But – and this was the reason he was in a state this morning – something was wrong with Rory.

Sebastian Frederiks, Rory’s housemaster at St Stephen’s, had called him several days ago, saying he wanted to chat through a few ‘issues’. Apparently, Rory was becoming more and more withdrawn, and Frederiks was concerned about him.

‘But I won’t see him until the weekend after next. He has choir tour on Saturday, Mr Frederiks. Could I come in to the school and see him?’

‘Well, how about I get him to give you a call and take it from there? The last thing we want is Rory to feel pressurised and clam up.’

‘If that’s what you think is best. And please, take care of him.’

‘Of course, Mr Millar. Goodbye.’

David had put down the phone, feeling frustrated and desperate to see his son. The long day stretched in front of him and David had found his thoughts turning to alcohol.

That evening, drunk for the first time in months, David had driven to the school, determined to see Rory, whatever Frederiks might say. His boy was in trouble, David knew it.

That had been four days ago. The night he’d gone to the school was now a blur. He remembered entering Fleat House, searching the deserted corridors for Rory, banging on study doors, but the place had been empty and his search for his son fruitless.

He couldn’t remember driving home.

Since then, he’d left various messages with Frederiks and the headmaster. Neither had returned his calls.

His mobile phone rang. He snatched it up.

‘David Millar.’

‘Dad, it’s me.’ Rory sounded breathless.

‘Rory, oh God! At last! How are you?’

‘Dad . . . I . . .’ Rory let out a strangled sob. ‘I’m so scared.’

‘Of what?’

‘I . . . who’ll be there to protect me now?’

‘Rory, what are you talking about? Tell me.’

‘I can’t. You can’t help me, no one can.’

The line went dead.

David redialled the number. The line rang and rang. Realising it must be the pupil’s payphone in Fleat House, he dialled the headmaster’s secretary.

‘Yes, it’s David Millar here. I need to speak to the head, now! My son, Rory, has just rung and he sounded very distressed.’

‘I’ll pass on the message, Mr Millar, and make sure he calls you back.’

‘No! I need to speak to him now!’

‘That’s not possible, he’s in a class, but I will pass on your message.’

‘Then get him out! My son is in trouble, I know he is.’

‘I will ask Mr Jones to ring you back as soon as possible, Mr Millar. He really is very . . . busy at present, but he does know you’ve been calling.’

‘I asked you to do that yesterday and you didn’t! Tell him it’s urgent, will you?’ David implored.

‘Yes, I will, but please try not to worry. Rory’s probably homesick. It’s the first few weeks of his second term, always a difficult moment. I can try putting you through to Mr Frederiks in Fleat House, if you like.’