Imogen scraped her chair back. ‘Oh God, I hate these chairs. They’re always wobbling.’ She stood up and strode through into the living room, where she flung herself down on to the sofa, feet up, and stared out into the darkness of the street.

Cradling her cup of tea, Theresa followed, sitting on an armchair near the coffee table.

In her pocket, her phone vibrated, then rang.

She answered.

It was Cyril, about today’s meat order.

‘Sorry, Cyril, you’ll have to speak to Sally or William. I’m terribly busy.’

‘I wonder, Theresa, if today you might like some fresh—’

‘I’m sorry but my granddaughter has gone missing. I’m in England. I really don’t care about the meat. You’ll need to speak to someone who’s actually in the kitchen.’

‘I’m very sorry to be disturbing. Pardon.’ Cyril hung up.

Theresa watched Imogen and realised that there was little she could do but be here for her.

Her phone rang again.

Imogen spun round and said furiously, ‘Don’t mind me, Mum, I’m only out of my mind with worry. Carry on, please, with your business calls.’

Chastised, Theresa rose and answered the phone while climbing up the stairs.

It was Carol.

‘Darling. Now I’m just sitting in the van in the parking opposite your flat, so I thought I’d better keep you up to date.’

Theresa had no idea what she was talking about.

‘Really, Carol, I’ve no time for La Mosaïque at the moment . . . But I—’

‘Sally told me you wanted me to keep an eye out on your place.’

‘It really doesn’t matter . . .’

‘All right. But for your information there is, at this very moment, a balding man peering through your front window. He’s literally got his face crushed up to the glass.’

Theresa was pulled up short. She turned and sat on the top step.

‘Sorry, Carol, tell me that again.’

‘A man with a bald head – not entirely bald, you know, not Captain Picard, more of a tall Winston Churchill – is looking through your front window in a rather earnest fashion.’

Theresa was now furious not to be there in person. From here what could she do?

‘Is he fat?’

‘I can only see his back.’

‘Can you go and question him?’

‘And ask him what?’

‘I don’t know. He may be the man who’s run off with my granddaughter. You remember her? Chloe? She’s gone off with some old bald man.’

‘I’m on it.’ Carol cut off.

Theresa remained immobile at the top of the stairs. She knew it would be unwise to say anything to Imogen until she heard again from Carol.

She got up and made her way to her bedroom. As she reached the door, Cressida came out of her own bedroom, rubbing her eyes.

‘Oh, it’s you, Grandma. I thought Chloe was home.’

Theresa gave Cressida a squeeze.

‘The man – you know, Chloe’s friend. Was he in the playground or at the gates, or where?’