Twice, he had tapped someone on the shoulder and, when they turned to look at him, seen only an expression of alarm on the face of a girl who was not Maggie.

Twice, he had mumbled an apology and shuffled away, pulse racing, breathless, his heart freshly broken.

Twice he had told himself she was not going to be on a bus or walking around the supermarket and he must not approach strangers. Still he saw her everywhere.

But it was never her.

‘Is Andy coming here?’

‘Yeah. Soon.’

‘What time will you be back?’

‘Seven. We’re seeing a film.’

‘Promise?’

‘Promise.’

There was a knock on the door.

‘That’s him,’ James said. ‘Bye, Dad.’

Martin handed him his mobile phone. ‘Call Mum’s number or the house phone if you need to. OK?’

‘OK.’

‘Love you, Jimbo.’

‘Love you too, Dad.’

He kissed him on the forehead, and watched him leave the house, praying silently that he would be back safely.

3

Martin looked at the clock on the DVD player: 19:00.

He glanced at Sandra. The minute-counter changed: 19:01.

‘He’s late,’ Martin said.

Sandra looked at him. ‘It’s one minute past.’

‘I was expecting him early.’

Sandra nodded slowly. Her face was expressionless and he was half expecting her to tell him, Life goes on, don’t worry, it’s only a minute, but she covered her eyes and rubbed her temples. When she looked up, her cheeks were wet with tears.

‘I know,’ she said. ‘I’ve been waiting for him to come home ever since he left. I can’t bear the thought of him being away from us, not for even a second. But we can’t live like that. He can’t live like that, trapped in his house by his parents.’

She was right, but Martin couldn’t help thinking he’d quite like it if James was trapped in the house. The thought of anything happening to him was unbearable. He knew that he would take his own life if he lost his son; already daily life was a torture of desperation and grief, made all the worse by the hope, the tiny sliver of hope that she would walk in the door any day and apologize and they would hug and kiss her and be angry for a second but too relieved, too happy to really care where she’d been. It was that tiny hope that made it all so hard. He couldn’t move on, couldn’t give up on someday having her back.

From time to time he had wondered whether it would be better if she had died, if there had been a car crash and they had gone to identify her body. At least that would have been final.

But it wouldn’t have been. The hope may have made it all that much more torturous, but it was a price he would pay if it meant he got to see her again.