The package is delivered.

The day was one of those lazy, warm summer days.

Sorry I detest narratives that start out like that, always feels false to me yet here I am writing my memoires and beginning a chapter in a stereotypical way. Ah well it can't be helped; the day of the parcel really was a long hot summers day. I recall it so well because I was sitting outside my favourite coffee house sipping a latte and watching Simpson’s style white clouds meander across azure blue skies carried along by whatever breeze occasionally caressed the world. I’d often play my cloud busting game on those types of days, a game I had always loved playing. Right from being a kid, deep down I thought I possessed the superpower to control the clouds, and not a goat or bush in sight.

I’ll level with you my concentration was not at its strongest the day of the parcel, in fact I’d wholeheartedly agree it was, at best, tangential. My absent-minded cloud busting was happening at the time when the public were beginning to explore their High Streets again, even our sleepy little town. I say town it was more like a large village but the world of media and copy always like to make things appear more elaborate than they are; so, I was in a small-town drinking coffee and busting clouds whilst secretly watching people take their first tentative steps in the streets, becoming accustomed again to sharing space with others.

During the previous 18 months, or so, I had made the effort to promote the small businesses of my village. From here on in I will refer to the area as a village, I have no need for the pretence or delusions of grandeur. As I was saying I had made a point of visiting my local stores and supporting them through the rough times. Yes, of course it was part of my job to promote these businesses and keep my local economy afloat, though that is only part of the story. I had built long lasting and loyal friendships with the owners of these stores; I’d even worked in the bookstore as a student and had gone to school with some of the owners’ children, some of whom now ran the businesses. In short, I had a strong affinity to my local area, and in truth my routine had been the same for many years. I would often be seen drinking coffee whilst flicking through a book I’d just bought next door.

I digress, just take it from me that I loved the village and my support for the small businesses was never about trying to gain the popular vote, or virtue signalling, or vanity, or any of the other poisoned claims hurled at me over the years. Yes, my actions fell within the remit of my role, no I didn’t do them merely to toe the line.

On that day, I had decided to sit outside in the shaded area, my hat obscuring my face. The tables were small round metal affairs with a pleasing filigree woven between the tops of the legs and the base of functional top surface. They were big enough for 2 people to comfortably sit at with matching chairs still placed at a regimented distance from each other. Even in the shade a handful of people recognised me and came over for a chat. I greeted all of them with an overly practiced smile and pleasant demeanour, not entirely faked. Though even now, after all this time, I still catch myself pretending to be an entertainment star on an endless promotion tour. As I tirelessly deliver the same answer to the same question asked the previous day – or even within the last hour – in a way that suggests I’ve never been asked that before; it’s a skill and it has taken years of practice, with more than a few catastrophic failures along the way.

‘Why yes, it is quite simply the best coffee in the area.’

‘Really, that surprises me I’ve been coming here for years. Used to work next door as a kid.’

‘No, the men on the next table are not my security detail.’

‘Sorry I am not currently available for one-to-one meetings. But please do pop a note in at the office, or drop me a mail, I will pick it up and get back to you.’

Of course, it comes with the territory the intrusion of strangers wandering into your life and thoughts, or as it was that day your cloud busting. For the most part I have found people to be respectful and only wanting to say hello or thank you or maybe ask advice. There’re always the ones who are incapable of differentiating between public persona and private life; some aggressively demanding the impossible from you, others almost comical in their lack of comprehension no matter how many hints you lay on their plate. To that ilk of person if you are a public figure, through choice or circumstance, you have somehow sold your soul and are fair game because to them you have forgone any rights to a private life. I understand where their viewpoint comes from, to an extent they are correct, though even on the farthest point of that line there is a section cordoned off and marked ‘Private. Do not enter’.

