She gestured with an unsteady hand, then watched him root through it and pull out the thickest socks he could find. He placed them on her feet and then he sat beside her on the end of the bed. ‘You need to warm up,’ he said. ‘Get under the covers for a few minutes.’ He helped her into bed, then propped her so that she was sitting up and the duvet was tucked up to her neck. ‘I’m going to fill a hot-water bottle and I’ll be back to ya. Wait there.’

‘Where’s Ma? What time is it?’ She moved to get out of the bed.

‘Stay there.’ His hand was in the halt sign she’d seen coppers make while working traffic. ‘Lynn’s on the way.’

She must have phoned, Maisie thought. Oh, Jesus, the phone. ‘Where’s the phone?’ She was suddenly in a blind panic.

‘On the kitchen table, fully charged. We can hear it from here – from everywhere in fact. You’re not livin’ in Buckingham Palace, Mai.’ He smiled.

‘I’d like to keep it close.’

He left her alone for a few minutes. She started to thaw, gradually regaining enough flexibility to rub herself down, shed her towels and put on a clean nightdress. She looked in the mirror. Her lips were more lilac than the dark purple they had been. Useless, ugly old bitch. Can’t even look after yer own children. What fuckin’ good are you? She returned to her bed moments before Fred reappeared with the hot-water bottle, toast and tea on a tray, the newspaper tucked under his left arm. He put the tray on the end of the bed and handed her the hot-water bottle.

‘Thanks.’

He placed the tray on her knees.

‘I can’t,’ she said.

‘Six bites.’

She smiled. ‘That’s what I used to say to Jeremy. Six bites. I was always willing to accept four.’

‘I’d be happy with three.’

She eyed the newspaper. ‘Is that it?’

‘Take a bite and I’ll tell you.’

She did as she was told. The toast felt like sand in her mouth. She swallowed.

‘Is it all right if I sit?’ She nodded. He sat on the edge of the bed facing her and handed her the newspaper.

She looked at the photo of her son and his best friend, both in shorts, Rave’s arm slung around Jeremy, a surf board in his other hand, and Jeremy giving his famous thumbs-up. ‘They look so happy,’ she said.

‘Yeah, they do.’

‘It’s a lovely photo.’

‘It is.’

‘I can picture them on the beach, sun beating down on them, glistening water, messing with that surf board, having the time of their lives.’

‘Me too.’

She read the small paragraph, which said nothing they didn’t already know, that the boys had been missing since Sunday. How could this have happened? ‘Do you know what they took from his room?’ she asked.