The book.

I dial Kat’s number, and again it diverts to voicemail. ‘Kat, check her book, check if she took it. Check the clipping too. She needed that book, remember? She needed it. Maybe if she has it we have time. Maybe this isn’t…’ I stop myself. I can’t say whatever jumbled thoughts are in my mind. ‘Call me,’ I say, reluctantly hanging up again.

I look at the road beyond and behind. I check my watch and start the engine, pulling out of the lay-by and away. I’ve come this far…

Chapter Forty

RHYS

Traditional Lakestone buildings line either side of the narrow hill. At the top, I turn into Ambleside’s mock suburbia: a tiny estate of identical houses nestled amongst the hills. I crawl the van along, seeking out house numbers in search of the right one. A man walking a Border terrier peers back, suspicious of the stranger in their midst. I pull up outside the right house. There’s a black BMW on the drive and a caravan behind it. I check my phone for 3G signal: still nothing. I do a quick check for available Wi-Fi networks but they’re all password-protected. I turn the volume on my phone right up, just in case I get a signal without realising and Kat calls back.

I cut the engine and birdsong replaces the rumble of the van. Someone nearby is cutting their grass and the sound alone makes me think I can smell it.

My mouth runs dry as I walk up the drive. What do I say? Where do I begin? Holding the letter in my mouth, I rub sweaty palms on my jeans. I take the letter back into my hands and knock on the porch door. There’s a collection of family shoes, muddy wellington boots and a pink and black dog lead visible through the glass. A small, fluffy, yappy dog jumps up at the door and a girl in her late teens pulls it back by the collar only for it to escape again. ‘Rio, get back,’ she says, pushing it with her foot while opening the front door. I move down a step, making her suddenly tower above me.

‘Yeah?’ she asks, though doesn’t appear to care what my answer might be.

‘Hi, sorry to bother you, but I was looking for a Mr James Grey?’ I check the letter in case I’ve got it wrong. But I’ve been glancing at it for the entire journey. I haven’t got it wrong. The girl says nothing, but steps back, picks the dog up under her arm and heads inside. ‘Dad, it’s someone for you.’ She goes down the corridor and into a room, taking a final, cursory glance in my direction before slamming the door shut. A man comes down the stairs to the front door. When he sees me, he pulls up short, suspicion slowing his last few steps. He stares at me.

‘Hi… Sorry to interrupt you.’

He leans forward slightly, probably taking in my face and van for e-fit purposes. ‘I…’ He looks shaken, or accusatory perhaps. ‘I don’t buy from the door, I’m afraid.’ He seems to trip a little over his words. ‘There’s a sign.’