Shoving the cordless phone into her pocket, she grabbed a dirty T-shirt of Nick’s from the kitchen wash basket and stepped carefully across the living room carpet, avoiding streaks of mud from footprints. She could clearly see where they led from outside the house. Trying hard not to look at the blood on the step, even though the rain should have washed it away by now, she grabbed the handle of the sliding patio door and slid it across and locked it. Then she followed the wet footprints into Josie’s room, where she locked the window, too. The emptiness of that tiny bed was like a void in her own heart.

Secure the house. Lock all doors and windows but try to be careful not to touch places where the officers might be able to pick up fingerprints, especially the door handles.

It was only then that she understood why the operator had given such instructions: a fear that the abductors could return. It was an irrational worry, but that knowledge didn’t stop her from turning on all the lights in the house. She stumbled into the hallway and locked the front door. She caught her reflection in the mirror beside the coat hooks. Her dressing gown was soaked down one side, where she’d landed in the rain after falling. She didn’t look at the hand that had slapped into blood. But as she had rubbed her face with her other, muddied hand, her cheek was dirty. She pulled a wet wipe from a carton on the shoe cabinet and raised it to her face, but then stopped.

‘Do not wash yourself or change your clothing, please.’

She didn’t understand that instruction, but it must be important. So she left herself dirty. With nothing else to do, the weight of loneliness and despair returned. She staggered into Josie’s playroom, where toys were scattered all over the floor. Usually a place of joy, of noise, but not tonight. Cold and empty, like an abandoned place, and screaming that her daughter was missing. She wanted to tidy.

‘Don’t move anything. Leave your home the way it is, please. Don’t pick up any broken glass, and do not clean the mud from the carpet. Try to stay in one room until the officers arrive.’

She felt the weight of the cordless in her pocket and realised that the police weren’t the only people she should have called. Her finger jabbed and held the ‘1’ key, which speed-dialled a number.

‘Annie?’ a croaky voice said a few moments later. ‘Is it Josie?’

Attuned, her sister knew Anna wouldn’t call at such an hour unless harm or danger had befallen that most precious of things.

‘They’ve gone. Both gone.’

‘Gone?’