mush where once there’d been plaster. Harlan placed the pan under the drip. It began to fill slowly but surely. “We need something bigger. That’ll be overflowing in no time. Can you think of anything we could-” He broke off as he turned and saw Kane’s face. The mask had fallen away completely, revealing the fear that lurked behind it.
“He looked at me.” Tears hovered in Kane’s voice. “At the police station, that man Mum went for, he looked at me, and I looked at him, and, and…” He trailed off, trying to choke back the tears now forming in his eyes, lowering his head as if he was ashamed.
Harlan put his hands on Kane’s shoulders. The boy tensed a little, but didn’t pull away. “Look at me, Kane.” Kane reluctantly met his eyes. “You don’t need to worry about him. He won’t ever be able to hurt you. They’re going to put him in prison and never let him out.”
“What if he escapes?”
“He won’t. They’ll lock him away in the deepest darkest hole they’ve got. Do you hear?”
Kane nodded. Some, but not all, of the fear left his eyes. Harlan squeezed his shoulders. “Good. Now keep an eye on that pan.” He returned to Susan, who was in the kitchen, making tea. She pointed to a Yellow Pages on the table. He flicked through it, phoning roofers until he found one willing to come as soon as it stopped raining. Susan handed him a mug. It felt heavy as a rock as he lifted it to his lips. “I think I need to lie down.”
“What you need is something to eat. Get yourself on the sofa and I’ll bring you a sandwich.”
Harlan went through to the living-room and slumped onto the sofa. He was asleep within seconds. When he awoke, there was a sandwich waiting for him on the arm of the sofa. As he took a bite, his attention was drawn to the window by the clatter of a ladder outside. He rose and peered between the curtains. It’d stopped raining. A pair of workmen’s boots disappeared up the ladder. “They came while you were sleeping,” said Susan, entering the room and sitting down.
Harlan returned to the sofa and finished his sandwich. There was a knock. Raising a hand to indicate Susan should stay put, Harlan answered the door. “Alright, mate,” said a rugged-faced man. “I’ve had a look at your roof and someone’s done a right bodge job. They’ve slapped a load of bitumen over your busted slates. I ain’t got nothin’ with me to fix it properly today, but I can put another coat of bitumen on it. That’ll keep you dry for a few days, until I can get back.”
Harlan glanced inquiringly at Susan. She nodded, and he said to the roofer, “Do it.”
Harlan sat listening to the roofer working and Susan busying herself in the kitchen, and trying not to listen to the remorseless ticking of the clock on the mantelpiece. The faint acrid smell of bitumen mingled with the scent of whatever Susan was cooking, making him feel a touch queasy. Tick, tick, tick. The clock seemed to be getting louder with every passing second. The sound of it got inside him, reverberating along his bones, echoing in his skull. How much longer? How much longer would Nash hold out? How much longer could Ethan survive? Tick, tick, tick. Even in his weakened state, he fidgeted restlessly. He wanted to do something, even if that something was only scouring the streets for Ethan or handing out leaflets. But he knew he didn’t have the strength for it. All he had the strength to do was sit and wait and listen. Tick, tick, tick…
His mobile phone rang. He snatched it out. A number he didn’t recognise flashed up. Heart hammering, he answered it. “Mr Harlan Miller?” said an unfamiliar male voice.
“Yes.”
“My name’s Guy Farrell of C and G Solicitors. I’m calling on behalf of Jamie Sutton’s-”
“Get off the fucking line, and don’t tie this phone up again. You hear?” Without waiting for a reply, Harlan hung up.
“Who was that?” asked Susan, poking her worry-lined face into the room.
“No one important.”
Harlan closed his eyes, massaging his temples. The details of Ethan’s abduction and everything that’d happened since reeled through his brain, like a movie on endless repeat. Occasionally he pressed pause to examine some minutiae or other, trying to figure out if it was the piece that would solve the puzzle. The piece that would deliver Ethan to him. But the solution remained maddeningly elusive. He felt as helpless and impotent as when Tom died. It made him want to shout, to scream, to weep. Tick, tick, tick. His fingers dug painfully into his temples. His eyes snapped open at a knock on the front door. He rose to answer it.
