“No, are you?”

“No.” Enfield grins widely. “Now that’s sorted, maybe I can take you for a proper drink.” He’s interrupted as somebody careers into the back of him, pitching him forward.

The man who sent Enfield flying is a big bear of a guy. Beyond him stands Oscar, swaying slightly. The bear starts toward him and Tyler moves quickly, stepping between the two of them. “That’s enough.”

The bear squares up to him. “What the fuck’s it got to do with you, princess?”

Tyler pulls out his wallet and flashes his warrant card in the man’s face.

The bear’s attitude crumbles. “Look, sorry, luv, all right? I’m not looking for trouble.” A hand strays subconsciously to his back pocket. He’s carrying. Pills or dope, most likely.

“Walk away then.”

The bear nods and melts into the throng of clubbers.

“I could’ve handled it,” Oscar says. His words are slurred.

“Sit down for a minute.” Tyler orders a glass of water, and the barman thanks him for interceding. He glances at Paul Enfield, who nods his understanding. Then he has to half-carry Oscar to the sofa in the chill-out corner. The barman brings over the water.

“Doggett thinks the woman they’ve found is Cynthia.” Not Mum, or Mother. Cynthia. Oscar upends the glass and downs the water in one. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Getting your face smashed in isn’t going to help.”

Oscar puts down the glass and cradles his head in his hands. “I’ll be all right.” He looks up at the door. “Sorry I ruined your evening.”

Tyler glances back to the bar in time to see Paul Enfield heading out the door. He doubts the man is just going out for a smoke.

Oscar touches his arm, drawing back his attention. “Let me buy you a drink. Just to say thank you, for everything.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Please. Just one drink. I don’t want to be on my own right now.” He smiles, and the innocent little boy is back. The water seems to have sobered him greatly, but his eyes are still red and haunted. His fingers brush lightly across Tyler’s wrist.

“One drink,” he says. And he knows, even as he says it, that it’s never just one drink.

—

The journey home seems much shorter.

Once they had met up with the others down by the wharf, everyone was a lot less inclined to any further walking. Someone suggested they retire to a local pub until the coach could pick them up. It was shortly after the third sherry that Lily noticed the man in the corner staring at her. A grizzly fisherman with a nicotine-stained beard that collected the foam from his ale with every mouthful. His eyes never left hers, and though she tried to avoid his gaze, there was something about him that kept drawing her back. She was so relieved when someone announced the arrival of the coach, she determined to look him straight in the eye as she passed him on the way out. But when she turned to do so, he was gone.