She left the window. There was a door in the corner of the room which led to a small bathroom. There was a plastic cup next to the sink – anything heavier might be a weapon, she supposed – which she filled with water. Guy had left no food, although there was a small packet of ibuprofen. She had already taken six of them – her shoulder was throbbing – and there were only two left.

She popped them out of the foil and put them in her mouth, then washed them down with the water. It was cold, and delicious. Perhaps it came from the lake, or a well, but it tasted much better than what came from the tap at home.

That was something.

She tilted her neck to one side to stretch it. It pulled on her shoulder muscles and she grunted in pain. She would have to ask him for stronger painkillers. The ibuprofen just wasn’t cutting it.

She was also starting to feel hungry. She had hardly eaten since the kids were taken, so she might try to eat when Guy came back.

There was a chance she would throw it all up, though. She had a constant, low-level nausea.

When would he be back? He had gone to the office, intending to keep up appearances. That was in London, so what? An hour away? If he left at five, he’d be here soon. She had no watch, but it began to get dark in the late afternoon at this time of year, so he should be here soon.

And then what? Food, more painkillers, but what else? Beg him to let her go? That didn’t seem likely to work.

Which left one option. She could explain to him, calmly and rationally, that she did not love him, that the books were not secret messages, and that he was mistaken about the whole thing. If he knew that then surely he would see that this was pointless.

Let me leave, she’d say, and I’ll find my own way home. I’ll say I have no memory of what happened to me. Everything can go back to normal.

She turned back to the window. A car was passing on the far side of the lake.

She heard a noise behind her and jumped, startled.

There was a click, and the door unlocked.

She will be glad to see me, obviously. She was tentative earlier, which is to be expected. After all, she has been waiting for this for most of her adult life, ever since she realized – early on – what an error her marriage was and began to plan for how to get out of it.

She could have just asked me, but I understand it wasn’t that easy for her. Maybe she didn’t even fully understand her desperation herself. A kind of protection mechanism, maybe, to stop herself from losing her mind.