He had not given her any food for over thirty-six hours, all he had given her was a bottle of water, which she still suspected was drugged. She hadn’t seen him this close to her before and she was frightened of him. He looked crazy, like people you saw on the streets and knew at a glance were dangerous so you avoided eye contact and passed as fast as possible.

She just wanted to go home, get away from him, from here. She wanted to see her mum, her little boy – for the first time in years, she wanted her family around her.

The man licked his lips slowly, deliberately. Jessie knew he was taking some kind of chemical, because he looked stoned. His eyes didn’t focus properly and over the course of the last few days he had seemed to be unravelling more and more. He smiled at her suddenly and as he laughed he started to cough, and the stench from his breath hit her directly in her face, spraying her skin with droplets of his saliva. It took all her willpower not to vomit everywhere.

He looked at her for long moments, before saying flatly, ‘You must be starving. Are you starving?’

She nodded, wondering what this was leading to. She didn’t shout at him or demand anything from him – she was too weak, too scared of him. He knew that – she had felt the change in him the last few days. It seemed the weaker she became, the stronger he felt. She had expected her father to have rescued her by now, but he hadn’t. She was so worried that he wasn’t bothered about her, had left her to her own devices. Or, worse still, that her parents had heard nothing from this man, and just assumed she was on the missing list. It wouldn’t be the first time she had disappeared without telling anyone her whereabouts.

The man told her nothing. He rarely even spoke to her. He just watched her.

He stepped away from her and, taking out a packet of cigarettes, he lit one for himself. Then, almost as an afterthought, he offered the packet to her.

She took the pack of Lambert & Butler from him, pleased to have a distraction. Taking one out, she pulled herself upright on the mattress, and then he lit her cigarette with his lighter. His actions were very old-fashioned; he even cupped the lighter in his hand to ensure it didn’t go out.

She pulled on the cigarette deeply and felt light-headed – it was the first cigarette she’d had in ages.

‘Thank you. I appreciate this.’

He bowed, and she knew he was mocking her. She took another few puffs on the cigarette, feeling the nicotine as it hit her brain, enjoying it because it seemed to wake her up, break through the malaise that she was feeling constantly.