‘And – don’t mind me saying this, Claire – but it’s not as though you couldn’t do with the money.’

Liz is right, again. Every spare penny we’ve managed to save over the years has been spent on publicizing Billy’s disappearance. There’s nothing left. Mark suggested cancelling our Sky subscription and giving up a few other luxuries he thinks we could live without but why put everyone through that when I could go back to work for a bit? I could deal with a few hours a week, at least until Dr Evans gets back to me with the result of the blood test.

‘So?’ Liz stops rubbing my back and slaps me square between the shoulder blades. ‘Are you going to give it a go? Give Stephen a ring and arrange to go back to work. You only have to do a few hours, see how it feels.’

I twist round in my chair and smile up at her. ‘And if I don’t?’

She winks. ‘I’ll run you over and put you out of your misery myself.’

Chapter 17

I feel sick as I indicate right and turn the car into the yard of Wilkinson & Son builder’s merchants and park. It’s been three days since my conversation with Liz about going back to work. Nothing has changed since the last time I was here. The yard is still full of fork-lifts, vans and lorries. There are empty pallets stacked high in one corner. The sign – a yellow and blue logo that looks like a triangle made out of bricks – dominates the side of the warehouse. Inside, and in the larger yard beyond the building, dozens of builders and tradesmen will be perusing the timber, bricks, pipes, paint and power tools. Mark’s dad John will be on the shop floor, making sure the customers and staff are happy. And Stephen, Mark’s younger stepbrother, will be in the office: a phone in one hand, a stained coffee mug in the other. I used to be the office manager – a fancy title for what basically involved answering the phone, printing and mailing invoices, organizing the cleaners and running ads in the local press.

The good thing, if it can be called that, about working for members of your family is that I didn’t have to explain my absence when Billy disappeared. John and Stephen didn’t go to work either. They spent the best part of a week driving around Bristol, plastering posters of Billy’s face onto lampposts, hoardings and billboards. Our house was a hive of activity, every room crammed with friends, neighbours and family. Mark was the epicentre, taking charge and instructing people where to search and flypost. He took down the mirror above the fireplace and replaced it with a huge map of Bristol which he stuck pins into – red for areas the police had searched, green for the places we’d be combing.