“All done,” said the roofer. He started to bang on about prices and materials, but his words barely registered on Harlan’s brain. He just kept nodding, until the man turned and got into his van.
Susan called Harlan and Kane to the kitchen. Relieved to get away from the clock, Harlan mechanically shovelled pasta down his throat without tasting it. Kane ate as if he were in a trance. He answered with only the slightest of nods when Harlan asked if he’d emptied out the pan. Once his plate was empty, he rose without asking permission to leave the table, and returned upstairs. Susan didn’t seem to notice, or if she did, she didn’t seem to care. She wiped and re-wiped the work-surfaces, rubbing almost frantically at invisible stains. Harlan watched her, knowing what was coming. She stopped suddenly, and her head dropped onto her arms on the work-surface. Her shoulders quaked in time to her muffled sobs. Harlan rose and put his hand on her back. He didn’t say anything. He just stood there, willing her the strength to go on. Her head jerked up at a knock on the door.
“I’ll go see who it is,” said Harlan. Peering through the living-room curtains, he saw the dishevelled figure of Neil. “Persistent son-of-a-bitch,” he murmured, with a wry smile of appreciation.
“Who is it?” Susan hissed from the opposite doorway.
Before Harlan could say, Neil’s voice rang out as if in answer. “Susan, it’s me. I know you’re in there and…and I know you still have feelings for me. If I’m wrong, tell me and I’ll leave you alone.”
No you won’t, thought Harlan.
“Please, Susan. I just want to talk. Just give me five minutes. Five minutes for everything we’ve been through together. That’s all I ask.”
Susan moved slowly towards the door, as if Neil’s words were reeling her in.
“I told you I won’t give up on us. Not until you-” Neil broke off as Susan opened the door. His mouth worked silently, as if all the words he wanted to say to her were blocking each other’s way in their desperation to get out. “T…thank you,” he managed to stammer. The look of almost pathetic gratitude written across his face faded as he noticed Harlan. In its place, jealousy vied with nervous hostility. “What’s he doing here?”
“He’s stopping me from going out of my fucking mind, that’s what,” Susan said sharply. “Actually, you know what, to hell with this.” She started to shut the door, but Neil jammed his foot against it.
“I’m sorry, Susie. It’s just that I was surprised to see him. I didn’t think you’d ever let him in your house.”
“Neither did I, but things change.”
“Take your foot out of the door,” Harlan said to Neil.
“It’s okay,” said Susan, reaching for her coat. “I’m going out. I shouldn’t be long. If anyone phones-”
“I’ll call you straight away.” Harlan gave Neil a hard look of warning. The younger man’s eyes dropped away from his. Neil held his hand out for Susan, but she walked past him without taking it. Like an eager puppy, he trotted after her.
Harlan lay on the sofa. There was no sound from upstairs. The house was silent, except for the ticking of the clock. The painkillers were wearing off, but he didn’t reach for more. Instead, he focused on the pain, using it to deaden his psychological agony. Five minutes passed. Ten. Fifteen. The daylight began to drop, but still Susan didn’t return. Whatever Neil was saying, she was obviously listening. A piercing scream clawed the throat of the silence. Heart lurching, Harlan jerked to his feet. An electric shock of pain almost sent him reeling back onto the sofa. Clutching his wound, he climbed the stairs as fast as his leaden legs could manage. Another scream rang out as he entered Kane’s bedroom. The boy was laid fully clothed on his bed, eyes closed, face contorted in terror. A sheen of sweat glistened on his flushed face. Harlan shook him gently. “Kane.”
“I saw him,” Kane gasped, half-sitting up, eyes popping wide. “I saw him at the window.”
“Saw who?”
“That man from the line-up.”
“No you didn’t, you were dreaming. It was only a nightmare.”
Harlan’s words smoothed the lines of fear from Kane’s face. He dropped back onto his pillows. Harlan’s nose wrinkled at the room’s warm, mildewy air. He moved to open the window. A tang of bitumen wafted in on the cool breeze. “Are you okay now?”
Kane nodded. “Where’s my mum?”
“She had to go out. She’ll be back soon. I’ll be downstairs if you need me.”
