Maisie came to Rave’s room and pushed the door open to reveal a space in stark contrast to the rest of the house. It was all in perfect order: the window was opened a crack to let in fresh air, every item of clothing was neatly stacked, folded, hung; the comb and hairbrush were lined up perfectly on the dresser. Nothing was out of place; everything was pristine. The carpet was worn. The curtains were tattered. The bed’s headboard was broken and had been repaired with gaffer tape. The sheets were frayed and clearly not washed in a while but the bed was made with hospital corners. Maisie closed the door behind her so that the smell from the rest of the house didn’t leak into the child’s sanctuary.

Tom stood by the window, examining something on the wall, and Fred was by the boy’s dresser; the attached mirror was tarnished, cloudy and peppered with photographs stuck on with tape. In one corner tucked into the frame there was one of Rave and Jeremy. Fred pulled it out and straightened it between his fingers, and Maisie went to stand next to him for a closer look. It had to be less than a year old: the two boys were facing forward, both wearing shorts. Rave was leaning against a surfboard and his arm was casually slung around Jeremy. They were wet and smiling. Rave was cool and confident, looking straight down the lens; Jeremy’s smile was goofy and he was giving the photographer the thumbs-up. Her heart soared. There you are, love. Then reality returned, so quickly that she needed to sit down on Rave’s perfectly made bed.

‘Here’s our photo,’ Fred murmured.

Maisie allowed a single tear to roll down her cheek. ‘Rave trusted me once. What happened?’ she said aloud to herself, as she looked around the boy’s sparse prison. ‘When did I forget about him?’

‘Maisie …’ Fred said.

‘Don’t.’

Tom pulled his head in from the window. ‘No wonder his father hasn’t seen him come and go. He climbs a rope to enter and leave the house.’ Tom lifted up a thick rope that had been expertly knotted to a thick metal wall plug. ‘It would be a workout but doable for a strong young fella like Rave.’

‘At least we have a reason for the kid to go on the run,’ Fred said. ‘I’d fuck off if I lived here.’

‘Yeah,’ Tom said, catching Maisie’s eye, ‘but what about Jeremy?’

‘Word on the street is, where Rave goes Jeremy goes,’ Fred said.