He was sure, in that moment, that he’d never see them again. Something would go wrong and they would be gone forever.

He started to shake with sobs. They were his life now, for sure, but they were also his future. They were supposed to go to high school then university, to fall in love and get married, to have children. Or do something else. Become astronauts. Cure cancer. Form a rock band. Whatever. It didn’t matter.

As long as they were there, in his and Annabelle’s lives.

His phone buzzed again, and he turned to look at it. There was another message.

The ransom demand will follow.

Ransom? They were being held for ransom?

What did he have that anybody could possibly want? Money? He and Annabelle were comfortable but they were hardly in a position to pay millions, which was presumably what this person wanted. They wouldn’t have gone to all this trouble unless they thought there was a large payoff at the end of it all.

If so, they were mistaken. He earned a reasonable salary from his law firm, and Annabelle made a steady income as a writer. She had published four novels, but none of them had earned anything like the kind of money that would make this worthwhile.

So he and Annabelle would not be able to pay. The kidnapper was going to ask for millions, in the mistaken belief their victims had it, and when he said he didn’t have the money they would think he was lying, and hurt his children.

‘Oh God,’ he said, clutching his forehead. ‘Oh God, please.’

‘Are you OK?’

An elderly woman with a wheeled shopping bag, like the one his mum had had when he was a child, stood in the bus shelter.

‘No,’ he said. ‘I mean, yes, I’m fine.’

‘All right,’ she said. ‘Let me know if—’

Another buzz, another message:

Remember. Do not contact the police under any circumstances. I will know immediately if you do and you will never see your children again.

He let out a wail of terror. The elderly woman studied him.

‘Are you sure you’re OK?’ she asked. ‘Can I help? I could call someone?’

He stood up. His house was on the other side of the village, about half a mile away.

‘I have to get home,’ he said. ‘I have to go.’

And then he started running.

Annabelle

1

Annabelle Westbrook sat on the couch, her legs tucked underneath her, and sipped her tea. It was lemon and ginger, and even though she knew it made no difference she felt like it helped with her cold. If it was a cold. There was some new virus going about and she had been lethargic and achy and running a fever, so there was every chance it was that. Either way, it had been a rough few days, but she was feeling better.