‘All right.’ Elizabeth allowed herself to relax, her mind made up, and paused to summon the energy and memory for her story. ‘Marion did one clever thing. She’d remembered the postcode. I assume she got it from his SatNav – they were a relative rarity then but that young man always equipped himself with the latest gadgets.’ Realising she must allow the flow, Sara stopped herself asking if she still had the postcode. ‘All she’d said to Denis was, “I’ve got to get out”. He asked her, “Where, Marion, where are you?” She gave him the postcode, whispered, “I can hear him coming,” and the phone went dead. We chucked a few things in a case, he drove far too fast up the M5, onto the M4 and across the River Severn. I remember the low sun behind us lighting the gateway into Wales. Denis liked toys too so he also had a SatNav. By 8 a.m. we were past Abergavenny and Brecon, imagining her captive somewhere in that mass of green. I couldn’t get death out of my mind and kept imagining those rounded mountain tops as giant burial mounds.’

Elizabeth broke off, still, eleven years later, shivering with the dread that had beset her that morning. She walked over to the window, staring out at the postage stamp of front lawn for a few seconds and then returned to refill the kettle. ‘God, I think I might need something stronger to get through all this.’

‘Please do,’ said Sara.

‘What about you?’

‘I don’t drink but don’t let me stand in your way.’

Elizabeth inspected her again and smiled weakly. ‘No, you wouldn’t. I’m afraid I find it helps.’ She went into the sitting room, reappeared with a bottle of gin and took a cold can of tonic from the fridge.

Watching her pour, Sara decided the moment was right. ‘Do you still have the postcode?’

Elizabeth pinged open the tonic. ‘Yes, you’re bound to ask that. The answer is no but I can show you near enough on a map.’ She brought her drink to the table and sat down. ‘Now you know where, do you need more?’

‘It all helps. So much is about understanding him.’