Catherine was shaking with fear, pinned to the seat as though the earth had swapped its gravity for Jupiter’s, but she knew she had to garner what she could witness from the retreat. She forced her head up in time to see the car for a second before it disappeared around the corner and was lost.

It was enough to notice two things. One, that the number plate had been taped over, and two, that it was a nineties-model Honda Civic.

Beyond the Visible Spectrum

They were met in the reception area of the Scottish Gas building on Maxwell Road by a man in a light-grey suit who introduced himself as Eric McGranahan, head of the Industrial and Commercial department. He was quiet-spoken and friendly, striking Jasmine as a man at ease with himself, a species that had proven thin on the ground in recent days. He looked early sixties, around Jim’s age, so it was no great surprise (though privately a little sad) for Jasmine to learn that he and Jim were old friends.

‘Jasmine Sharp?’ he emphasised when she gave her name.

‘Yes. Jim was my uncle. Well, my mum’s cousin.’

‘Was?’ he asked, looking momentarily concerned.

‘I just mean, my mum’s no longer with us,’ Jasmine clarified, retrieving the situation.

‘Oh aye, I think Jim mentioned that. I’m sorry.’

‘Sure.’

‘Would have been around the turn of the year?’

Jasmine nodded. He was out by a couple of months, but she felt that if she spoke right now, her voice would choke up.

‘Aye, last time I saw Jim must have been not long after. It’s one of those things, you always mean to get together more often, but what with work and everything … and b’Christ, you know what Jim’s like with work.’

Jasmine gave him a smile of recognition, some little part of her still daring to hope that they were wrong about all of this and that she’d see Jim again one day soon.