There didn’t seem much point in hiding him. She doesn’t know what will happen when he’s found. If he’s found. Maybe they would think it was an accident.

She knows they won’t think it was an accident.

The only thing she knows for certain now is that Aaron will not be OK. The thought is a thrum of anxiety at the back of her mind.

She knows this will end badly. But for the moment, she keeps driving.

The journey should take four hours. But they skip the motorway, so it should take seven. But they get lost, so when it gets dark, and Rose starts to panic because she’s never driven at night, she pulls into a layby and they sleep in the car.

The autumn night is cold. They try the front two seats first, then they curl around each other on the back seat, like they used to.

At midnight, Rose is awake. Aaron is sleeping. His limbs lie slack and heavy. His head rests on her arm, but her head tilts back to look out of the window. The shape of it is unfamiliar from this angle. Through it she can see trees, and beyond, stars. A car passes, near enough to hear, but far enough to provide no light.

She closes her eyes.

In dreams, she still holds Aaron. She feels him in her arms, but she cannot see him.

She wakes again. It’s still dark. The air sits in cool pockets by her neck, chilled by the metal of the car door. Her stomach aches with hunger. She remembers a shoot. She dreams it. She sits at a table, long and elegant and fake. Fifteen burgers are used. All of them are cold. They have neat semicircles bitten out of them. They have tampons soaked in boiling water buried in them. Steam rises appetisingly.

Archie is there. She kisses him. He pulls her towards him. She kisses him and now they are in his flat, like they were, exactly like they were. She is remembering, but she is dreaming. In the dream, she is taller, stronger. They are in his flat, and the diamond-patterned wallpaper is peeling, and the stairs are littered with broken things. She tastes him. She kisses him and she bites his lip. She wraps her legs around him and she squeezes. His face is white and scared.

She wakes again. The car is filled with misty grey light. The window is covered with condensation. Her arm is numb under the bony weight of Aaron’s head, and her shoulder aches. She shifts slightly, raising herself up. Aaron’s head tips gently to one side. She looks at him, checking to see he’s still sleeping. His eyelids are blue. She can see his eyeballs moving beneath them.