‘They’re in the field.’ Bloom picked up her phone, but there was no service. She scanned the horizon, looking for a possible route. Jameson turned left and accelerated along the road that ran parallel to the field, but it quickly began to veer away. They were losing them. Bloom craned her neck, looking back to try and find the bike. There was nothing but empty fields.

The car slowed. ‘It’s a dead end,’ Jameson said, as they reached the entrance to a factory. ‘They knew what they were doing.’

49

It was after midnight when Jameson and Bloom arrived back at the house.

Jameson headed to his room and took a shower. He turned the heat up high to wash away the frustration. What the hell had that been about? What had Lana gained? Bloom said the game’s creators had been manipulating her emotions, that they’d have got a kick out of it, but Jameson didn’t buy it. There had to be something else, some practical reason, some fundamental gain. When he could take no more, he wrapped the large bath towel from the radiator around his waist. It was soft and warm. He reached for his phone and replied to Sarah. She’d texted earlier to check that he’d arrived safely and to ask how things were. He said he was fine and that he’d call tomorrow.

He found Bloom in front of an empty fireplace in a wing-backed leather Chesterfield chair. He sat in the matching one opposite and she handed him a heavy tumbler. From the colour and smell, he guessed it was a rather nice Scottish malt. He wondered if Bloom had bought it herself. He couldn’t imagine her buying spirits; a good red wine or a crisp white, maybe, but whisky? He took a sip. It tasted peaty and warm and was very much needed.

‘Whose is this glass of old tat then, yours or your father’s?’

‘My mother’s, actually.’ Bloom looked up. ‘She liked a stiff whisky after a difficult operation.’

‘A cardiac surgeon, right?’

Bloom nodded and watched the whisky spin as she rotated her glass. ‘We’ll head over to Ilkley first thing tomorrow.’

‘I expect they’ll be long gone by now, don’t you?’ That was it. Of course. That was the tangible gain. Lana had bought herself time to move Jane.

Bloom didn’t reply.

Jameson’s phone buzzed in his pocket. ‘Just a second,’ he said, walking through to the kitchen to answer.

Sarah’s voice came down the line, a splash of normality in an otherwise crazy night.

‘Hey you,’ she said.

‘I thought you’d be asleep or I’d have called,’ he said.

‘Any luck finding your young friend?’

Jameson took a large swig of the malt. It stung the back of his throat.

‘Marcus?’

‘Sorry. No. No luck.’

‘Are you OK? You sound …’