‘I want you two to be happy. I want you to get your own little flat and have some independence. That’s why I came to meet you. Jake’s boss was on the phone earlier. If he doesn’t ring him this afternoon he’s going to lose his job. If we can convince Jake to go in, just for a couple of days, then he can go away with you. It’ll give him something to look forward to. What do you think?’

She reaches for the teapot and flips back the lid. She closes it again, trapping the wisp of steam that attempts to escape. ‘I don’t know.’

‘You don’t have to make a decision now. Have a think about it on the way home.’

‘Okay.’ She looks back up at me. ‘If you think it’ll help him I’ll ask.’

A wave of relief surges through me. ‘I think it will. Are you going to drink that?’ I point at the tea. ‘Or shall we just go?’

‘Go.’ She nods decisively. ‘Before I lose my nerve.’

We are halfway out of the door of the café when a crowd of teenagers surges up the pavement and forces us to step back.

‘Sorry, sorry.’ A harassed-looking blonde shoots me an apologetic look, then does a double-take. ‘It’s you, isn’t it? Mrs Wilkinson, Billy’s mum?’

It takes me a couple of seconds to place her face.

‘Miss Christian?’

‘Yes.’ As she holds out a hand, half a dozen silver bracelets jangle around her wrist. ‘I saw the appeal on TV a few weeks ago. Has there been any news?’

‘No,’ I say before Kira can interject. ‘Unfortunately not.’

‘Rosie!’ Miss Christian releases my hands and waves at a woman further up the street. ‘I’ll catch up with you. Okay?’

I don’t recognize Rosie but, from the way the teenagers congregate around her, she’s obviously a teacher. I don’t remember her from any of Billy’s parents’ evenings. She must be new.

‘We’re taking them to the open day at the School of Art,’ Edie says, as though reading my thoughts. ‘I’m pretty sure half the kids here aren’t the slightest bit interested but it’s a few hours away from school and …’ She shrugs.

I scan the faces of the pupils surrounding Rosie but don’t recognize any of them. One boy whispers something in another boy’s ear. He’s rewarded with a laugh and a punch to the shoulder. That’s what Billy should be doing now, messing around with his mates, telling jokes and winding them up. Where is he? whispers a voice in my head. Where is he?

‘Billy was a very talented artist,’ Edie Christian says, drowning out the voice.

Is, I want to say. Billy is a very talented artist. But it’s as though someone has placed a band around my chest that’s stopping me from speaking.