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‘So,’ she said. ‘My little boy is three years old. I can’t believe it. You’re growing up so fast.’

She didn’t have a present. With Seb, she had begged the man for something to give him. He had given nothing; instead he had taken him away. She had often wondered if her begging had brought it about in some way – for a time she had been sure it had, and the guilt had tortured her – maybe, if she’d kept quiet, he would not have even known it was Seb’s birthday.

So this time, she said nothing. In the last few weeks she had acted as though everything was normal. The man came with breakfast and dinner. Sometimes he came in his blue bathrobe and sometimes he left her alone.

She never mentioned Leo’s birthday.

He never mentioned Leo’s birthday.

And she thought, maybe, hopefully, that he had forgotten. And if having no present for her son was the price of that? Well, it was a price she would happily pay. And when she got out of here she would make it up to Leo with all the presents money could buy.

2

She heard the scraping noise. She beckoned to Leo and he came and sat on her lap. The door opened and the man came in.

He put a tray on the floor. Two bowls of cornflakes. A new jug of water.

He gestured at the old one. ‘Leave that by the door later,’ he said.

Maggie watched him, waiting for him to say, Happy birthday, Leo or Give him to me, but he said nothing. Her heart skipped; the weight in her stomach lifted.

He backed out of the room. The door clicked shut behind him.

‘Leo,’ she said. ‘Let’s have breakfast.’

3

‘Hands out,’ she said. ‘Watch the socks.’

Leo stood in front of her, his hands cupped in front of his chest. She sat cross-legged, a balled-up pair of white socks in her hand.

‘Ready?’

Leo nodded.

‘One, two, three … catch!’

She threw the socks in a gentle arc. They hit his hands and his fingers closed around them.

‘Well done! What a great catcher you are! You throw to me.’

Leo launched the socks into the air. They flew to Maggie’s right; she dived to catch them.

As she landed on the carpet, she heard the scraping sound.

It wasn’t time for the man to come. It was only an hour since breakfast. It was still morning.

She stared up at the door, the socks in her outstretched hand. The handle turned, and it opened.

The man walked in. He looked at her and frowned, then shook his head dismissively. His hands hung by his side. They were empty. He was not bringing food or cleaning equipment or anything that explained why he was here.

He pointed at Leo.

‘Come here, Leo,’ he said.

Maggie sprang upright and grabbed Leo’s hands. She pulled him tight to her.

‘No,’ she said. ‘He’s not going with you.’