It was somewhere between a passing pleasantry towards a stranger with a wireless ear bud and shades, and me busting the cloud Imperial Fighter that the text from FedEx came in. Being brutally honest here it never crossed my mind to read it, I deleted it upon seeing the word FedEx. For those of you who know how this day ends please allow me to explain why I deleted the text. Scams had increased at an exponential rate, and a lot of them revolved around courier deliveries because, apparently, we had all become aware that we didn’t have long lost relations in a foreign land who needed our life savings to get out of jail. No, these courier scammers knew that the first world nations were relying on home deliveries for people to exist, so they used the basic premise of a parcel is on its way, not enough duty/postage paid, click on the link, and pay the excess. For those not old enough to know, don’t ever click on a link from a random text or mail. Just don’t. As I was not expecting anything to be delivered to my home, I ignored the message.

My private address was known. The press knew it, and sometimes camped outside for stories they believed were ‘in the public interest’. Friends and colleagues knew my address and to be fair back then it wasn’t difficult to find out where I lived, just follow me home after my coffee. For the sake of the narrative my home was situated slightly out of the main village, alongside open fields and in summer the winding road was obscured in places by the tall hedges, it was, I’m almost ashamed to say, in the affluent area as befitted my position; it always felt like an unnecessary extravagance. I had acquiesced to live there as in my heart of hearts I knew that staying in my childhood home was a security risk. Consequently, an unmarked police car was frequently somewhere along the road, CCTV all around, and I did have a concealed tracker; its not just James Bond who gets them. And, before anyone screams ‘sheep’ or ‘civil rights’, my arm was not twisted, no gun held to my head, it was not a compromise, nor was it a privilege of office. It was my choice entirely to give my full, and wholehearted, consent to be tracked like a truckload of dog food!

Deviation again. Back to the day of the parcel. I knew from the mornings briefing that a car would be stationed at my address upon my return from coffee. With that knowledge I ordered some extra treats from the coffee house and left for home. I don’t recall anything unusual on the walk. It was warm, the air smelled of cut grass, no-one bumped into me, a few stopped to say hello and ask how I was doing, absolutely nothing unusual. As I walked up the final gentle incline to the small cluster of houses I noticed a person walking in the opposite direction and a dark coupe with 2 occupants, windows rolled down. Even from a few yards away I understood they were watching for activity. The passenger looking ahead, and possibly at my house, his shades hiding the direction of his eyes. The driver was obviously looking in the mirrors to catch any movement from behind. I walked up to the driver, nodded my hello at the vaguely familiar occupants, and passed over the bag of treats.

‘Good timing,’ the driver smiled, ‘We’ve just arrived. Had a minor incident to deal with first.’

I remember smiling a genuine smile at her, ‘Don’t worry, I’m sure there are far more important things to do than babysit me.’ And I simply walked across the street through my garden gate…….

……. All the conversations at security briefings flashed into my head when I saw the corner of a box wrapped in brown paper peeking suspiciously out from behind the potted plants at my door. I froze not able to move towards the parcel, nor was I able to turn and ask for help from the car behind me.

‘Yes, I am aware of the dangers that potentially could come my way.’

‘I refuse to hide behind my curtains.’

‘No, I do not want you to pool extra resource for me.’

‘I am not the previous occupier of this role; I don’t care what they demanded.’

As the briefings subsided my mind began to wonder as to the contents, was this my se7en moment?

‘Ma’am!’ came the shout from behind me. Before I could react I was swept off my feet, spilling my takeout Frap on the path. Everything from that moment on is a blur. I was bundled into the car as the man was barking into his earpiece. ‘Bomb squad, seal off the area. Roadblock.’ I am sure there was more to it than that, its strange how the brain works in a crisis. My most vivid memories of those frantic few moments consists of the distinctive warble from a nearby Chiffchaff, and the sight of my Frap arcing out of the cup and splashing back up onto the man’s trousers as it rebounded off the concrete in slow motion. I remember the smell of his deodorant and my disappointment at never been able to enjoy that Frap in the comfort of my own garden listening to birdsong, whilst reading my book. Something I had been looking forward to all week.

Had I been paying attention I might have noticed the window had been wound down already. Given a more heightened state of mind I could have recalled where I had seen the faces before but none of that registered. And to add insult to injury I never did find out what was in that box covered in brown paper partially hidden behind the flowerpots because that was the day, I was………

That was the day I was kidnapped.