He’d been with Heron, he said, when he finally came back. Talking, down by the river. Pike had come for him but Heron had seen him off. He reckoned he was safe now. He stood with his head bowed as he spoke, like he were a praying choirboy. I didn’t know whether to hug him or slap him but the relief that flooded through me as I helped him out of his wet clothes was so powerful I half thought I was going to come apart at the seams. John put the kettle on and made him a ham and tomato sandwich. Good white bread and thick butter with a smear of mustard. He didn’t start telling him off until he’d eaten it and drank two mugs of hot tea. Then he told Brian this would have to stop. He couldn’t keep putting his mother through this kind of thing, though there were redness in John’s eyes each time he came back from walking the woods and said there were still no sign of him. He couldn’t tell Brian that, of course. Wouldn’t have been right to tell the boy his dad were in tears over him. I hadn’t expected John to get so angry but it didn’t take him long to work up a lather. Brian didn’t even answer back. Just sat there, nodding, wrapped in a blanket covered in crumbs while I stood at the sink and watched the rain put tiny bullet holes in our reflection.

‘Mam? You getting in?’ he asked again.

‘I’ll leave it. Not enough water to bath a rabbit,’ I said, and handed him the big towel from the top of the set of drawers. I turned away as he stood up. He got himself out. I wrapped the towel around him properly and started scrubbing him. I tried to be gentle but the towel was rough as sandpaper and it took him an effort not to let on it were hurting.

‘He didn’t mean it,’ I said, under my breath. ‘About you being good for nothing …’

‘He did,’ muttered Brian. ‘You could see it in his eyes.’

‘Pike went after you with a gun,’ I said. ‘It was horrible.’

‘He wouldn’t have done owt. Not really.’

‘So why did you run?’

Brian looked at me thoughtfully. He was mulling it over. Chewing on it, like stale bread.

‘I thought he might take it,’ he said, at last.

‘Take what? The tooth?’

He nodded, closing his eyes.

‘Why would he take it?’ I asked, and I kept drying him just so I had something to do with my hands. In truth, I think I wanted to put my palms over my ears and start singing at the top of my voice. I already knew more than I had ever asked to.

‘He takes things. That’s what he does.’