George Street was bookended by two small public car parks. The phone box was just a few feet down, virtually where the street met College Road, which led into the city centre. From the box you could see a supermarket, and the train station, and the busy A630, and the College Road roundabout. Commuters, shoppers, drivers: a whole host of faces around, any of which could be a guy ready to report cop-like behaviour to who Anna had begun to call the Ogres. They chucked out ideas.

The cars were easy, because of the roundabouts at each end of the A630: nobody was going to notice the same bland vehicle, if it passed back and forth every minute, amongst the hundreds zipping by in that timeframe. George Street ran under the A630 by tunnel, and a cop could lurk in there, about fifty metres away, only grimy clothing and a bottle of white cider needed for a homeless drunk disguise. Someone could shop at the supermarket, with its nice big glass windows. Someone could lurk outside the train station, awaiting a pal’s arrival. Someone could wander past with shopping bags. There were a host of taller buildings in the background where guys could have binoculars. The openness of the area could hinder as much as aid the kidnappers. There was a council CCTV camera on a giant pole a hundred metres away and a guy was sent to the Control Centre.

She was aware that eyes watched, ears listened, and her own took in neighbours on the street, but against all of this she felt deathly alone. The route was in her head and Bennet, connected to a hidden speaker by radio, made her repeat it. She said it aloud, street for street, as if mentally flying along it like a superhero. And then she started the car.

Nick was at the bedroom window with Jane. Father was at the playroom window. All looked distraught, as if she was leaving for ever. She was reminded of the day she’d set out for university, for her new life in the London, except that Mother had been by Father’s side, and they’d been waving and smiling. A lifetime ago, it felt. Another universe. Back when her father had respected her. Back when she had deserved it.

She turned the car on to the street, which was step one – the easiest part – but making that small move, which she’d done a thousand times, was like leaping off a cliff with a homemade parachute.

‘Remember, do as they ask and Josie should be fine,’ Bennet’s crackly voice said.

Should be?