“She wouldn’t—” I begin, then stop mid-sentence. I hate to say it, but he’s right. If Mum gets on the phone with him, the rant will last until the phone runs out of power.

“Take your mother back to L.A.,” Dad’s saying. “Go to a spa and—what do you call it?—chill out.”

“How can we chill out?” Now I’m starting to feel angry. “You won’t tell us anything, and we know Bryce is trying to brainwash Tarkie….I mean, is he OK?”

Dad gives a short laugh. “Bryce isn’t brainwashing anyone. He’s a very helpful young man. He’s been invaluable to me. Knows the area, you see. And he’s quite taken Tarquin under his wing. They spend hours chatting with each other about this and that.”

Under his wing? Hours chatting about this and that? I don’t like the sound of that one bit.

“Well, is Tarkie there?”

“He’s here. D’you want to speak to him?”

What? I stare at the phone in disbelief. There’s a scuffling noise down the line, then Tarquin’s unmistakable reedy voice says, “Ahm, hello? Becky?”

“Tarkie!” I nearly explode with relief. “Hi! I’ll get Suze—”

“No, ahm…don’t bother,” he says. “Just tell her I’m all right.”

“But she’s so worried! We’re all worried. You know Bryce is trying to brainwash you? He’s dangerous, Tarkie. He wants your money. You haven’t given him any, have you? Because don’t, OK?”

“Of course he wants my money.” Tarquin sounds so matter-of-fact, the wind is taken out of my sails. “Asks me about it every five minutes. Not very subtle either. I’m not giving it to him, though.”

“Thank God!” I exhale. “Well, don’t.”

“I’m not a total chump, you know, Becky.”

“Oh,” I say feebly.

“Chap like Bryce, you just have to keep your wits about you.”

“Right.”

I’m feeling totally confused right now. Tarkie sounds so together. I thought he’d been having a nervous breakdown.

But then, what was that whole act in L.A. about? I can still picture him, sitting at the table in our house, glowering at everyone, telling Suze she was toxic.

“Becky, I have to go,” Tarquin’s saying. “I’ll put your father back on.”

“No, don’t go!” I cry, but it’s too late.

“Becky?” My dad’s back on the line and I quickly draw breath.

“Dad, listen. Please. I don’t know what you’re up to, and if you don’t want me to know, that’s fine. But you can’t leave Mum in the lurch like this. Are you anywhere near Las Vegas? Because if you’ve ever loved us and you have any time at all, meet us there. Just so we can see you for a couple of minutes. Just so we know you’re OK. And then go off on your mission. Please, Dad. Please.”

There’s a long silence. I can feel Dad’s unwillingness seeping down the phone.

“I’m a fair way away,” he says at last.

“Then we’ll come to you! Give me an address!”

“No,” says Dad. “No, let’s not do that.”

There’s another silence, and I hold my breath.