Their voices are dialled up to eleven and they bounce off the walls, joyful and drunken, as Mark and I sit side by side in the half-lit living room, holding hands. They must have met up in the pub after Jake finished work. My palm is tacky with sweat and my fingers are aching but there’s no way I can let go of Mark’s hand. A few hours ago I asked him to turn off the overhead light and put on a lamp instead. I feel like an exposed nerve. The noises in the kitchen are making my ears hurt. My throat is dry and my tongue feels too large for my mouth. I can’t remember the last time I had something to drink.

‘God, that thing stinks,’ Kira says, her voice growing closer. ‘The bedroom’s going to smell like an abattoir.’

‘Yeah, yeah. You love a bit of meat.’

‘Jake!’

He laughs.

‘Okay, fine,’ he says. ‘I’ll eat it in the living room then. We can watch—’

He steps into the living room. Then stops.

‘Ooph.’ Kira charges into him. Her laughter catches in her throat as she peers round his shoulder. Her eyes catch mine.

‘What is it?’ Jake says. ‘Mum, what’s happened?’

‘Sit down, kids.’

Jake doesn’t move a muscle. A piece of wilted lettuce tumbles out of the box he’s holding loosely in his right hand. It lands on the carpet.

‘Mum?’ Jake says again. ‘What’s happened?’ He’s still in his work gear, his jeans frayed at the bottom, his trainers dusty around the edges. His jaw is dotted with stubble, his fair hair swept back from his eyes. Behind him Kira’s bottom lip is stained red with drink or the remains of her lipstick.

‘Sit down,’ Mark says again but there’s no power left in his voice and no one moves. ‘Jake. Kira. DS Forbes came round earlier this evening. He had some news about Billy.’

Jake sways on the spot and a thick slab of kebab meat tumbles to the floor. For a second I think he’s going to faint but then he regains his composure.

‘Some nonce …’ Mark says. ‘Some piece of scum in jail told his cellmate that he abducted and killed Billy. He’s confessed to killing other kids too.’

Kira is the first to react. She gasps and runs from the room, her bag bouncing against her shoulder as she sprints up the stairs.

Jake makes no move to go after her. Shock is etched into every line on his face.

‘Mum?’

I want to tell him that it’s not true, that it’s the sickest of sick jokes. That Billy is in his room, in the hospital, at the police station. I want to tell him anything but the truth.

‘Mum?’ The word is loaded with fear.

‘It’s true, sweetheart.’