The thing about my dad is, he’s actually a very reasonable man. I mean, he was in insurance.

“All right,” he says at last. “I’ll have a quick breakfast with you tomorrow in Las Vegas. Then you can all relax and go back to L.A. and leave me in peace. But no questions.”

“Absolutely,” I say hastily. “No questions.”

I am so going to ask questions. I’ll start a list straightaway.

“Where shall we meet?”

“Er…”

My knowledge of Las Vegas is fairly limited. In fact, it basically consists of watching Ocean’s Eleven about a thousand times.

“The Bellagio,” I say. “Breakfast at the Bellagio, nine A.M.”

“Good. See you there.”

And I wasn’t going to ask anything else, because clearly he doesn’t want me to know, but I can’t help myself, so I blurt out: “Dad, why didn’t you want to call me Rebecca?”

There’s another prickly silence, and I hold my breath. I know Dad’s still on the line. He’s on the line and he’s not saying anything….

And then he’s rung off.

I immediately press CALL RETURN but it goes straight to voicemail. I try Tarkie’s phone, but the same thing happens. They must have switched them both off.

“Well done!” says Luke as I finally raise my head. “You should be a hostage negotiator! Do I take it we have a breakfast appointment with the runaways?”

“Apparently so,” I say, blinking at him. I feel a bit dazed. After all the stressing and worrying, it turns out Dad and Tarkie are both fine. Not at the bottom of a ravine.

“Relax, Becky!” Luke puts his hands on my shoulders. “This is good news! We’ve found them!”

“Yes!” And at last I feel a smile starting to spread across my face. “We have! We’ve found them. Let’s tell Mum and Suze!”

—

Well, honestly. I thought it was the bearers of bad news who were supposed to be given a hard time. There I was, imagining Mum and Suze would gasp and cheer and congratulate me on having pinned Dad down to breakfast in Las Vegas. There I was, hoping for a group hug. I must have been deluded.

Neither Mum nor Suze looks any cheerier for the news that their beloved husbands are alive and well. There was a brief flicker of delight, and Suze breathed, “Thank God.” But now both of them are back on their grievances.

Mum’s line is: “Why doesn’t my own husband trust me?” At least, it’s a kind of duet, with Janice taking the lines: “I know, Jane,” and “You’re so right, Jane,” and “Jane, dear, have some M&M’s.” Mum’s basic argument is that any husband who goes off with secrets is disrespectful and he’s a grown man and who does he think he is, Kojak?

(I’m not sure how Kojak comes into it. In fact, I’m not sure who Kojak is. Someone off the telly, I think.)

Meanwhile, Suze’s complaint is: Why didn’t Tarkie want to talk to her? She’s tried Tarkie’s number about ninety-five times, and each time it goes to voicemail and she darts me a resentful look, as though it’s my fault. As we approach the looming skyline of Las Vegas, she’s chewing her fingers and staring out of the window.