I was still musing on that when I wandered into the kitchen. The counter was strewn with packets of crisps, a bag of Haribo, several jumbo packs of mini chocolate bars and, quite out of place amongst all that junk food, three apples and a banana. I was positive none of it had been there the day we took Lou and Wolfie back to Belsize Park, because Dom and I had rinsed out our cups while we waited for them to pack their things. That meant Wolfie (and hopefully not a squatter who was hiding in the hall cupboard waiting to jump out and attack me) clearly had been here since that day and, judging by the number of empty packets when I looked in the bin, on a regular basis. The thought disturbed me, because if I didn’t know that, what else didn’t I know about what my niece was doing while she was supposedly getting an education?

I flicked through a pile of mail on the tiny kitchen table then turned over the tatty newspaper underneath and came face to face with my photo in the month-old copy of the Double. I was shocked at the instant spark of recognition for that guy who’d come off second best to life and a purple felt tip, when I thought I’d changed so much.

I shook my head and took a couple of deep breaths, trying to regain some focus, and glanced across the kitchen to Wolfie’s bedroom. There was a note stuck to the half-open door, which I hadn’t noticed in my rush for the loo, and when I walked over I recognised Dom’s handwriting.

Hi Wolfie, please, please call your mother if you see this. She’s very worried about you. George and me too. Please come home. Love Dom x.

Of course. Of course they would already have been here. They probably checked here before they even came to the pub; it was the obvious place to look. It made me feel a bit stupid that I didn’t have even a vague back-up plan for my one so-called good idea, but I wasn’t quite ready to give up.

Even though I’d glanced in when I first got there, the thought of going right in to Wolfie’s room felt like a bit of an invasion of privacy, but I told myself I was looking for clues. It was much neater than I would have expected a teenager’s room to be, but then I already knew Wolfie was no ordinary teenager. When they zig, you zag. I laughed out loud at the sudden (and welcome) reappearance of my father’s voice. He’d loved that saying and he would have loved Wolfie, no doubt about it. I reckon that kid could zag for England.

I walked slowly around the room, trailing my fingers along the bookcase and over the desk, which was almost clear except for three textbooks propped against the windowsill, an A4 notepad and one of those Japanese lucky cat ornaments. When I tapped its golden paw, it waved obligingly and I had a nostalgic pang for Crystal Mickey. The window looked out on to the street and I could see Jaz leaning against the bonnet of the cab, scrolling through her phone.