Matty daren’t ask Mamma whether it was the Mafia or the KGB. But it was clear enough from Mamma’s mood that something very bad had happened. She went silent, like she did when she was grumpy, became forgetful. Tins of food were left open, half a can of baked beans in a puddle of orange. Taps running. She spent ages in the bathroom, but when she came out she didn’t look any better. Normally, she wore perfectly applied thick make-up, dark-green eyeshadow and deep red lipstick, even if she was just going downstairs to the shop. The phone was left off the hook, gurgling to itself.

Dad. Joe. Who came along to skateboarding, sitting on a bench very far away behind his Irish Times so as not to be a gigantic embarrassment, though he might as well have cut holes in it he looked so obvious. Who made really good pancakes, thin and crisped on the outside, with chocolate spread and peanut butter. Who sang loudly to the radio, turning it up when the neighbours banged on the wall, turning himself up. Whose Italian, when he tried to speak to Nonna and Nonno, had a distinctive Irish slur. He always sounded drunk when he spoke Italian.

After the first few days, Matty couldn’t stand being at home any longer. Hampstead Ponds, the policewoman had said. Over the other side of the Heath from where they lived in Golders Green. The A–Z sat unused underneath the phone book. There were several ponds, chunks of blue along the edges of the green on the map. Three for swimming – the Mixed Pond was near the road, and the separate ones further north. They’d been past them a few times. Highgate Men’s Bathing Pond was the second up in a row.

A can of Fanta. The map. Walkman. Matty stood very still in the hallway, like a wolf, hairs raised, ears raised. Upstairs, there was a creak on the floorboards and the dull click of the bathroom door shutting again.

Time to sneak out.

Sitting on the back seat on the lower deck of the bus was like sitting in an oven. The chair material itched. Matty hadn’t travelled alone before. School was only up the road, an amble along the pavement if walking with Dad, a quicker one if with Mamma, who always acted like they were late. Three Indian women got on the bus with shopping bags, talking loudly. An old man holding a bundle of newspapers glanced towards the back. Matty turned to face the window as the bus slowly hauled itself up the hill, headphones on but no tape playing. Just be normal.