She knelt next to him, and reached for a red block. She was about to hand it to him and suggest he use it as the base for a tower when she was hit by a vision of Max screaming, his face twisted in an uncomprehending grimace as the man dragged him from her arms and from the room leaving her sobbing on the bed, her heart torn into pieces, wondering how – if – she would survive.

And then it shifted from a vision to a memory, first of Seb and then of Leo, her lost boys, her stolen chicks, the babies she had been unable to save.

The babies who had come before Max. The babies whose fate he was now facing.

She gasped, and turned from Max. She gripped her knees and squeezed and tried to bring herself back to some semblance of control, her breathing fast and shallow.

‘Mummy?’ Max said, his eyes narrow with concern. ‘MUMMY! Stop it, Mummy!’

Maggie blinked, staring at the wall and taking deep breaths, her heart gradually slowing.

‘It’s OK,’ she said. ‘I’m OK, darling. I had a – I just had some wind.’

Max was still, a Duplo brick in each hand, his eyes fixed on her. She – somehow – smiled and then scooped him up in her arms and pressed her face to his neck and kissed him and inhaled the smell of him and felt the panic starting all over again.

She closed her eyes and forced herself to think about something, anything, other than the man and Saturday and Max’s third birthday, and, slowly, she calmed down.

‘Mummy,’ Max said. ‘I think it’s time for exercises.’

‘Yes,’ Maggie said. ‘I think that sounds like a great idea. How about some running?’

Max nodded. The room was barely big enough for him to run in; Maggie was limited to jogging on the spot, which was, even when you were locked in a room with nothing to do, incredibly boring. She’d thought running on a treadmill was bad, but it had nothing on jogging for half an hour and not moving an inch. She could make it more interesting by throwing in some lunges and jumps and crouches, but it was a marginal improvement.

Other things held more appeal. She had become obsessed for a while with doing the perfect press-up: hands exactly shoulder-width apart, eyes slightly forward, back and legs a table, then a slow descent until her chest pressed to the floor followed by a clean, explosive return to the start, arms straight, elbows locked.