‘Say goodnight,’ Audrey told him while I waited.

‘Night, Mum.’

‘I’m sorry about the fox cub.’

‘Okay.’

I walked down the hall and then looked round. Jack had already withdrawn to the back room and Audrey stood guarding the door.

‘I’ll be here to pick him up at nine o’clock,’ I said. I let myself out into the stifling night before she could try to contradict me.

I drove home and sat at the kitchen table for a long time, watching the green numerals of the oven clock precisely totalling the minutes and hours. I didn’t ring Mel, or Caz, or anyone. I just sat, with my hands loose in front of me, waiting and thinking. I wanted to seize Jack and bodily carry him out of Audrey’s ambit, but the fact that I couldn’t do that didn’t mean that I wouldn’t bring him home. Here, at home with me and Lola, was where he belonged.

FIFTEEN

In the morning I stood on Audrey’s step with a carrier bag containing Jack’s clothes for the day. I knocked and called and knocked again but the only response I got was from Audrey who finally spoke up from the other side of the closed door. ‘Jack’s staying here with me and the animals.’

‘He can’t.’

‘Why is that, if it’s what he wants?’

‘I don’t know that it is what he wants.’

I wrestled in my mind with lurid images of drugging or hypnotic suggestion, while behind me the morning business of Turnmill Street went on regardless. A gaggle of children from one of the houses opposite was shepherded into a 4 × 4 and driven away by a woman in white plimsolls and tennis shorts. The postman worked his way along the street, but didn’t turn in at Audrey’s gate. A young man came out of the house next door and stared at me over the sagging wall. He had a tan and taut biceps, and a vest cut to show them off.

‘Hi. Do you know your neighbour?’ I asked, hoping that I might recruit some support or at least glean some useful information.

‘Not really. She’s eccentric. Are you a social worker? Or Environmental Health? We’ve been complaining about all the rubbish and the animals.’

‘No, I’m not.’

Another young man came out, this one wheeling a mountain bike. ‘Is something wrong?’ he asked.

‘No.’ I smiled through my teeth. ‘I’m a family friend.’

‘Family? That’s great. Maybe you can get something done.’

They embraced each other and the cyclist pedalled off.

I called again through the letter box. ‘Audrey? I just want to talk to him for a second, please. I won’t make him come out if he doesn’t want to.’