What if I’m wrong about Connor? Should I have stayed and explained my theories to the police? But it was so frustrating, the slow, methodical way Mel had said they questioned her over Ryan’s disappearance. The endless cups of tea and empty reassurances and they haven’t found him yet. I don’t have time for that.

Hurry.

Seventy-five.

Eighty.

From the centre console my phone begins to ring. Periodically, Aidan has been calling. I glance at the screen to see if it’s him again or if it’s the police with news of Connor. As I momentarily tear my eyes away from the road the car begins to weave. It pulls violently to the left, dragging me into the oncoming traffic. I press my foot hard against the brake and the car begins to spin, into the path of an oncoming truck.

My hands are tight around the steering wheel.

Connor the only thing on my mind.

Headlights loom towards me.

The blare of a horn.

A bang.

My body jerking forwards.

Kieron’s body jerking forward.

I thrust my arm across his chest to protect him.

Spinning. Spinning. Spinning.

Silence.

Chapter Fifty

Aidan

Aidan pulls up outside her house. It’s shabby and run-down. Most of the other houses on this street have been boarded up and the ones that haven’t have metal shutters on their windows. Connor is here. He has to be.

I have something you want. Clock is ticking.

Her battered white car is parked outside.

He could creep around the back – the element of surprise – but she might have noticed his car is here. It’s time to stop playing games.

I’ll let u know where & when.

Here.

Now.

He raps on the door.

No reply.

‘I know you’re there,’ he shouts through the letterbox, ‘and I’m not leaving.’

He thumps the door with his fists until it opens. She stands before him, there’s a slouch in her spine, her usual confidence missing.

‘What are you doing here? I told you—’

‘And I’m telling you.’ He pushes into the hallway and slams the door behind him. ‘That I want my son.’

‘Your… What are you on about?’

‘Connor?’ Aidan runs into the lounge – there’s a dip in the battered beige sofa cushion where she’s been sitting, a spiral of smoke curling from the cigarette which smoulders in an ashtray balanced on the arm. There’s scarcely any other furniture. He can see immediately that Connor isn’t here. He checks the kitchen with its dated dark wooden cabinets, the avocado bathroom. The whole house feels oppressive. She trails after him, tugging at his arm. ‘Aidan, stop. I haven’t… I don’t…’

He ignores her. Climbs the stairs two at a time. The first bedroom is a mess. Dark purple wallpaper peeling from the walls, double bed crumpled with stained sheets. Clothes heaped onto the worn hessian carpet.