On the journey north, Matt expects no conversation from Evan, but talks as if he does. He suggests Evan puts on the radio, but senses rather than sees a slight shake of his head. Matt would prefer some distraction from what’s on his mind – the froth of Radio 2, a commercial station, or even, in deference to Evan, Radio 1 – but Evan seems content to look out of the car window. A few miles on the road, and Matt’s finding the empty space a good place to think things over – what he’ll say to his mother, the creeping worry that she may not be OK, the way things are between him and Claire, what the impact will be on Evan if they go their separate ways. While Evan was gone, life was simple. There was grief, and not much else. Now the grief for the son he’s lost – the normal boy, with normal prospects – is far more complex, and the fact that life will go on means if it’s to be more than the drudgery of passing days, roads must be chosen and hard decisions made. Even to be considering what he’s contemplating makes Matt feel a heel.

It isn’t until the pressure on his bladder starts to be uncomfortable that he realises they’re totally unprepared to make this journey. Since his return, Evan has barely left the house, and then only to visit police facilities and the child psychiatrist they lined up for him to begin what they’re calling his rehabilitation. Signs appear for services in three miles. Evan is still looking out of the window, hands on his knees, the fingers of his right hand tapping a rhythm which might be boredom but is more likely to be stress. Surreptitiously Matt watches the hand, thinking how it’s changed – from the baby fist which used to grip his own fingers, to the toddler hand which held his crossing the road, to the boy’s hand which struggled to hold his cards when they played games at Christmas. Now it’s a youth’s hand, long and oversized and ready to be grown into, at odds with the way Evan is mentally. He seems much younger than he was before, as if he’s fallen under an enchantment reversing the path of maturation, retreating into boyishness as his body shoots up towards manhood.

‘I think we’ll stop for a comfort break, shall we?’ Matt suggests. ‘If you’re hungry, we could get a bite, McDonald’s or something. Only don’t tell your mum.’

As soon as he’s said the words, he sees his lack of tact. For all he knows, Evan was fed nothing but fast food all the time he was gone, which would make it not a treat, but a reminder. A sandwich would be safer, but in the face of Evan’s apparent indifference, it seems it doesn’t matter.