The news came on and everyone fell silent. Jeremy and Rave were mentioned in the headlines, but then the newsreader launched into a story about Bill Clinton signing a North American Free Trade Agreement.

‘Who cares about that?’ Valerie said.

‘No one, love,’ Bridie said.

Maisie couldn’t have cared less about Bill Clinton. She only cared about her son. Now his smiling face, alongside Rave’s, filled the screen and her heart skipped a beat. Hello, son. There you are, love. The newsreader spoke about how long they had been missing, what they were wearing, the bike and how it had been found earlier that day by the reservoir, but all Maisie heard was her son’s voice: ‘Remember, Grammy, Jeremy Bean loves you.’ The woman spoke of the fears that the boys were in the water, how many hours the search had gone on, and Maisie closed her eyes: she saw his bright smile and his thumbs-up.

The woman handed over to a reporter on the site. He was standing against a stark, dark background, only a few people around, most of them police. He described the feelings of the local community, how difficult the search had been and how it had started on foot earlier that day. Then the report cut to an overhead view of the reservoir. She could see Jeremy’s friends and Deirdre standing on the hill. All your friends are waitin’ for you, love.

Now Casey was looking into the camera’s lens: ‘Rave, I miss you. I love you. Come home.’

Then it was back to the studio. ‘Emotions running very high there.’

‘Yes, indeed,’ the reporter continued. ‘It’s been an exceptionally trying day for all concerned, not least the mother of Jeremy Bean, who seemed incredibly unhappy with what she saw as press intrusion earlier today.’

Maisie’s heart sank. ‘Oh, please, don’t show it.’

‘They can’t, Ma’sie. They didn’t record it,’ Valerie said.

‘Thank God.’

‘They still think we’re knackers, though. It says so in the evening papers.’

It was true: the reporters had presented the plight of the missing boys and their family circumstances with a jaundiced eye. They reported on Rave’s junkie father, mentioned that the boys had been missing for more than thirty hours before it was reported. Even Maisie’s injuries at the hands of her husband had become part of the story. So, too, had the fact that both boys were brought up in one-parent families and that Maisie worked two jobs.

‘They wrote about us like we’re scum,’ she’d said to Fred earlier.

‘They don’t know you. They don’t live your life. It’s easy to judge. It’s easy to look down on people, Mai. It’s easier than being decent about others and honest about ourselves. It’s just the way it is.’