‘I was talking about Adam-9. He’s my favourite. Do you like him?’
‘He’s . . . My daughter really likes him.’
She caught herself using the present tense, but she didn’t care. After seeing Tilly up close like that, it didn’t feel wrong.
‘What’s your daughter’s name?’
‘Tilly. Her name’s Tilly.’
‘That’s also a nice name. Did you know there was a Tilly on Adam-9 once?’
‘No, I didn’t know that.’
‘She was a little girl. Adam helped her. A nasty man took her away from her family, but Adam rescued her.’
This was a revelation to Hannah. She wondered if it was the reason Tilly had been so fascinated by the stories. She wanted to tell Daniel that her own Tilly had been snatched away too, and that she wished Adam-9 could bring her back to her family, but then she decided it would be too much for him to handle.
‘Adam’s a hero, all right.’
‘He is. I’ve got lots of his comics, and we record all the programmes. Would you like to watch one?’
‘I—’ She was going to make an excuse, and then she thought, What the hell? This young man has just saved me. Why not indulge him?
‘I’d love to,’ she said.
And so Daniel put the programme on, and then he sat in his chair, his elbows on his knees and his chin in his cupped hands, staring transfixed at the screen and apparently oblivious to everything else around him.
Just as Tilly had once done.
20
A normal day.
Scott hadn’t dared to think it would happen. Following the events of the weekend, he’d found himself constantly worrying about seismic aftershocks, or at least ripples of disturbance.
But no. A mundane working day. A grey Monday just like any other. From start to finish, business as usual. And now here he was, nearly home, Gemma at his side. About to see his amazing son again. They would have a meal together, watch some television. He might open a couple of bottles of beer.
It would get easier, day by day. The images, the horrors – they would fade. Eventually he would find himself wondering if they had even taken place. The mind is good at self-repair like that. It protects itself, just as Scott had protected his son.
But then he unlocked the door and wandered in and saw the smartly dressed woman sitting on the sofa, exactly where he’d put Joseph Cobb, and he saw the lumps and discoloration on her head and forearms, saw Daniel looming over her, and he thought, No, no, please God, no, not again, what has my son done, what in God’s name has he done now? And then he heard the intake of breath from Gemma as she followed him into the room, but nothing more, as if she was equally as stunned.
‘Hello,’ he said, because he didn’t know what else to say, didn’t know how to make sense of this.
‘Mr Timpson,’ the woman said, and she put out her hand, and Scott could see that she was wincing as she did so. He took it very gently, for fear of breaking her.
‘I’m sorry,’ Scott said. ‘I don’t—’
‘Dad! Dad! I rescued her. I saved her. A man attacked her, and I saved her.’
Scott stared at Daniel, and then back at the woman. Could this be true? Or had something gone wrong again? Had Daniel caused this somehow? Could they be that unlucky?
‘You have a wonderful son,’ the woman said. ‘If he hadn’t turned up when he did, I could be dead by now.’
‘Who . . . who did it? Who attacked you?’
‘I don’t know. There was a gang of lads down there earlier . . .’
Scott nodded. ‘They’re a menace. Always hanging about the building. I’ve told the police about them lots of times.’
The woman went to say something, but was interrupted by stifled giggles from Daniel.
‘She is the police, Dad! Her name’s Hannah, and she’s a real detective!’
Scott felt suddenly faint, as though his brain was squeezing the blood out of itself in preparation for flight. The police? This couldn’t be coincidence, surely. They know something, he thought. What has Daniel told them?
Behind him, Gemma said, ‘I’ll put the shopping away,’ and he knew she needed to avoid showing her fear. As she sped away with her carrier bags, Scott forced an approximation of cheerfulness onto his features.
‘A detective, eh? We like detectives, don’t we, Daniel?’
‘We do. She’s not like Columbo, though. More like Inspector Morse.’
Scott forced out a laugh. ‘Are you okay? I mean, do you need an ambulance or anything?’
‘No. I’m starting to feel much better. Daniel has been taking good care of me.’
Scott looked at his son again. Daniel was beaming, but Scott still wondered if he’d said something he shouldn’t.
‘Are you here on official business, or . . .’
