At Oliver’s request they brought the boxes and furniture up to Luke’s old bedroom. When they reached his door, Mac opened it and stopped. ‘Christ. I haven’t been up here for years,’ he said. He wandered over to a skateboard propped against the wall, then looked up at a Beastie Boys poster above the bed, the words ‘Fight For Your Right To Party!’ emblazoned across it, and smiled sadly. ‘The times we spent up here, smoking out of the window, smuggling up beer, talking about girls. This used to be my second home.’

He sat down heavily on Luke’s bed and to Clara’s surprise put his head in his hands, his shoulders heaving as he began to cry.

Clara stood, stricken at the sight. She realized she had never seen Mac cry before; that throughout the days since Luke had gone missing he had remained unfailingly strong – far stronger than she herself had. It had been he who had comforted her, who had listened to and looked after her. The thought of him giving in to the despair that had threatened her so often, made dread rise inside her. She went to him. ‘Mac,’ she said, ‘it’s going to be OK.’

He wiped his face and exhaled a long breath. ‘I’m all right. Ignore me. It’s just being here, seeing his stuff again, you know?’

She nodded, sitting down next to him. ‘We’ve got to believe that he’s going to come back to us,’ she said, trying to put some conviction into the words he’d used to comfort her so many times. ‘We’ve got to keep going, try to keep positive.’

‘Clara,’ he said, turning his face to hers, and the expression she saw there was so strange, so desperate, so unlike any she’d ever seen there before that she felt a chill.

‘What?’ she said. ‘What is it, Mac?’

He held her gaze for a moment, before finally dropping it. ‘Nothing.’ He took a gulp of air and stood up. ‘Nothing. You’re right. Got to keep positive.’ He took her hand and pulled her up. ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘Let’s get this over with.’

She nodded, and together they went back down to finish unloading the van.

When Rose next appeared she looked very different; her hair neatly brushed and her make-up carefully applied. She smiled at them as she came into the room, but made no mention of the scene earlier. ‘I hope you’ll stay for dinner?’ she said.

Mac and Clara exchanged glances. ‘It’s getting rather late, Rose, the traffic …’

Her face fell. ‘But maybe you could stay the night? Oh, please say you will. It would be so lovely to have you here.’

‘Well …’ Rose’s face was so beseeching that Clara shot Mac a questioning look.

‘Of course,’ he said, shrugging, ‘if you want us to.’