Billy Joe’s was what Irene thought of as a Greasy Spoon. Garishly coloured pictures of plates of bacon and eggs and pies and mash adorned the walls and the air seemed thick with grease. The clientele was mainly men in work clothes, tucking into huge plates of bacon and eggs, who paid her no attention as she made her way to the counter.

A man with oily hair tied in a ponytail and several rings in his ears was taking orders, while a very overweight woman with unnaturally black, short hair skilfully attended to the bacon that curled and sizzled on the hotplate, along with wobbling, rubbery-looking eggs and brittle fried bread. Irene felt her stomach twist with nausea at all the grease. Nerves were kicking in now.

‘Help you, love?’ said the man and Irene attempted a reassuring smile. How on earth did she introduce this topic? You saw people doing things like this on telly, but it felt very strange in real life. She hoped he wouldn’t laugh. She couldn’t bear it if he laughed.

‘Yes please,’ she said, deciding to just come out with it. ‘You see, I’m looking for my son.’

The man frowned and smiled a little as he eyed her and picked up a tea towel, which he used to wipe his hands. His name badge read: ‘Keith’.

‘Oh yeah?’ he said. ‘What’s he gone and done then?’

He didn’t seem to be taking this all that seriously, Irene felt, so she fumbled in her handbag for the photo, which she had printed out onto a sheet of A4 paper. It showed Michael a few years ago when he had bought a new suit for a wedding he was going to with Linda.

He was smiling rather awkwardly in it, but you could see his face quite well, and especially his distinctive colouring.

‘I think he might be in trouble,’ Irene forced herself to say as she thrust the sheet of paper at the man. He took it from her, frowning now, and she felt a satisfaction that he seemed to have picked up on the gravity of the situation.

‘He has a bit less hair now,’ Irene said apologetically as the man studied the picture. He turned to the woman who was now plating up food onto several plates at speed. Her name badge read ‘Tina’ and her pinny was splashed all over with stains. She had small eyes that were close together and greasy with make-up.

‘Teen,’ he said, holding up the piece of paper. ‘Ever seen this guy in here?’

Tina sighed and turned to look before shaking her head. ‘No,’ she said, ‘sorry. Don’t know him.’

Irene had known it was a long shot but still the disappointment cut deep as Keith handed back the sheet of paper, with a sympathetic smile.

‘Sorry, love,’ he said. ‘Do you know any more about where he might have gone?’