The day seemed to pass slowly, and yet it was a surprise when evening came and she heard the scraping noise.

The door opened and the man came in, two plastic plates and two plastic cups on his tray.

Max toddled over and looked at the food.

‘Sausages,’ he said. His voice was thick with the cold. ‘And orange juice. Yum.’ He picked up one of the cups and drank. The man stepped back towards the door.

‘You can take mine,’ Maggie said. ‘I’m not hungry.’

The man shrugged. ‘I’ll leave it. You might change your mind.’ He pointed at Max. ‘Is he ill?’

‘He has a cold.’

‘Orange juice should help.’

‘What do you care?’

The man caught her gaze. ‘I suppose I don’t.’

She watched him leave. She’d had many feelings towards him over the years – anger, of course, and hatred, but also pity and sympathy and wonder. Wonder at what made him do this, at the life he led.

Now, though, she saw only one thing. He was a monster. He had kidnapped and imprisoned a fifteen-year-old girl and taken and murdered – she was sure that was what had happened to Seb and Leo – two of her sons. Tomorrow he would take a third. To the world he seemed mild-mannered and calm but it was a veneer that hid the truth: he was violent and cold-hearted and selfish and utterly lacking in any sense of the harm he was doing to other people.

‘Why are you doing this?’ she said.

He paused, hand on the door.

‘I’m only bringing food.’

‘Not that. You know what I mean. This’ – she gestured around the room – ‘all of it. Why keep me here? Why take me in the first place? Why did you want a girl – and now a little boy – in your basement? How is this good for you?’

He frowned. ‘I told you. You’re safe here. Out there is’ – he shook his head – ‘it’s a bad place. No harm can come to you in here.’

‘Every day harm comes to me. Every second you deny me sunshine and laughter and family and love you are doing me harm. And Max.’