Elliot looked up at the malevolent cloud above him. What he had done was bad enough.

But what was about to happen? That didn’t bear thinking about.

7. Father for Justice

7. Father for Justice

Graham Sopweed was having a very, very bad week. His nerves were shredded. Even though it was Saturday, the phone had barely stopped ringing all morning. For days he and Ms Givings, the school welfare officer, had been trying to piece together what had been going on in the Hooper household. And more importantly, where Elliot had disappeared to now.

It had been three days since the death of Josie Hooper and Elliot hadn’t been seen since he left the hospital. It was his father – recently released on parole from prison – who had reported him missing. The police’s first theory was that a grief-stricken child had simply run away and would come back when he’d calmed down. But Elliot hadn’t come back. And now other, darker theories were starting to surface. Graham had received three calls that morning from national newspapers who could smell an impending tragedy. Word was starting to spread about the missing boy from Little Motbury. But Elliot Hooper had vanished into thin air.

The headmaster paced nervously around his office for the hundredth time. This was his fault. How had he missed the signs? Elliot had been tired, distracted, late, his clothes didn’t fit him, he had withdrawn from all his friends . . . Brysmore Grammar School had failed him terribly. And Call Me Graham knew it.

And now he had to explain all of this to Elliot’s father.

Graham winced as the grandfather clock in his office struck 11 a.m. He still had no idea what to say to David Hooper. It had taken this long to persuade him to meet at all – Mr Hooper had been tirelessly scouring the countryside for his son. But he was going to have to say something.

Right on cue, there was a firm knock on the door.

‘Do come in,’ Graham answered, tripping on the rug as he stood up to greet his visitor.

The door opened and Graham gasped. Standing before him was a man who could be Elliot’s older self. The resemblance was staggering – right down to the wary blue eyes and drawn, pale face. Both of them had been through so much.

‘Mr Sopweed,’ said Dave quietly.

‘Mr Hooper,’ Graham replied, feebly offering a handshake. ‘And please, call me Graham.’

Dave took a seat. He ran his hands anxiously down his legs, smoothing invisible creases on his trousers. Call Me Graham’s heart grew heavier just looking at Dave Hooper. This was a man whose soul was broken. The headmaster took his seat behind the desk.

‘Mr Hooper,’ he began softly, ‘firstly can I just express our sincerest condolences from all here at Brysmore for your loss.’

‘Which one?’ said Dave Hooper quickly. Graham flinched at the barb.