She had a plan, too.

Nothing specific – how could there be, when she didn’t know who this was or what they were expecting? – but a plan nonetheless.

She would give them what they wanted. She would hand herself over to save her kids.

And then they would find out that maybe she wasn’t what they wanted after all. With nothing left to lose, she would do whatever it took to get back to her family, and she would make them pay for this.

One way or another, she would make them pay.

In her pocket, her phone buzzed. It was a text message, from Guy.

I was in Brighton yesterday at a literary thing and bumped into the woman who runs the Standwich Literary Festival. She wants to know if you want to do it. It’s in early May. You’d be perfect. Interested? No hurry, but let me know when you have a chance to think about it. I’m going hiking today but we can talk later.

Guy – as well as being one of her oldest friends – was her agent. After they had left university he had joined a small agency, and – with a little help from Matt – had sold her first book. It had been odd working with him at first, but she was used to it now.

She typed a reply:

Don’t know if I can. Will fill you in later.

Are you busy?

Kind of. Something came up.

Everything OK?

She paused before replying, but then decided she wanted him to know.

Not really.

The phone rang seconds later.

‘Hi,’ Guy said. ‘What’s going on?’

‘It’s pretty fucked up, Guy.’

‘Is it Matt? Are you guys OK? Is someone ill?’

‘No. It’s the kids.’

‘What about them?’

Now she was about to say it, it sounded absurd.

‘They’ve been kidnapped, and they’re being held for ransom.’

He did not speak for a few seconds.

‘Is this a joke?’

‘No. Someone took them. Last night.’

‘Someone took them? How?’

‘They were with Matt. He went into a shop to get some bits and bobs, and left them in the car – he didn’t want them running around touching stuff, with that new virus – and when he came out, they were gone.’

‘Are you sure it wasn’t a car thief?’

‘Yes. We got a ransom demand.’

He inhaled sharply. ‘How much? Pay it. I’ll pay. I can mortgage the agency. I can get whatever you need. We’ll sort this out, Annabelle.’

‘Thanks,’ she said. ‘But it’s not money. It’s me.’

‘What on earth do you mean?’

‘They want me, in exchange for the kids.’

‘That’s ridiculous!’ He made an exasperated snorting noise. ‘You can’t swap people like that. This isn’t the Mayor of fucking Casterbridge!’

‘That’s what they want.’

‘They won’t get it!’ he said. ‘How’s Matt?’

‘Thinking of options.’