‘I’m not sure you realise quite how odd it is, Mr King, you just turning up here out of the blue – no phone call, no warning. Just arriving on my doorstep asking about my Benjamin.’

‘I know, I’m sorry. Everything was a bit rushed, there was no time to call a –’

‘It’s not normal behaviour.’

‘This is not a normal situation.’

Her eyes narrowed.

‘I’ve no idea who you are. You could be anyone.’

‘I’m a friend of Ben’s.’

‘So you say. How do I know it wasn’t Ben that gave you those bruises?’

That’s uncomfortably close to the truth.

I held my hands up.

‘Listen, Mrs Delaney, I just want to make sure that your son’s all right. He’s a cracking bloke and I know he’d do the same for me if I went AWOL. That’s all.’

She peered at me then, a little less certain.

‘Do you think he’s in some kind of trouble?’

‘He’s been out of contact, which is unlike him. He’s not answering his phone, and . . .’

‘And?’

I checked up and down the street again, in case anyone else was in earshot.

‘He and Beth are having some . . . issues.’

‘So the police said, but I don’t believe it. Not my Ben.’

‘It’s true. I wish it wasn’t.’

She stared at me, sizing me up, concern for her own safety tempered by fear for her son. She seemed torn between the prospect of letting a complete stranger into her house and the worry for her boy and his situation. I wondered whether she would be guided by her head or her heart.

Finally, her concern as a mother won out. She called the dogs back to her side and unhooked the door chain.

‘Why don’t you come in for a minute?’ Her voice softened a little. ‘Since you’ve come all this way.’

Chapter 73

73

Mrs Delaney showed me into the immaculate lounge while she busied herself in the kitchen making a fresh pot of coffee. The wall and mantelpiece were decorated with pictures of the Delaney family. Holidays in Sydney, Rio, Florida, Egypt among them. Many of the pictures I recognised from Ben’s own study back in Hampstead.

Mrs Delaney appeared again, both dogs trotting alongside her. She handed me a coffee in a bone china cup and saw the picture I was looking at, teenaged Ben with his prefect badge.

‘That was the year our Ben got the school prize,’ she said. ‘Such a clever boy.’

I sipped my coffee. It was good, smooth and strong, an expensive blend.

‘His school looks a bit posher than mine.’

‘Top three in the north-east.’

‘Your daughter-in-law said he didn’t go to the local comp.’