Jen had given him a knowing smile when he said he was popping over to his dad’s before work. ‘He’s still your dad,’ she said softly, before kissing him goodbye. But when he arrived there was no answer, just Mavis, the housekeeper, on her way out. ‘He’s at the golf club,’ she’d said. ‘He won’t be back until later.’

Theo had held up his backpack. ‘I’ve got food for him,’ he lied. ‘Don’t worry, you go and I’ll let myself out.’

‘You’re a good son,’ she said, patting his cheek fondly, then scuttling off down the driveway to catch her bus.

Now, standing in his father’s study, he feels like the worst son in the world. Even as a kid he knew never to come in here without his dad’s permission. It was off limits and a fate worse than death if he ever dared defy his father’s orders. Not that he ever did. He hadn’t been interested as a boy: it was full of his father’s boring work stuff and ugly golfing trophies. But now . . . now his heart beats with anticipation. His dad refuses to tell him anything, yet he knows this room must be a vault for his many secrets.

Theo glances around the study, at the wood panelling on the walls, the built-in shelves and display cabinet, the desk with its dark green padded insert. Where to start? What to look for? It smells in here, a musky expensive scent mixed with polished wood. It’s ludicrous, really, but Theo’s always felt his dad just smells important.