“. . . a highly respected therapist from the UK who’s going to be giving expert comment throughout the show. If you have anything to tell us, the number to call . . .”

Some people sang the number.

275

Edward the Fireman sang along. Almost in tune. Perhaps he did have Sinatra’s heart. He took some painkillers and waited for Penny and the anesthetic to take effect.

274

“First up we have Jean from Maine. What have you got to say, Jean?”

“Hi, Penny. Hello, Dr. Frankburg.”

“Hello, Jean.”

“What’s up, Jean?”

“My mother is missing.”

“That’s terrible, Jean,” said Penny.

“Well, yes, it is, I’m awful upset about it.”

“How old is she, Jean?”

“Well now, let me think. I guess she must be getting on for a hundred and eighteen now.”

“One hundred and eighteen?” said Penny. “That’s pretty old. When did she go missing?”

“Ninety-three years ago this spring.”

“Urn . . .”

“I was born and she disappeared from the hospital.”

“I see”.

“I’ve been looking and looking but I haven’t found her yet.”

“Right, well, Jean—”

“She has dark black hair and a little mole, like a beauty spot, on her left cheek, and she has perfect straight white teeth and red lipstick.”

“I think-”

“And she’s wearing a blue dress, a maternity dress, which will now be hanging a bit loose on her.”

“Dr. Frankburg, do you have any—?”

“And I’m afraid to say it, but she isn’t wearing a wedding ring, not even an engagement ring. I feel like I’m betraying her but you need the description to be accurate, otherwise you might get all sorts of false alarms.”

“Indeed.”

“And I don’t want false alarms knocking on my door.”

“Who would? Um—”

“I don’t want to be getting my hopes up, you see.”

“Are you ninety-three years old, Jean?” said Penny.

“I’ll be ninety-three in spring.”

“Have you ever considered the possibility that your mother may have passed away?”

A terrible pause.

“Jean?”

“What do you mean?” Jean’s quivering reply.

“Well, I’m saying, after all these years—”

“Do you know something?” almost whispered.

“No, I haven’t got any firm facts, but I’m just thinking, one hundred and eighteen. I mean, that’s pretty old . . .”

“Oh, my lord.”

“As I said, um, Dr. Frankburg, have you got anything to say?”

“Jean,” said Ali, “is your mother very beautiful?”

“Oh yes, yes, she is.”

“Sparkling eyes, cheerful laugh?”

“That’s her, yes, that’s the one.”

“Soft hands, gentle manner?”

“You know her, you’ve got her right off.”

“Then I do know where she is, she’s in Paris.”

“Paris? How grand.”

“She was taken there after you were born in order to join her real family, an aristocratic family. She sent for you but the papers went missing. She’s spent her whole life trying to find you but without success. She’s very ill now, Jean.”

“Oh dear lord.”