But the real games were being played in the park just metres away, the cheering of a goal drifting through the hedgerow, and Carly knew that whatever this was, it was deadly, deadly serious.

Still, she thought someone would have heard them, would swoop in and save them at the last minute. All her storybooks ended well and it had never really occurred to her that sometimes there might not be a happily ever after. That was until the door slammed shut, the engine roared and she crashed onto her side as the van pulled away.

The stench of petrol in such a confined space was overpowering, along with the stink of body odour. At first Carly thought it must be coming from the men until she felt her shirt sticking to her back with sweat and she realized it was emanating from her. The smell of her own fear.

It was hot. Bumpy. She swayed, unable to use her tethered hands to steady herself. She tried to breathe deeply to calm down but each time she inhaled the tape across her lips prevented air from entering her lungs. Her chest burned painfully. Her nostrils flared as she drew in short, sharp bursts of air until she felt dizzy. The knot from the back of her blindfold dug into her skull.

One of the twins was whimpering, the other frighteningly silent and it was the silence that scared Carly the most. The girls had been nothing but noise since they’d been born. Laughing. Crying. Playing. Chattering away in their twin language that no one else understood. Carly planted her heels on the floor, her ankle bones rubbing uncomfortably together, and dragged her bottom, weaving forwards, slow and uneven – a spider missing legs – until her feet reached something that could have been a body. She shuffled herself around, her hands groping until she connected with another hand. A frightened cry and then long fingers gripping hers. Piano-playing fingers. She thought it must be Leah.

Carly moved again, fumbling around until she located Marie. She was still. Too still. Afraid, Carly pressed against her wrist, willing a pulse to jump beneath her fingers. She blinked back tears of gratitude as she located the slow and steady thump. She wouldn’t allow herself to cry.

She had taken the twins out of the garden and got them into this.

She had to get them out.

Thoughts jostled for attention as Carly tried to process what had happened. Who had taken them and why, but nothing made any sense. Part of her clung desperately to the vague hope that it was a prank. The programme her parents liked to watch where unsuspecting members of the public were fooled – but the blood streaming from a gash in her cheek told her it wasn’t a joke. On TV, the tricks were unexpected, funny. Never cruel.

She rubbed her face against the wall of the van, trying to dislodge her blindfold. Each time they drove over a bump her head smashed painfully into the hard metal but still she persisted until at last she felt the material begin to slide.