The Missing: The gripping psychological thriller that’s got everyone talking...

Jackdaw44: Sorry.

ICE9: What for?

Jackdaw44: Telling you to go fuck yourself last week.

ICE9: No, you’re not. You want something.

Jackdaw44: Ha. Ha. Spot on.

ICE9: So?

Jackdaw44: Just wanted to talk to you.

ICE9: You know where I live.

Jackdaw44: Ha. Ha. Am at school. Need advice.

ICE9: What about?

Jackdaw44: Girls. Why are they such bitches?

ICE9: What makes you think I know?

Jackdaw44: I fucking hate Liv. She dumped me so why is she trying to put Jess off me?

ICE9: Jealous? Maybe she still fancies you.

Jackdaw44: Yeah, right. She’s fucking Ethan Thomas.

ICE9: Revenge?

Jackdaw44: What for?

ICE9: Did you cheat on her?

Jackdaw44: [confused face}

ICE9: That’s a yes then.

Jackdaw44: I was drunk.

ICE9: Dick.

Jackdaw44: That’s Mr Big Dick to you.

ICE9: Not according to Liv.

Jackdaw44: Fuck off. (Not sorry.)

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Chapter 12 (#ulink_3468e28f-14be-5ebc-9de6-8d5d003babaa)

‘I’m not sure this is a good idea,’ Mum says as I turn the key in the lock. ‘I don’t feel right leaving you here alone. Not after what happened. He was decent though, wasn’t he, that policeman? In the end. I knew he wouldn’t fine us, not when we told him about Billy. You saw the look on his face when he told us he had a son of about the same age. Kind of him to say he’d keep an eye out and help spread the word.’

She follows me into the kitchen, hovering in the middle of the room as I drop my handbag onto a chair and open the fridge.

‘Are you okay?’ Mum asks. ‘I know you feel embarrassed about what happened on the train but you mustn’t let it get to you. Imagine if it had been Billy and you hadn’t gone after him. You’d never have forgiven yourself.’

‘I thought I’d do a casserole for tea,’ I say. ‘I know it’s the summer but everyone likes a sausage casserole, don’t they? I drop two onions, five carrots and two packs of sausages onto the counter. ‘Twelve sausages – that’ll be enough, won’t it, although God only knows Jake could probably finish off the lot himself.’

‘Claire, talk to me, sweetheart. You haven’t said a word since we left the station.’

I take a knife from the block on the counter. ‘The onions haven’t had long enough in the fridge to chill the juices. I always cry if they’re too fresh.’

‘Claire.’

‘I’m going to need swimming goggles. I think Billy’s got some in his room. I’ll just go up and—’

‘CLAIRE!’

Mum slips around me, blocking my exit from the kitchen.

‘Claire, sit down.’

‘I can’t. I need to put the dinner on. I need to—’

‘Claire, please. Please sit down, love.’ She gazes up at me, pain etched into her soft, lined skin. ‘Talk to me.’

‘I can’t. If I do I’ll cry.’

‘And?’ Mum rubs her hand up and down my upper arm.

‘And I don’t know if I’ll ever stop.’

‘Oh, sweetheart.’

‘I thought I’d found Billy,’ I say as she wraps me in her arms and I slump against her. ‘I thought the nightmare was over. But it’s not. It just carries on.

She squeezes me tightly. ‘We’ll find him, Claire. We’ll bring him back home.’

Mum left an hour ago. She was going to stay until Mark or one of the kids got back but then Dad rang to say that his car battery had died and he was stuck at B&Q and could she collect him. She told him to get a taxi and they’d sort out the car later but I insisted she go to his rescue. I reassured her that I could go over to Liz’s if I was feeling wobbly. She left, begrudgingly, and gave me an extra-long squeeze at the door.

My phone bleeps. It’s a text message from Mark.

Are you still at your mum’s? How are you feeling? I’m going to try and get home a bit earlier than normal. Text me if you feel unwell.

I text back.