Oh, God. Not Saffy. No.

‘Anything,’ she mumbles against his palm.

‘I’m going to take my hand away now. If you scream I’ll come back. If you go to the police I’ll know. And you don’t want me to pay Rose a little visit, now, do you? I know where her care home is.’

Blood pounds in her ears but she nods. He removes his hand from her mouth but he still clamps her from behind with his arm so she can’t see his face.

‘I need your phone number,’ he says.

‘I’ve . . . I’ve lost my phone.’

‘A likely story.’

She wants to cry. ‘I have. You can check my bag.’ It’s still on her shoulder, pinned there by the weight of him.

‘Then ring the number on the card. Your daughter will know which card.’

He releases her so hard that she falls forward, her knees crashing against the pavement and she cries out in pain. She hears his retreating footsteps heading down the lane towards the woods but she doesn’t dare turn around until he’s gone.

She gets to her feet. Her legs are like jelly and there is a hole in the knee of her jeans, blood and grit darkening the edges. She hobbles out of the lane and turns left, stopping to pick up her broken heel on the way. She’s trembling all over. The bushes and hedges that obscure the other properties would also hide crime, she thinks, as she limps home. She could have been raped and murdered right here on this street and nobody would have seen a thing.

She’s relieved when she spots number nine, the light in the living room still on, seeping through the ill-fitting curtains at the window. She hobbles over the drive, her unheeled shoe sinking into the gravel. Before she’s even got to the door it’s thrown open, her daughter standing there, a mixture of horror and relief on her face.

‘Mum!’ she cries, throwing herself at her. ‘Oh, my God, we’ve been so worried. Are you okay? What’s happened?’

She manages to nod as Saffy ushers her into the house and on to the sofa. Tom is standing by the fireplace and the look on his face when he sees her is so horrified that she fights the urge to laugh hysterically.

‘He . . . he grabbed me,’ she says. ‘This fucking bastard grabbed me. He must have been waiting . . . I lost my phone. I’m so sorry I didn’t call.’

‘Oh, my God! Don’t worry about that now,’ says Saffy, sitting next to her and taking her hand. ‘Your knee is bleeding. Are you okay? Who grabbed you?’

‘I think it was the same guy from yesterday. Glen, he said his name was.’

Saffy frowns. ‘From yesterday?’