, tell Patrick everything? There was no knowing what Mother would do, how she would react. A small part of me still felt bad for even considering the idea of telling someone what she had done – what she was still doing. It felt like some kind of betrayal, which was ridiculous, because it was she who had betrayed me. She was the one who had stolen me from my parents when I was only three years old. I knew I had to pull myself together. She was dangerous. I had to get Emma and myself out of the cottage. I had to get home, back to my real parents where I would be safe, but could I trust this man to help me? He had turned up uninvited on Mother’s doorstep with nothing but a big bag on his back. Who did that? Why would someone be wandering around in the middle of nowhere, alone? Was he running from someone? Was he a criminal running from the police? If he was, there was no way I could place my trust in him, not when there was so much at stake.