‘Four nine zero,’ she said, Arthur repeating the numbers after her, into the phone. ‘Zero one five. Two nine three.’

Arthur nodded at her. ‘Yes. Missing since last Friday night.’ He chewed his thumb. ‘The body found by the A413, do you know who it is yet? No. No, don’t put me on hold aga—’

He leaned against the door, closing it, his head resting against one finger, pushing his skin into folds. Waiting.

And waiting.

It was the worst wait Pip had ever had in her life. Her chest so tight she had to force the air through and out of her nose. And with every breath she thought she might be sick, swallowing down the bile.

Please, she kept thinking, no idea who she was thinking it to. Just someone. Anyone. Please please don’t let it be Jamie. Please. She’d promised Connor. She’d promised she’d find his brother. She promised she’d save him. Please. Please, not him.

Her eyes slipped from Arthur back to Connor beside her.

‘Should I be here?’ she mouthed silently.

But Connor nodded and took her hand, their palms clammy, sticking together. She saw him take his mother’s hand, too, on the other side.

Waiting.

Arthur’s eyes were closed, the fingers on his free hand pressing into his eyelids, so hard it must have hurt, his chest rising in stuttering movements.

Waiting.

Until . . .

‘Yes?’ Arthur said, his eyes snapping open.

Pip’s heartbeat was so loud, so fast, it felt like that was all she was: a heart and the empty skin around it.

‘Hello detective,’ said Arthur. ‘Yes, that’s what I’m calling about. Yes.’

Connor gripped Pip’s hand even tighter, crushing her bones together.

‘Yes, I understand. So, is –’ Arthur’s hand was shaking at his side. ‘Yes, I understand that.’

He went quiet, listening to the other end of the phone. And then his face dropped.

Cracked in two.

He doubled forward, the phone going limp in his fingers. Other hand up to his face as he bawled into it. A high, inhuman sound that wracked his entire body.

Connor’s hand went slack against Pip’s, his jaw falling open.

Arthur straightened up, tears spilling down into his bared mouth.

‘It’s not Jamie,’ he said.

‘What?’ Joanna stood up, clutching her face.

‘It’s not Jamie,’ Arthur said again, choking over a sob, placing his phone down. ‘It’s someone else. His family just identified him. It’s not Jamie.’

‘It’s not Jamie?’ Joanna said, like she didn’t dare believe it yet.

‘It’s not him,’ Arthur said, staggering forward to pull her into him, crying down in her hair. ‘It’s not our boy. Not Jamie.’

Connor unstuck from Pip, his cheeks flushed and tear-streaked, and he folded himself in around his parents. They held each other and they cried, and it was a cry of relief and grief and confusion. They’d lost him for a while. For a few minutes, in their heads and in hers, Jamie Reynolds had been dead.

But it wasn’t him.

Pip held the sleeve of her jumper to her eyes, tears falling hot, soaking into the fabric.

Thank you, she thought to that invisible person in her head. Thank you.

They had another chance.

She had one last chance.

Pip:

OK, recording. Are you OK?

Arthur:

Yes. I’m ready.

Pip:

So, why didn’t you want to be interviewed or involved before now?

Arthur:

Honestly? I was angry. In my head, I was convinced Jamie had run away again. And he knows how worried we were the first time he did that. I didn’t want to indulge Joanna and Connor’s idea that Jamie was really missing because I didn’t think he was. I didn’t want to believe something was wrong. Seems I preferred to be angry at Jamie instead. But I was wrong, I think. It’s been too long. And if he was out there, Jamie would’ve heard about your podcast by now. He would have come home if he could.

Pip:

And why did you think Jamie had run off again? Is it because you had a big argument, right before the memorial?

Arthur:

Yes. I don’t want to argue with him, I just want what’s best for him. Want to push him to make smart decisions for his life, to do something that he loves. I know he’s capable of that. But he’s seemed stuck the last few years. Maybe I go about it the wrong way. I just don’t know how to help him.

Pip:

And what were you arguing about last Friday?

Arthur:

It’s just . . . it had been simmering for a while. He’d recently asked me to borrow a load of money, and I don’t know, he just said something that set me off about money and responsibility and finding a career. Jamie didn’t want to hear it.

Pip:

When did he ask you to borrow money?

Arthur:

Oh, it was . . . Joanna was out at badminton so it must have been a Tuesday. Yes, Tuesday 10th of April.

Pip:

Did he say what he wanted the money for?

Arthur:

No, that’s the thing. He wouldn’t tell me. Just said it was really important. So, of course, I told him no. It was a ridiculous amount.

Pip:

If you don’t mind me asking, how much did Jamie ask to borrow?

Arthur:

Nine hundred pounds.

Pip:

Nine hundred?

Arthur:

Yes.

Pip:

Nine hundred exactly?

Arthur:

Yes. Why? What’s wrong?

Pip:

It’s just . . . I’ve heard that exact figure recently, about someone else. A guy called Luke Eaton, he mentioned losing nine hundred pounds this week. And I think he’s involved in dr— You know what, I’ll look into it. So, after you left the pub Friday night, what time did you get back home?

Arthur:

I don’t remember looking at the time specifically, but it was definitely before eleven thirty. Maybe around twenty past.

Pip:

And the house was empty, right? You didn’t see Jamie?

Arthur:

No, I was alone. I went to bed but I heard Connor get in later.

Pip:

And there’s no way Jamie could’ve snuck in before then? Like, just after you got back?

Arthur:

Not possible. I was sitting here in the living room for a while. I would have heard the front door.

Pip:

We believe Jamie came back here, for his hoodie and the knife, so he must have arrived and left again before you got home. Do you know anything about the knife?

Arthur:

No. I didn’t even know it was missing until Joanna told me.

Pip:

So where were you all last weekend when Jamie was first missing? Connor mentioned you weren’t at home much.

Arthur:

I was out driving, looking for him. I thought he’d just be somewhere, blowing off steam. And I could talk to him, fix things, get him to come home. But he wasn’t anywhere.