I continue to shout his name as he walks out of the room. Seconds later I hear the back door slam.

Tuesday 7th October 2014

ICE9: I am having a shit day. How about you?

Jackdaw44:

ICE9: You’re sad?

Jackdaw44: Cos you’re having a shit day. What’s up?

ICE9: Arguments.

Jackdaw44: Relationships suck. You should be single like me. No women. No drama. Result!

ICE9: No drama? What about the graffitiing at school? (Tell me to fuck off and I’ll never text you again.)

Jackdaw44: Fuck yyyyy … (Just kidding!) Bollocks to the graffiti. I’m expressing myself. No bastard understands that.

ICE9: You can express yourself without doing it on school property.

Jackdaw44: Don’t you start!

ICE9: You brought it up.

Jackdaw44: Actually, you did. Anyway, forget that shit. Do you want to go for a beer?

ICE9: Ha! Ha!

Jackdaw44: What’s so funny?

ICE9: a) It’s 3pm and b) You’re 15.

Jackdaw44: a) It’s never too early for a beer and b) I look 18.

ICE9: Well b) is true.

Jackdaw44: So??

ICE9: You’re at school.

Jackdaw44:

ICE9: Skiving again!

Jackdaw44: Yeah, and I’m bored. Come to the pub with me.

ICE9: I’m busy.

Jackdaw44: No, you’re not. You’re having a shit day. +=

ICE9: Look at you, the emoticon mathematician!

Jackdaw44: It’s all true. So is that a yes then?

ICE9: Oh, sod it. What harm could one beer do?

Chapter 19

There’s a cold space on the left of the bed, where the warm imprint of Mark’s body should be.

I didn’t chase after him when he left last night. Instead I sat on the sofa with my arms crossed and the TV still on pause and reran the argument in my head. How had we gone from me asking him to have a word with Jake to me implying that he was responsible for Billy going missing? Because he’d pushed my buttons, that’s why. He’d gone straight on the offensive, bringing up my failed sessions with the counsellor and implying that I didn’t know what I was talking about. I hadn’t even mentioned getting counselling – just that he should talk to his son. What was so wrong with that?

I rehearsed what I’d say when Mark came back from the pub. I had it all word perfect. Only he didn’t come back. There was a space in the street outside the house, where his silver Ford Focus had been parked. He’d taken his jacket too, and his briefcase from the hall. Wherever he’d gone he was planning on staying overnight.

I rang him several times but his mobile went straight to answerphone. I sent text after text.

I’m sorry. I don’t think it’s your fault.

Please, Mark. Let’s not fall out. We need to stick together. I’m sorry.

Please. Please talk to me.