Now that’s all she had.

Irene had had to get up very early to get the first train into London, then she had to navigate her way across the city on the underground at rush hour to get to Victoria station. As people had shoved and pushed their way onto the trains, she had felt almost suffocated by the sensations, the smells, and the proximity to others. Her heart had felt like it might give out on her with the stress of it all. But when she got to Victoria and bought herself a cup of tea and a toasted teacake for the second journey, she’d experienced a jolt of exhilaration at herself. It was like she had been wrapped in her own net curtains for months, like some sort of insect in a cocoon. She wasn’t that old, she told herself now. Look at Helen Mirren. She was the same age as Irene and she didn’t sit around watching the hours and the years slip by, did she?

As she took the last bite of her teacake, cool now and soggy, but still a treat, she experienced a pang of guilt at her thoughts. After all, this wasn’t a jolly day out to the seaside. She was looking for Michael.

The police hadn’t been interested, when she had paid them a visit after going to his flat. As far as they were concerned, a middle-aged man who hadn’t checked in with his mother for a couple of weeks was clearly not a cause for concern. She had been quite hot with shame when she exited the police station that morning. She had tried to say to the very young constable that she just knew something was wrong, that a mother knows this kind of thing, but his expression had been quite embarrassed at this and she had understood she was shouting into the wind.

When she emerged onto the platform at Casterbourne, the bright clear day was starting to turn. Irene shivered and buttoned up her coat as a cold breeze seemed to envelop her, and then began to make her way out of the station.

She had printed a photo of Michael and intended to show it to people in the places where he had picked up those receipts.

The town centre was busy with people having an early lunch. She made her way, following the map outside the station, to the town square. Seagulls shrieked and wheeled over the war memorial, where litter was scattered about in a most disrespectful way, to Irene’s mind.

She located the café first.