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And then she heard a noise. It came from somewhere behind the door. It was a kind of scraping, like a stone being moved or the brakes of a large truck being hit hard.

A door of some kind being opened, maybe.

She held her breath. The scraping noise stopped, then came again.

The stone being put back. The door being closed.

And then a footstep, right outside the door to the room.

And then the handle turning.

2

At first she didn’t recognize him.

She’d been expecting a man in grey trousers and a scruffy shirt, but he was wearing a blue towelling bathrobe. It had a faded insignia on it – some kind of animal – and was tied tight at the waist. He was wearing socks with snowflakes on them – given, perhaps, by a grandchild – and a pair of dark green slippers.

He was tall and heavily built, but looked soft, his muscles slack and fleshy. There was a sheen to the skin on his face that made him look almost like he was made of wax.

In his hands he held a tray. There was a plate of food and a glass of milk on it. He put it on the floor, then locked the door with a key he kept on a chain around his wrist. She made a note of that.

‘Here,’ he said. ‘Something to eat.’

His voice was halting, the words coming in bursts. Something – pause – to eat. It was as though he didn’t get much practice speaking.

Maggie looked at the plate. There were some kind of fried potatoes and a few stalks of boiled broccoli, along with some fish fingers. Fish fingers! How old did he think she was? Six?

‘I’m not hungry,’ she said. ‘I want to go home.’

He stared at her for a while, his mouth settling into a look of resigned disappointment.

‘I thought you might say that,’ he replied. ‘That’s not going to’ – another pause, followed by a rush of words – ‘be possible, I’m afraid.’ He smiled, his gums pink and fleshy. ‘Sorry, my darling.’

Maggie’s skin prickled. ‘You can’t keep me here,’ she said. ‘Let me go.’

He shook his head.

She clenched her fists. ‘Let me go!’ she shouted. ‘You have to let me go!’

‘I don’t have to do anything,’ he said. ‘Not any more. Not now.’

‘My mum will find me,’ Maggie said. ‘My mum and dad will come and find me so you might as well let me leave now. If you let me go I won’t tell anyone what you did.’

‘I’m touched by your faith in your parents,’ the man said. ‘But I don’t think you’re right. There’s no way she will be able to find you here. No one will. I’ve put a lot of thought – and effort – into this.’ He made a sweeping gesture, indicating the room around them. ‘It’s totally hidden. I made sure of that.’

He spoke in a serious, quiet voice. Maggie fought the urge to scream.

‘What do you want?’ Maggie said. ‘What do you want from me?’

‘I don’t want anything from you,’ the man replied. ‘What would I want from you? I want to help you.’

‘Help me?’ Maggie shook her head. ‘This isn’t helping me,’ she said. ‘This is the opposite of helping me.’

‘No,’ the man said. ‘You say that because you don’t understand. This is what you need. I’m giving you what you need.’

His pink, gummy smile came again. He looked at her, his eyes lidded. He was trying to be seductive, she realized. She shuddered.

The panic came closer to the surface. Her vision blurred. She took a deep breath. It was a struggle to retain what little control of herself she had left.