The men went with Sid into the sitting room. Maisie regained her composure and followed them in time to witness Sid throwing a filthy blanket over the coffee-table. He pointed to it. ‘That’s none of your business.’ He was unsteady, unsure, but determined. Maisie was aghast at the living conditions her son’s best friend endured. I had no idea. Why didn’t I know about this? What else have I missed? Why didn’t Jeremy tell me? Oh, Rave, lovey, I’ve let you down. I’m so sorry. The room was filthy. Empty cans and half-full bottles littered the floor, and takeaway containers lay everywhere she looked, some with congealed sauce, others with dried-up bits of pizza, cigarettes stubbed into the dough and wet ash streaking the boxes. There has to be rats, Maisie thought, and suddenly her legs felt itchy and she wanted to hop. She had read that stamping frightens rats away. Or is that snakes?

Sid slumped on to the grimy, torn, burned, possibly infested sofa and put his scabby head into his dirty hands. ‘You brought these coppers here, Maisie?’ He looked as if he was about to cry.

‘I didn’t.’

‘They’re standin’ right in fuckin’ front of me, Maisie.’ He pointed a long, thin finger at Fred. Fred waved at him.

‘We’re just looking for Jeremy,’ she said. ‘Have you seen Jeremy?’

‘Jeremy doesn’t come here any more, Maisie.’

I can see why.

‘Where’s your son, Sid?’ Tom was standing over the man with his arms folded. Fred stayed back, as if he was giving Tom the space to conduct his interview.

‘I don’t know. He comes and goes.’

‘When did he come and go last?’

‘Dunno. He lives in that room of his. I can’t get up there with this fuckin’ foot.’

‘Well, did you see him yesterday, the day before, the day before that?’ Tom asked.

Sid didn’t answer but pulled himself up off the sofa and balanced himself before he gingerly limped to the door. ‘He could be up there now for all I know. Rave?’ he shouted. He steadied himself by holding on to the door, then went into the hall and made his way towards the stairs. ‘Rave!’ he said, tripping. ‘Rave, if you’re there, shout down.’ He turned to the three adults behind him. ‘Maybe he’s in school. It’s a school day, isn’t it?’

‘He’s not,’ Maisie said. ‘Neither is Jeremy. He hasn’t been home since Sunday, Sid.’

Sid faced the stairs again. ‘Fuck,’ he mumbled. ‘Come on, will ya, Rave?’ He started to climb the stairs but it looked too painful, too difficult, and he gave up halfway and sat on the step. ‘It’s me diabetes.’ He pointed to his foot.

‘Pull the other one,’ Fred muttered.

‘He locks himself in his room. Go up there if you want. Be me guest.’