‘But they’re regulars . . .’

‘I do know that, Benjamin. But they didn’t like the ambience, and I don’t blame them. They thought they were coming in for a romantic diner à deux ; instead they’ve got a bun fight.’

‘Oh God! We don’t want to start losing customers; now, of all times.’

‘Fine.’ William took off his velvet jacket and handed it to Benjamin. ‘If you think you could have handled it better, get out there. It’s Armageddon.’ He looked around. ‘Where’s Carol?’

‘Delivering to one of our regulars who’s down with les hémorroïdes,’ said Sally and Benjamin in unison. Then they both collapsed again with laughter.

‘Did you even take note of the order?’ William asked tartly. ‘Twenty – oh, eighteen – fish and chips Niçoise.’

Snatching his jacket back from Benjamin, he turned on his heel and returned to the fray.

Theresa sat waiting in the living room for her daughter to return. She had rung Imogen and asked her to come home at once. Theresa knew that the information she had got from Cressida had to be discussed face to face, rather than on the end of a phone.

She was nodding off on the sofa, exhausted by the emotional day, when the key clicked in the lock.

She rose and straightened her clothing. It was strange how she behaved with her own daughter as though she was being hauled before the headmistress.

Imogen put her head round the door. She looked unlike she ever had before: hair awry, make-up smudged, vaguely shell-shocked. ‘What is it?’ she asked, moving swiftly into the living room.

Theresa told her exactly what Cressida had said.

‘Did she have a name for this bald old pervert?’ Imogen’s hand hovered over her mouth; Theresa could see that it was shaking. ‘I have a direct-line number for the police. We have to give them his identity right away.’

Her words faded out and she staggered, tilting backwards and landing on the sofa.

Once sitting, she started to wail.

Theresa sat beside her and softly put her arm about her daughter’s shoulder.

‘Cressida wasn’t making much sense. She was on the verge of sleep. I think they’ve had a pretty weird day too.’

‘Name?’ snapped Imogen. ‘Just give me the bloody name.’

Theresa took a deep breath. ‘She didn’t exactly give a name. But she said his name was “Fire”.’

‘“Fire”? What kind of a name is that?’

Theresa shrugged. ‘Perhaps it’s an avatar. It seemed to me to be the kind of name you’d get on a computer game or internet chatroom.’

‘You do a lot of gaming, do you, Mum?’ Imogen shook off Theresa’s arm and stood up. ‘I’m going to wake Cressida and force it out of her.’

Theresa followed. ‘I don’t think that’s a good idea, Imogen. The child is exhausted.’

Imogen ran up the stairs, with Theresa in pursuit. She swung round the newel post and went straight into the girls’ room. She sat on Lola’s bed.