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Her shoulders straightened and her eyes widened, then she opened her arms and half-ran, half-jumped outside. Martin ran to the door.

She was standing on the step, hugging James.

Martin hugged him too. There was a sour smell coming off his son. ‘Where’ve you been?’ he said, his relief keeping his anger in check. ‘We were so worried.’

Before James could answer a man stepped into view. He was in his fifties, bald and wearing faded chinos and a white shirt.

‘Good evening,’ he said. ‘I take it this is your son?’

‘Yes,’ Martin said. ‘Did you bring him home?’

‘I found him and he gave this address.’ He gave a tight smile. ‘I think he may have been drinking.’

He had. That was the sour smell. Martin would deal with that later. For now, he wanted to get James inside, then call Wynne to tell her not to come after all. Before he could thank the man, Sandra spoke.

‘Are you …’ she said. ‘Are you Mr Best?’

5

The man – Best – peered at her through his glasses. ‘Sandra?’ he said. ‘Is that Sandra Ferguson?’

‘Cooper, now,’ Sandra said. ‘But yes.’

‘Well, I never. How nice to see you. It’s been what? Twenty years?’

‘I guess,’ Sandra said. ‘Although it’s hard to believe it’s that long. How are you?’

‘Good. I’m retired now. How are you?’ He hesitated, and took a small step backwards. ‘Didn’t I hear …?’

‘Yes,’ Sandra said. ‘Our daughter – she – she went missing.’

‘Oh dear,’ he said. ‘How very sad.’ He looked at Martin. ‘I’m very sorry for you both.’

‘Thank you,’ Martin said. There was something about the precise, polite formality of the man that he found almost intimidating. It was so practised, so impenetrable. ‘I take it you two know each other?’

‘We do,’ Best said. ‘I had the pleasure of teaching your wife. Although that was a long time ago. I was much younger then.’

‘We both were,’ Sandra said. ‘I was Maggie’s age. Mr Best taught Maths at St Joe’s.’

James was standing between Martin and Sandra. Without warning, he sat heavily on the step. His eyes were bloodshot and unfocused.

‘OK,’ Martin said. ‘We need to get you inside.’ He knelt and held James’s face in his hands. It was hot and flushed. He kissed his son’s forehead. ‘Come on, Jimbo. Time for a cup of tea.’

James nodded. ‘I’m OK.’ His words were slurred and another wave of booze wafted off him.

‘I’m not sure about that,’ Martin said. He helped James to his feet. ‘Where did you find him?’

‘I was out for a walk,’ Best said. ‘And I saw him coming out of the park. He fell into a hedge and was sick. He was with a friend, but the other boy ran off when I came near. Your son was too incapacitated to follow him.’

‘And you brought him home?’ Martin asked.

‘I have some experience with boys of this age,’ Best said. ‘And they will do this kind of thing. I felt it was for the best that he was not left on the street.’

Sandra smiled at him. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘With what happened to Maggie – our daughter – we were going crazy with worry.’

‘I can imagine.’ Best took a deep breath. ‘Well, he’s home now. I didn’t know you still lived here. Perhaps I’ll see you around the village.’

‘Yes,’ Sandra said. ‘That would be lovely.’