‘That’s fine,’ Maggie said. ‘No problem. And good luck.’

The man shook his head. ‘Dash it,’ he said. ‘I’m so sorry. I can’t quite remember what you said. Was it left on the main road?’

‘Right,’ Maggie said. ‘Then right again at the lights.’

‘I thought it was second left? Or third?’

‘That’s after you go right at the lights.’ It was obvious from the man’s blank expression that he wasn’t following her. ‘Look,’ she said. ‘It’s easy. Let’s start again.’

He held up the road atlas. ‘Would you mind showing me on the map?’

‘Of course,’ Maggie said. ‘Pass it over.’

The man unbuckled and twisted in his chair so he could pass the atlas over the passenger seat. She noticed that he held it in his right hand, which was weird, since his left hand was closer to her.

His left hand which, with a sudden, unexpected speed, snaked out and grabbed her wrist and yanked her towards the window.

Then he dropped the atlas, and she saw the syringe in his hand, and felt the prick of the needle in her arm. She just had time to read the front page of the atlas and think it was odd that he had a map of Cornwall when he was in Stockton Heath, and then everything went dark.

3

Her first thought was that she had a hangover. She recognized the sensation – throbbing temples, dry mouth, disorientation – from the time that she and Chrissie had drunk a bottle of cheap white cider in the park, and then, somehow, made their way to Chrissie’s house and passed out in her bedroom. Maggie had woken when it was still dark out and thought What happened? before the memories of the cider and the park and the two boys that had bought it for them came slowly back.

This was different, though. This time the memories that surfaced were not of cider and boys and the park.

They were of a car, and a man asking for directions and a syringe.

Holy shit.

Her eyes flew open.

She was looking at a low ceiling, covered in some kind of dark carpet tile.

A ceiling she did not recognize.

The dryness in her mouth intensified and her stomach tightened. Her pulse sped up and pounded in her neck. She sat up too quickly and felt suddenly dizzy; for a moment she thought she was going to pass out, but then her head cleared and she saw where she was.

She was on a narrow, thin mattress in a room lit by a dim lamp on a table by the bed. The room was small; the ends of the mattress were against the walls. There was an area about twice the size of the mattress covered in a brown carpet. In one corner were two blue, plastic buckets, a pink bowl with a jug inside it, and a tall wooden, barrel.