Jack was surprised to see that Maggie had taken the night off; dinner was in the oven and the wine was poured. This was the first time he’d seen her since he’d told her the news about his dad. She hugged him, handed him his wine and waited for him to talk about Charlie. She wasn’t expecting to hear him talk about a man she’d never heard of before.

Jack started in the middle, rather than at the beginning.

“Jimmy Nunn could have been right up there with the likes of Jackie Stewart, but then something changed the course of his life and he . . . Well, he just carried on doing what he was good at really—driving.” Maggie stared at the contents of the dog-eared file, tipped out and scattered across the living room floor. “Dad said that, if I wanted, I could learn about my past. I snapped at him, Mags, and said I didn’t need anyone but him and Mum. But, well, by the time I got to work, I was curious.” He picked up Trudie’s death certificate and showed it to Maggie. “Dead end.”

“She was beautiful,” Maggie commented as she sifted through the old photographs.

Jack shrugged. “Yeah, maybe . . . But I’m going to find Jimmy Nunn. I’ve tracked down one of his old work colleagues and Aunt Fran must know something about him.”

Frances Stanley was Trudie’s sister, and her signature was on Jack’s foster care paperwork, dated 1984. On the floor in front of Maggie and Jack were several birthday and Christmas cards from Fran, but these seemed to have stopped around the time Jack was five or six years old.

“I think I remember speaking to Aunt Fran on the phone once. I’d won something at school and I asked Mum if I could phone her. She was proud of me. Said she’d send me something for being so clever . . . but she never did.”

“Love,” Maggie said gently, “why do you want to find Jimmy Nunn?” Jack looked at her blankly, as though the answer should be obvious. “I mean, you can,” she continued, “and I’ll gladly help you. But why?”

The oven pinged and dinner was ready. Maggie kissed him and took her glass of wine into the kitchen. By the time she came back, he’d gone. The hallway door was open and she could hear him talking on the phone.

“I’m sorry to call so late, Aunt Fran.” Jack checked his watch: 11:45. “Oh—I’m really sorry, I didn’t realize what time it was. Yes, I’m fine. I know, it’s been ages . . . London now. Yes, we moved with Maggie’s job . . . I’m a police officer.” Jack laughed politely. “I do like it, yes. It’s challenging, you know.”

Maggie sat down on the sofa to listen.

“The reason I’m calling is that I was wondering what you knew about Jimmy Nunn.” Jack fell silent except for the occasional “hmm,” “OK” and “I see.” “Well, do you know anyone who might know anything about him . . . ? Yes, I know it’s old ground but . . . No, I understand. OK then, well, thank you for your time and apologies again for calling so late. Mum and Dad are fine, yes, thanks for asking . . . I’ll tell them you said hi.”