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‘Not a problem,’ Wynne said. ‘By the way, is your son OK?’

‘More or less,’ Martin Cooper said. ‘Although I’m not sure OK is the best description. He was very drunk.’

‘Perhaps he needed to let off some steam,’ Wynne said. ‘He’s safe, at least.’

‘Exactly,’ Martin Cooper said. ‘And he would have been gone longer but someone found him and brought him home.’

‘That’s fortunate,’ Wynne said. ‘Better than having him stagger around the streets. He was lucky to run into someone so responsible. Not everyone is that civic-minded these days, especially when it comes to teenage boys.’

‘He was a teacher,’ Martin said. ‘So he wasn’t scared of fourteen-year-old boys. It was an odd coincidence, actually. I knew him. He was Sandra’s maths teacher in school. Mr Best.’

Wynne almost missed it. She had not been fully paying attention; she was going out that evening – a rare occurrence – with someone she had met at the gym. Wynne was having a coffee after a spinning class; the woman had been in the class and, afterwards, had sat at her table and pointed at the coffee.

That won’t re-hydrate you, she said.

It might give me some energy, Wynne replied, aware that she was still red-faced and sweating, whereas the woman – Nicky, it turned out – was showered and dressed and fully composed.

Try one of these. She had a bright green antioxidant fruit shake. It’s a great boost.

Wynne shook her head. Coffee, for me, she said.

Want to meet for one? the woman asked. Or a real drink?

And they were meeting tonight.

She paused.

‘Best?’ she said. ‘Late fifties? Balding? Metallic glasses?’

‘Yes,’ Martin said. ‘You know him?’

‘I do.’

‘Did he teach you?’

He didn’t, but Wynne knew she couldn’t say how she knew Best. An unproven allegation of interest in underage girls – Wynne happened to believe it, but that was irrelevant – was not something she could share with the general public. It was slander.

It was also a coincidence.

And Wynne did not like coincidences.

‘Oh,’ she said. ‘It’s a small town. I’ve come across him a few times. He seems a pleasant man.’ She hesitated. ‘I was wondering whether you would be OK with me talking to James? About the night he was brought home?’

‘Why?’ Martin said. ‘What’s that got to do with anything?’

‘Probably nothing,’ Wynne said. ‘But it’s better to be thorough.’

There was a silence on the line. ‘Then feel free,’ he said.

2

James sat on the couch. His hands were folded in his lap, his fingers moving nervously.

‘Am I in trouble?’ he said. ‘For underage drinking?’

‘Not with me,’ Wynne replied. ‘Although I imagine your mum and dad aren’t too pleased.’

He sat back on the couch. ‘Then what is it?’