The more I tried to reason, the muddier everything became. There was only one remaining possibility. Perhaps he had got into someone’s car? He was a sociable soul, after all, and assumed everyone was a friend. But he’d never done that before. So why now? And what would that someone want, with a boy who could barely speak? Or perhaps someone had taken him against his will.

The notion of him being held captive, being frightened, confused and alone, was too painful to imagine.

I must have slept eventually, for I became aware of light streaming through the curtains. Outside the weather was bright and sunny once more, with little white clouds scudding across a perfectly blue sky. The terrible, oppressive heat of the summer had given way to autumn, all in the space of a few days. Nature’s heartless beauty seemed to mock the nightmare that we had found ourselves locked into. It was Day Three, and still no sign of Jimmy.

There was activity in the kitchen, so I went down in my pyjamas. Mrs D was cooking bacon and scrambled egg, but the smells that would normally make my mouth water just made me feel nauseous.

‘Morning,’ she said. ‘I hope those pills helped you get a little sleep, my darling.’

I nodded, to save lying.

‘Thought we’d have a proper cooked breakfast today – build up your strength. Why don’t you see if your pa’s ready to eat something?’

I doubted it, but went upstairs to please her and knocked on Pa’s bedroom door. There was no answer. Those pills were strong; he was probably still sound asleep. I knocked again, louder this time. There was still no answer; his bed was empty.

I ran downstairs to his study. He was not there, either, but the piles of books on his desk and the side tables had been dashed about, as though a hurricane had blown through the room; some lay on the floor, their spines broken, and papers had flown everywhere. A sudden ray of hope slipped into my head: had Jimmy returned in the night and, for some inexplicable reason, been hunting for something among Pa’s papers?

Mrs D was behind me, in the doorway.

‘Great heavens above,’ she exclaimed. ‘Whatever’s been going on in here? Have we been burgled?’

I shrugged. ‘The windows are locked. There’s no sign . . .’

‘He must have gone out for a walk, poor man,’ she said. ‘He’ll be back soon, no doubt. I’ll put his breakfast in the warming oven. Now, why don’t you come and eat yours while it’s still fresh.’

And then I saw it, lying on the study floor. It was a copy of the local newspaper, always delivered early on a Friday morning. On the front page was this headline and story:

MISSING CHURCH FUNDS DENIAL

A vicar has denied any knowledge of nearly £5,000 missing from church funds in Wormley, near Colchester.