He had a constant smile and bright, inquisitive eyes, and at the slightest provocation – a tickle or a song or a funny face – he would let out an explosive laugh. She could see the man he would have become: charming, engaged and warm. He would listen and smile and laugh and make people feel good about themselves. He made her feel good about herself; if his guffaws were anything to go by, she was the funniest person in the world.

He reminded her of James. He had been prone to fits of giggles; a memory came to her of him, aged about six, clutching his stomach, bent double with laughter at the sight of their dad miming to the song ‘Daddy Cool’.

Max would never get the chance to watch her dad miming. In a few short days he would be gone.

She picked up her pencil and the calendar and put a line through the date. More than halfway there. More than halfway through the last week of Max’s life.

The image was with her always, now. In her dreams, at night, in her thoughts during the days. All she saw was herself, sprawled in the corner of the room, beaten back and powerless, while the man stood in the doorway, Max in his arms, screaming and looking at her, pleading for him to save her.

Pleas that she could not answer.

And then the door shutting. Max’s screams fading. Silence.

And after that? What would happen to Max, to her laughing, gentle, beautiful boy? The same as happened to Seb and Leo, no doubt. She didn’t know what that was, exactly, but she was sure it was nothing good.

She’d asked the man where Seb was. He had left her alone for two nights after Seb had been taken, but when he came down, wearing his blue robe tied at the waist, she had fought back the tears and asked him.

Where is he? she said. I want to see him. Please.

He shook his head.

That’s not possible.

Why not? Is he OK? Please, tell me he’s OK.

The man didn’t reply. He loosened the belt of his bathrobe and pointed at the bed.

Lie down.

Please. Is he safe?

The man ignored her. Lie down, he said again.

I need to know he’s not suffering. That’s all.

The man nodded. He’s not suffering.

And that was all he said. Over the weeks she asked for photos, for an item of his clothing, anything, but the man ignored her. Eventually, though, he could not ignore her any more.

Don’t ask about him again, he said. Ever again.

She carried on. How could she not? He was her son. The next time he came, she badgered him with questions until he turned and left the room.

He never answered. All she had were the man’s final words.