The tiny front sitting room is equally fruitless. The shelves are loaded with books and DVDs. It’s an inviting room, mellow and cosy. Upstairs there are two bedrooms and a bathroom, and above the landing a hatch in the ceiling; a pole with a hook on the end leans into the corner. I creep past Kai’s bedroom door and enter Anna’s room, close the curtains and switch on the light, then tackle her bedside table before moving to the wardrobe. A moth flies out as I open the door, and another as I flick through her clothes.

There’s a painted chair in front of her dressing table; I drag it over, climb up and check the top shelves. All I find are bags of jumpers, vacuum-packed presumably to protect them from the moths, and baby things neatly folded that give me a pang of want. Nick and I would have had a child together. Does Anna yearn for another one? Is that what she’s looking for in a man? Someone to help complete her family? To complete her?

I get down off the chair and sit on the bed, tired and fed up, the adrenaline all but gone. I check underneath it and find a folded carrier bag. I pull it out and open it. Inside is a cheap mobile. I sit with it in my palm, then press one of the keys. It lights up, but it needs a passcode, so I put it back where I found it. Why would Anna have a second mobile hidden under her bed? Maybe it’s an old one she couldn’t bring herself to discard. She’s the thrifty type. I don’t have an answer. I find myself yearning to sink into the pillows and close my eyes, so I force myself up, switch off the light and part the curtains. Street lights bathe the road in their yellow glow. The night sky is scattered with stars. It’s a quarter to two in the morning and a mother has left her son. What Kai said about worrying that she had gone where Nick went, like the children following the Pied Piper, blindsided me. The poor boy must be terrified.

Come back, Anna. I press my palm against the glass. I should call the police, I think. And I will. But there’s one more place to look.