I glance at Kieron.

I’ll do anything to keep both of my boys safe.

The driver of the digger raises his hand in appreciation as he passes by me. Before I can pull away, the lights change to red once more.

My stomach churns with a sense of foreboding. I reach for my mobile and call Connor. My favourite picture of him lights the screen. We took it five years ago during an unseasonably hot Easter. Before Kieron was diagnosed, before everything changed. We’re on the beach, the wind whipping his dark curls around his face. Traces of strawberry ice cream linger around his mouth, which is stretched into a wide grin.

We were all so happy once. I don’t know how but I have to believe that we can be again. The alternative is too painful to bear.

The phone rings and rings. Connor doesn’t pick up. Fear brushes the back of my neck. Rationally I know he hasn’t been taken. I’ve told him not to go out. He’s at home. The door is locked. He’s okay. His answer service kicks in and I end the call before pressing redial. In my mind I can picture him, headphones clamped onto his ears, thumbs furiously working his X-box controller. Firing shots. Directing his rage at the soldiers on his screen the way he had directed his rage at me earlier.

He can’t hear the phone or he’s ignoring my call. That has to be it.

But still …

Hurry.

Despite the lights still being red I pull away. There is no approaching traffic. The dashboard clock tells me it’s almost four and I snap on the radio, punching the dials until I find the local station. The newsreader relays in cool, clipped tones that the missing boys haven’t yet been found but police are following several lines of enquiry. Nobody else has been taken. The unsaid yet lingers in the air and, although I know Connor is safe, my foot squeezes the accelerator. Home is the only place my anxiety abates. When we’re all under one roof and I can almost pretend everything is exactly how it was.

Before.

Visibility is poor. Frustrated, I slow, peering out through the teeming rain. If I have an accident I’m no use to Kieron, to anyone. My heart is racing, as there’s another crack of lightning. I count the seconds the way I used to with the boys when they were small.

One.

Two.

Three.

A grumble of thunder. The storm is closing in. Everything is closing in, crashing down. Sweat forms a layer between my skin and my shirt as a sense of danger gallops towards me.

Hurry.

The urgency I feel to be at home overrides the voice of caution urging me to slow down. I race past the old hospital, which has fallen into disrepair, the white-and-blue NHS sign crawling with ivy, and then the secondary school. I barely register the figure clocked in black stepping onto the zebra crossing, but on some level I must have noticed him as my palm slams against the horn until he jumps back onto the path. He shakes his fist but I don’t care.