She was too young to understand that finding Mum might not be as easy as finding a lost teddy bear or book. For Molly, Mum being gone was a temporary thing. Confusing, yes, but soon to be over.

He wished he could be as confident.

Once she was asleep, he managed to nod off. He was woken by Norman. He was standing by the bed, shivering.

Hey, Matt said. Come in the bed. Are you cold?

Norman shook his head. I’m scared.

He held his son tight against him until his shaking stopped. He had not held him like that for a long time and he was shocked by how big he was. He was starting to become aware of the world in a way that younger kids weren’t. These were key years, and it was possible he would be without his mum for them. Matt turned his face away. He didn’t want his tears to run off his face and onto Norman’s.

Last to come was Keith. He opened the door noisily; that was always how he had tried to get attention. He wouldn’t come and tell you he wanted to talk, or burst into tears. He would stomp around a room, or kick something or open a door with a bang, so you’d ask how he was. Then he’d say fine, and you’d say are you sure? And he’d say, yes, but and whatever it was would come out.

Only because you asked, though. Not because he wanted to tell you.

Are you OK? Matt said.

Fine.

Come here and give me a hug.

I’m fine.

I want a hug anyway.

He came over. Matt moved to make space for him. Everything OK?

Yes. Then a pause. Is Mum coming back?

He kissed his forehead. Yes.

How do you know?

I believe it, Keith. I just believe it.

Norman would not have accepted that as an answer; he would have asked for proof and facts. Keith was a different type of person. He nodded.

I believe it too, he said.

Now – in the late afternoon – all three were asleep in the living room. Tiredness had caught up with them; they were too young to fight it.

He wasn’t. He was exhausted but sleep seemed a distant possibility. He could fall asleep, but almost immediately he would jerk awake, his heart racing. The few minutes of rest were enough to – barely – keep him going. He’d read once about sailors who went solo around the world. They were unable to sleep for more than a few minutes at a time in case something went wrong, and so that was what they did. Every hour they napped for ten minutes, which added up to four hours a day.

Hardly high-quality sleep hygiene, but clearly enough. Maybe that was his future.