The floor was tatty old carpet, scratchy beneath her one bare foot. Her absent shoe was in a bush, waiting to be discovered, and in her mind it had become a living thing, lying quietly as it looked anxiously skywards, hoping for a face to peer down and notice it, rescuing it gently. That shoe was her message in a bottle. She’d bought the pair only two weeks earlier, loving the softness of them as she admired their bright yellow canvas and black elastic laces. They’d been an extravagance, but then she’d never had to worry about money. She’d never had to worry about anything before, she realised now. Wealth and privilege had shielded her from everything except illness and the more distressing news broadcasts. To combat those, she’d been an enthusiastic supporter of numerous charities. Over the years she’d helped raise millions for social issues such as homelessness and child poverty, and made sure the new teenage cancer wing on a nearby hospital was completed to the highest standards, fully equipped and as homely as could be.

‘Put it on,’ the man said, laying a greying, too large wedding dress over her lap. Elspeth stared at it.

‘You want me to do what?’

‘Going to get ready,’ was his reply.

He shuffled through a doorway that led into a bedroom beyond. What the other rooms held, Elspeth hadn’t yet discovered. Standing was painful. She’d spent the first twenty-four hours after her abduction bound and laid on her side, knees up, wrists roped behind her back. Her captor had carried her from driveway to vehicle, and from there into a house. When her bindings were finally cut, she’d remained in position, moving only inch by inch, tendons stiff and muscles seized. In spite of regular yoga classes and trips to the gym, it had taken only that brief time to weaken her.

Now, she was undoing the zip on a wedding dress that surely hadn’t been worn for decades. The lace was ripped and the stale yellow of old pub wallpaper. Stepping into it, she shed silent tears for her own husband. Her parting words to him had been snappy and churlish. She’d been desperate to return home and make things right with him. Now she might never have the chance. She pulled the dress up over her chest and slipped her arms into the puffy sleeves. A cloud of dust burst upwards into her face, leaving her choking. The smell was of attic and rodent droppings.

‘You look beautiful,’ the man said.

He’d reappeared with ghostlike stealth around the door. Elspeth wrapped her arms around her waist.