‘I’ll be missed. I have midwife appointments, scans! Mum will notice I haven’t called.’ My mother had already left for several months of educational cruising with Nigel the bookbinder, and I tried to think if I’d told Nick the exact dates. Would she think to call me during her holiday, or just text? If we’d been closer, she might have already noticed something was up. Or, you know, actually listened when I tried to tell her.

‘If she rings I can just say you’re in the bath. You’ve told me to do that enough times, when you don’t want to talk to her.’

It was true. He was so maddeningly calm about the whole thing. Almost reasonable. I had to keep reminding myself that this wasn’t normal, this was a crime. He was keeping me locked up in a basement. I was like that girl who’d been missing for twenty years. I went cold. Surely someone would come to look for me before then? A health professional, or my mother, or Claudia even? It was a good way to take stock of your life, wondering who might come to find you if you went missing. Would Nick tell them I’d just gone off somewhere? Run away with a man? But the baby. He wouldn’t make me have the baby down here?

A jolt of fear made me change my tone. ‘Please, sweetheart. I’m afraid. What if I go into labour down here and you’re not about? If you’re at work? I could die!’

‘I’ve taken sick leave,’ he said, glancing up from wiping down the little card table he’d left me to eat at. Even imprisoned with virtually no belongings, I managed to make a mess. ‘I’m always here. I told Mum not to come for Christmas, by the way. Said you didn’t feel up to it, with the pregnancy.’

Things were pretty bad when the idea of my mother-in-law not coming made me want to cry. With the Christmas break approaching, it was possible no one would find me for weeks. They’d think Nick and I had bedded down, cosy and happy together in our rural idyll.

‘But you can’t hear me up there, if I need something.’ Perhaps I could convince him to give me my phone.

‘There’s the camera. I’ll check on you through that.’

The idea of being watched all the time made my breath stop. I twisted my hands together, trying to match his reasonable tone. ‘The thing is, I really do need to shower. I read that infections can develop otherwise, hurt the baby.’ I began to cry, not entirely faked. ‘Poor thing. He didn’t ask for any of this.’

‘He?’ Nick frowned. ‘Did you find out the gender and not tell me?’