She was just starting to wonder if they had done something wrong – come to the wrong location, or at the wrong time, perhaps – when a figure stepped out of the trees on the left.

There he was.

If it was a he. The figure was tall for a woman, but it was also slender and thin-hipped.

The kidnapper wore dark jeans and a hoodie, which hid their face. Slowly, they raised their right index finger to their lips, then held out their left.

A set of handcuffs dangled from their hand.

The kidnapper gestured for her to get out of the car, then mimed taking off her dressing gown.

She opened the door and swung her bare feet onto the ground. It was cold and stony.

‘You want me to take this off?’ she said.

A nod. She was about to unbelt it and shrug it off, but she paused. She didn’t want to be naked. If her kids were watching, that was not what she wanted them to have as their last sight of her.

‘Are my children here?’ she said.

Another nod.

‘Where?’

A shake of the head this time, and a repeat of the mime of removing the dressing gown.

‘OK,’ she said, and took it off.

The kidnapper examined her, then picked up the dressing gown and tossed it to her. She put it back on; she was glad of the warmth. The kidnapper held out the handcuffs and she put her hands out. The handcuffs snapped as they went around her wrists. The metal was cold, and bit into her skin. She had never worn handcuffs before.

The kidnapper straightened up then and took a piece of black cloth from a pocket. It took her a few seconds to realize what it was.

A hood.

‘No,’ she said. ‘Please. Let me see my children first.’

A pause, then a nod. The kidnapper pointed to the trees on the other side of the road. There was a narrow, rutted track, and a few yards along it she saw Matt’s Land Rover.

‘They’re safe?’ she whispered. ‘I’m here!’ she shouted. ‘I love you!’

The kidnapper held an index finger up to their lips to shush her.

She ignored the signal.

‘Norman! Keith! Molly!’ she shouted. ‘I love you!’

The kidnapper ran around the car and grabbed her by the throat. The hand squeezed hard and the words died in her mouth.

With the other free hand they reached into their pocket and pulled out a metal ball with leather straps either side. It was pressed to her lips, but she kept them closed.

The pressure grew. Her lips were pushed against her teeth; she worried they might split, but she did not want the ball gag in her mouth.

The grip around her throat tightened. She felt like she was going to pass out, her vision blackening from lack of oxygen.

She nodded, and the pressure on her throat lessened.