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Jacob

Jacob called the police while Aunt Marjorie comforted Clarice. A couple of minutes later, Mark Bobbins came barrelling through the door, and announced that all the local police were out looking for Billy. The customers, catching on to what was happening, began to organise themselves into search parties while Mark tried to calm a hysterical Clarice. They managed to establish where Billy had been, where he should have been by now, and the route he should have taken. Aunt Marjorie produced a map of Brentwell and they tracked where Billy might have gone.

‘My boy,’ Clarice sobbed. ‘He’s all I have. You have to find him.’

‘Has he ever taken public transport on his own?’ Mark asked.

‘Never. Not without me.’

‘And he has no money?’

‘A couple of pounds to buy a drink and a snack.’

‘You can’t go more than a couple of stops on that much these days,’ muttered a scowling Barbara Bakersfield. ‘If it weren’t for my bus pass—’

‘Then he’s most likely somewhere close,’ Mark said. ‘Hang on a minute.’ He paused to take a phone call. ‘Right,’ he said, putting his phone back in his pocket. ‘With this snow, traffic’s practically at a standstill. So it’s therefore likely he’s on foot.’

Within minutes, everyone who was willing and able was out on the street. Jacob, not part of any of the search groups, hurried up the High Street, trying to guess where Billy might have gone. When she wasn’t busy, Clarice talked constantly about her son, her total and utter love for him shining like a beacon through the poverty she fought so hard to escape. Jacob knew the boy’s favourite films, his favourite songs, his favourite sport—

Football. The boy was obsessed. A massive fan of Exeter City, for some reason. A glutton for punishment, maybe, but at least he wasn’t a glory hunter like most kids. Jacob had never really been into football, but had found it interesting at school how whichever team currently at the top of the league always seemed to have the most fans.

Brentwell Sports Park was to the town’s north, up past the church. When he reached it, however, he found himself presented with a blanket of white. A couple of dog walkers urged reluctant pets along a walking path that had been cleared, but there was no sign of any runaway children. Disappointed, but more determined to find the boy than ever, he wracked his brains. Where would a football mad kid go to hang out in the middle of winter?

Of course.

The same place Jacob would have gone, in the same situation.

Brentwell Sport Supplies was down a side street past Daphne’s Exotic Curiosities. Small and not well attended, it had struggled since out-of-town supermarkets had begun opening sports departments. As Jacob came in the door, a sleepy teenager sitting behind the counter looked up from a Nintendo Switch.

‘Are there any kids in here?’ Jacob asked.

The teenager frowned. ‘Dunno. Might be one upstairs.’

‘Thanks.’

As the boy went back to his game, Jacob pushed through racks of dusty t-shirts and running shorts and raced up a set of stairs. Here were dusty racks of golf clubs, cricket bats and tennis rackets, skateboards, squeezed to one end to accommodate seasonal displays, mostly rugby and football goods: racks of balls and boots, school kits, replica shirts.

In one corner, almost a cubbyhole space, was a section focused on the local teams, rugby gear, football shirts, a couple of signed items in glass cases with ambitious price tags.

Standing next to a rack of Exeter City shirts was a little boy.

‘Billy,’ Jacob said.

Billy Toad turned round. His cheeks were streaked with tears, and his bottom lip trembled. Jacob had met the boy a few times when he came by the tearoom after school to sit until Clarice finished work. They had played a couple of games of chess. Jacob had tried to let the boy win, only to realise with some dubious major piece sacrifices, that the boy had been trying to let him win. After that, they had gone full tilt, and Jacob was yet to win a game.

‘Jacob,’ Billy said.

‘It’s all right,’ Jacob said. ‘You’re not in trouble. When you didn’t show up at the park, people got worried, that’s all.’

‘I didn’t want to go,’ he said. ‘I didn’t want them to make fun of me.’

‘Who?’

‘The other kids.’

Jacob closed his eyes. Children could be cruel. ‘It’s okay,’ he said. ‘Just let me make a phone call, then you can tell me all about it.’