Behind a bookshelf in the living room, Jack found a wooden arrow covered in cobwebs. The shaft was beautifully sandpapered to a smooth finish and the metal head was made from a piece of a Coke can folded and hammered into a triangular point. Even the fletching, made of pigeon feathers, was still intact.

“Our cat never actually killed birds,” Jack explained. “But it’d bring stray feathers in and give them to Dad. We made a bow and arrows in the shed one day when Mum was out. We had enough feathers to make fletching for seven arrows, I think it was. I’ve no idea why we thought it’d be a good idea to test it in here. Maybe it was raining. Dad hates being cold.”

Jack looked up the wall. Directly above his head, just beneath the narrow cornice that ran around the edge of the ceiling, there was a deep gouge in the wallpaper.

“This one hit the wall and fell down behind the bookcase, just as Mum came back. Dad almost shit himself! He threw the bow out the window and we pretended we’d been reading.”

Maggie loved the “little boy” version of Jack. His smile melted away as the depth of his impending loss dawned on him. She wrapped her arms round his neck, forcing him to dip his head and rest into her neck. She felt him breathe against her tight embrace and she didn’t let go until she felt him start to move away. She would have held on to him forever if he’d wanted her to.

By early evening, Maggie and Jack were eating pizza and drinking wine in front of the fire, happy just to be with each other in this comfortable, familiar space that, after today, they’d never see again.

“I’m sorry for being a dick,” Jack said, out of the blue. “With all the Jimmy Nunn stuff, I mean. I’m not after another dad, Mags. I want to know where this restlessness comes from—or if it’s just me not quite knowing where I fit. Foxy’s helping me find the answers I need but what I won’t do, I promise, is ever again allow Jimmy Nunn to distract me from the people who are really important. We should catch up with Mum and Dad, like we said we would. Do you reckon you can get the time off work?”

Maggie knew her work rota off by heart, so knew she was owed several days—but she was more concerned about the cost of two tickets to St. Lucia, which was the next stop for the cruise ship. As she googled flight and hotel prices, Jack’s phone buzzed.

Foxy’s text read: No DNA match.

In a split second, everything Jack had just said went out the window. If Jimmy Nunn wasn’t the man in Harry Rawlins’s first grave, then he could still be walking around somewhere. He watched Maggie’s lips move, but he didn’t hear a word she said. He was getting to grips with the idea that his birth dad might still be alive.