Oh Violette. God love you.

‘The tabloids’ top teenage terror suspect is worried about a pony named Tickles and a dog named Booboo, and if that gets out the public are going to love this kid. One we failed to protect.’

‘How are the grandparents coping?’ Bish asked.

‘Elliot’s been talking to them.’

‘Elliot?’

‘Yes, Elliot,’ Grazier said with another sigh. ‘He’s rubbish with everyone else, but give him a tragic elderly couple who’ve lost a child and he becomes their surrogate son. You’d know why better than anyone else. Doesn’t it all stem from his childhood?’

‘What are the LeBracs saying to him?’ Bish asked, evading the question.

‘They say England took their son Etienne from them and now they fear for Violette’s life. Look, where do you think those kids are heading, Ortley? Hazard a guess.’

‘I’m sure Fionn Sykes knows something, but he’s not talking.’

‘Then push him harder.’

‘He’s just had half his leg blown off, Grazier. Give him a bit of time with this.’

‘We don’t have time,’ Grazier snapped. ‘Those kids are at risk. I want them off the street.’

What had Layla said? My sister would never forgive me if I put Noor’s child at risk. ‘Jocelyn Shahbazi. She’ll know where they are.’

‘Doubt it,’ Grazier said. ‘The Shahbazi family don’t like fuss, and front-page Violette is a whole lot of fuss.’

‘Ali Shahbazi doesn’t want fuss,’ Bish corrected. ‘His wife could be a different story.’

Bish hung up and joined the women for tea. Katherine and Sadia were discussing their daughters as they had been before the bombing. Manoshi, it seemed, was a vivacious, acid-tongued girl with a quick wit. It made Bish wince to compare that description with the girl he’d just seen.

‘The doctors have suggested a day out,’ Sadia told him, ‘but Manoshi doesn’t want to know about it. I think she’s frightened of the world outside now.’

According to Katherine, Lola’s moods were swinging between extremes, one moment listless, the next bordering on hysteria.

‘Does she get picked on at school?’ Bish asked, remembering Lola’s earlier reference to being called a loser.

‘Bitchy little high school girls,’ Katherine said. ‘Slumber parties every second weekend and she is never invited. They make it seem as if the worst thing someone can offer the world is unbridled joy.’ She shook her head in bitterness. ‘My punishment. I was one of those catty girls at her age.’

‘I do not believe punishment works that way,’ Sadia said.

The moment Bish stepped outside with Saffron they were surrounded. Cameras and microphones were thrust at their faces, questions barked at them. The press pack had a vicious energy about it. The media presence had tripled now that the kids were in Dover, the hometown of Julius McEwan.

‘Chief Inspector Ortley, do the parents care that the French are offended by the transfer?’

Any other question and he would have continued walking in silence, but he stopped. ‘The care and compassion shown by the medical staff in Boulogne will not be forgotten,’ he said. Bish had no idea if that was the truth, but it’s what he’d want to hear if he were French. ‘The transfer across the Channel comes down to one thing and one thing only. The commute has been difficult for the families, who are desperate to see their children whenever possible.’