“Yeah, well, if you want, when you’re in your forties, you can swear. Look, mate, I really want to talk to you face-to-face about what’s going on, so how about I come over later, after school, and we can go and get burgers at that new American diner place Mum hates.”

“Are you getting divorced?”

“No, mate!” I say it like it’s the most ludicrous thing I’ve ever heard. “We’re just going through a rough patch. Remember when you and Fred fell out for a bit? Well, it’s just like that.”

“I’m not friends with Fred anymore.”

“OK, well, it’s not just like that. Look, let me speak to your mum and I’ll pick you up around six and we can have a proper chat—sound good?”

“Yeah, sounds good, Dad.”

I know there’s more he needs to say.

“Dad . . . are you getting close to finding that girl, Grace?”

“I think so, Jakey. I hope so.”

There’s the slightest tremor in his voice as he asks, “But you will find her, won’t you?”

“Eventually, yes, we’ll find her.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.” I regret it as soon as I’ve said it.

Jakey breathes out, relieved.

“Good.”

“I’ll see you later then, mate. Love you.”

“Love you too, Dad,” he says and my heart aches with each word.

I’ve just got back to the flat when Cara calls. I haven’t heard from her since she ran away from me on Goat Beach, so it’s a surprise.

“I need to speak to you,” she says, her voice taut as a wire. “I’m coming over.”

Something’s happened. She doesn’t sound angry with me anymore. She sounds terrified. It’s still probably not a good idea for her to come here, in case anyone sees, but I can tell she’s not in a mood to be told anything and, besides, I still feel jumpy from my meeting with Dr. Rossi. I need to offload, to ask Cara if she saw anything to confirm my suspicion that Meg was giving Grace extra drugs, drugs she didn’t need.

Five minutes later the buzzer echoes through the flat. It’s been so long since anyone came over it takes me a moment to find the receiver behind the old coats hanging in the hall. She walks into the flat like she’s been here a hundred times. She barely looks around. I start talking as soon as she’s through the door, eager to tell her everything I’ve learned from Dr. Rossi.

“Cara, I’m glad you called: you won’t believe what I’ve found out. I was right about Grace’s name and age. I was watching that video—you know the one, where Grace shows the camera the drugs cabinet—when I saw a name on one of the prescriptions . . . Jesus, Cara, what’s wrong?”

She’s standing in the middle of the tiny hall, her whole body rattling. Only now I notice that her raincoat and the knees of her jeans are covered in mud. There’s a smear across her face as well. Her skin is a strange color, almost blue, like the veins beneath have frozen. She looks even worse than she did at the beach. My first thought is that she’s rowed with her mum, and Cara, being Cara, slept outside to prove a point. I usher her into the sitting room and clear piles of old newspapers from the brown cord sofa that came with the flat. I make her sit while I put the kettle on. I don’t have any blankets or shawls—soft things were Ruth’s department—and it feels weird bringing her my unchanged duvet, so instead I dig out my sleeping bag and wrap it around her on the sofa. I hand her a mug of sweet tea and am pleased to see as she sips that the rattling has become more of a shiver.