But she was shaking her head. ‘They had photos of you at the gate, Jimmy. Just say they arrest you – they’ll put you away again, and Mummy will never forgive me.’

‘Why would Noor need to forgive you?’ Jamal asked. ‘You’re everything to her.’

‘She’ll hate me for this.’

‘It was me who ruined everything,’ the boy shouted. ‘Not you, Violette. I found you, and if I hadn’t you’d be on that hike. Safe.’

The air began to smother Jamal. He felt the bile rising in his throat. What had this kid dragged Violette into?

‘I heard Henna Nasrene speaking to Papy,’ Violette said. ‘She asked him what they should give me for my eighteenth birthday and he said . . . he said, “I want to take her back into the past, to a time when Etienne was alive.” And he was crying, Jimmy, and I’ve never heard my grandfather cry before.’

Jamal swallowed hard. He felt a twist in his gut. His brother-in-law had come into their lives when Jamal was five years old. Easygoing Etienne LeBrac, the complete opposite to Noor in so many ways. Even after all these years, Jamal still couldn’t believe he was dead. And he’d never accept that Etienne had taken his own life, leaving Violette alone up on that cove at Malham.

‘But why come here, Violette? Without telling anyone?’

‘To do part of what Papy Christophe wants. But not for me, though.’

Right then the boy was finally toppled by the bag. He let out a laugh and Jamal turned to see him on his arse, sending a toothy grin towards Violette, his gangster sunglasses flying across the floor. Jamal couldn’t help staring. Couldn’t trust what he was seeing. He walked over, needing a good look at him, and Violette was there, clutching Jamal’s hand.

‘Isn’t he beautiful, Jimmy?’ she said. ‘Isn’t he the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen?’

Jamal stood before the kid and removed the beanie from the boy’s head. And like a punch in the gut, the truth sunk in.

‘Oh, Violette. What have you done?’

Bish decided to make the most of the trip and drove out to the hospital at Boulogne-sur-Mer. He told himself it was in order to give an update to the parents, but he knew it was more than that. Lola Barrett-Parker and Manoshi Bagchi had sat close to Violette and Eddie for most of the trip. Bish hoped they might have heard something that could shed light on where the two would be heading.

On the front lawn of the hospital, waiting for a story, was a cross-section of the world’s media. Sky. CNN. BFMTV. There were no kids left out at the campsite, so the only possibility for a soundbite was the families of the injured. One or two journalists recognised Bish from the day of the bombing, and before he could make it to the entrance microphones were thrust at his face and cameras blocked his path.