Kate slipped onto the sofa, pulled Mia towards her and said, ‘Actually, monkey, that’s not quite right. The truth is, we’re not entirely sure where your dad is right now, but we’re looking for him. And wherever he is, I’m sure he’s trying to get back to us too. Are you hungry?’

‘I’ll eat when Daddy gets home,’ she said.

‘We don’t know how long that’s going to be, monkey.’

‘You don’t know anything!’

‘Fine,’ Kate said. ‘Eat or don’t eat. I don’t care.’

Mia slunk off the sofa and marched away, banging loudly up the staircase and slamming her bedroom door shut. Kate closed her eyes and hoped, prayed and begged that Pam could keep quiet for two damn—

‘She’s only ten,’ Pam said. ‘One of the many jobs a mother has is filtering.’

Life doesn’t have a filter …

‘I don’t want to scare her, Pam. But I don’t want to lie to her either.’

‘Even false hope is better than no hope, dear. Especially for a child.’ She smiled. ‘Now, I know you’re not Catholic, but my mother did always say that a little prayer can help us to feel better. Will you join me?’

Even with her son missing, Pam had taken the time to touch up her make-up before descending from the guestroom, wearing so much jewellery that she sounded like Christmas coming around the corner. She had either popped a valium or knew something Kate didn’t.

Pam pulled a small missal from her bag and flicked through it thoughtfully for a while, then stopped and looked up with a satisfied smile. ‘This is perfect.’

Fisher paced on the other side of the glass sliding door, back and forth across the entertainment deck, smoking cigarette after cigarette, phone stuck to his face. He glanced through the window at Kate, stubbed out his cigarette, collected the butt in his breast pocket then came back inside smelling like all her mother’s old boyfriends.

Pam took hold of Kate’s hand. ‘I just thought it might help to say a prayer, love,’ she told Fisher. ‘We’re all feeling a little overwhelmed. Will you join us?’

Fisher ran a hand through his receding hair, sat down next to his wife and sighed. Pam let go of Kate’s hand long enough to make a cross, then took it again in her warm, stubby fingers.

‘In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit,’ she said, squinting at the book in her lap. ‘Oh, gentle and loving Saint Anthony, whose heart was ever full of human sympathy; our son, John, is lost and in need of guidance. Please whisper our petition into the ears of the sweet infant Jesus, and the—’

‘Is there anyone we haven’t called yet?’ Fisher said. ‘Any friends or colleagues?’

‘Fisher,’ Pam said in a loud throaty whisper.