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Chapters (62)
  1. Title
  2. Copyright
  3. Contents
  4. About the Author
  5. About the Book
  6. Dedication
  7. Your Worst Nightmare
  8. ONE
  9. TWO
  10. THREE
  11. FOUR
  12. FIVE
  13. SIX
  14. SEVEN
  15. EIGHT
  16. NINE
  17. The Answer to All Your Prayers
  18. TEN
  19. ELEVEN
  20. TWELVE
  21. THIRTEEN
  22. FOURTEEN
  23. FIFTEEN
  24. SIXTEEN
  25. SEVENTEEN
  26. EIGHTEEN
  27. NINETEEN
  28. TWENTY
  29. TWENTY-ONE
  30. TWENTY-TWO
  31. TWENTY-THREE
  32. TWENTY-FOUR
  33. TWENTY-FIVE
  34. TWENTY-SIX
  35. TWENTY-SEVEN
  36. TWENTY-EIGHT
  37. TWENTY-NINE
  38. THIRTY
  39. THIRTY-ONE
  40. Somebody Else’s Child
  41. THIRTY-TWO
  42. THIRTY-THREE
  43. THIRTY-FOUR
  44. THIRTY-FIVE
  45. THIRTY-SIX
  46. THIRTY-SEVEN
  47. THIRTY-EIGHT
  48. THIRTY-NINE
  49. FORTY
  50. FORTY-ONE
  51. FORTY-TWO
  52. FORTY-THREE
  53. FORTY-FOUR
  54. FORTY-FIVE
  55. FORTY-SIX
  56. FORTY-SEVEN
  57. FORTY-EIGHT
  58. FORTY-NINE
  59. Sunlight on Water
  60. July
  61. September
  62. Acknowledgements

Matt takes out his phone and pretends to be engrossed in it. There’s a message from Claire asking how they’re getting on, and he replies with OK and an emoticon wearing a doubtful face.

The men leave, and several more – far less vocal – enter. Matt’s preparing to knock again, but as he raises his hand, the bolt slides back and Evan appears.

He leads Evan out into the food court. The men here are diluted with women and children, and in places there are empty tables where there are no men at all.

They look around at the fast-food franchises: burgers, pizza, fish and chips.

‘What do you fancy?’ asks Matt. He’s feeling inclined towards the fried chicken Claire never lets them eat, but Evan has other ideas. He’s heading the opposite way, indisputably in the direction of McDonald’s.

Claire’s enjoying her first glass of the evening, but the ring of the doorbell eradicates the welcome softening of tension the Pinot Noir brings. Instantly, her mind goes to Matt and Evan, and she hurries into the hall. Through the glass panes in the door, she sees a woman’s outline. Afraid it’s someone from the police, she opens it.

She doesn’t know the woman, and she doesn’t look like police: too young, too colourfully dressed. Even plain-clothes police like Naylor seem to stick to navy-blue and black, occasionally grey. This girl’s in green with flashes of yellow, and her kitten-heeled shoes are yellow to match.

Her smile’s a salesperson’s smile, showing all her white teeth but going nowhere near her eyes. There’s an expensive handbag slung over her shoulder – Mulberry? wonders Claire – and some kind of notebook under her arm.

‘Mrs Ferrers?’ she asks.

Claire is still sober enough to be cautious, and she could deny who she is and be believed. The woman on the doorstep has seen photos of Claire from when Evan was taken, and the Claire she’s seeing now looks nothing like those pictures. She looks more like an older relative, and without too much imagination she could be taken for her own mother.

‘Who’s asking?’

‘I am,’ says the young woman, with what she’s hoping is cheeky charm. ‘I’m Annabelle, from the Fletcher magazine group. You’re probably familiar with some of the titles we publish. We mostly do women’s interest, coffee break stuff, lots of celebrities and true stories. It is Claire, isn’t it? Would you mind if I come in?’