‘Exactly. Just like a nickname.’ I take his hand again and trace my fingers over his soft, silky skin. Like rose petals on a warm summer’s day. ‘What would your new name be? If you could choose any name at all in the whole wide world, what would it be?’

He places his finger on his chin and makes a slight humming sound as he thinks for a short while. ‘Maybe I could be called Jack, like my dad.’ He flashes me a big smile, his small, pearly-white teeth glistening in the sun.

Ice pierces my happy little bubble, bursting it wide open as he says those words, that name. Misery rains down on me at the thought of Jack Downey.

‘Let’s be a bit more adventurous, shall we?’ I’m trying to sound jovial but my voice is a little too loud, a little sharper than I intended it to be. It’s knowing that Fionn’s father is still on his mind, that’s what is causing me grief. Fionn belongs to me now. He’s going to have to learn to adapt to my ways and get used to not having his other family around. It might take a little while but he’ll get there in the end. We both will.

‘Hmmm.’ More chin tapping as he squeezes closed his eyes and cocks his head to one side. ‘I know! How about Luke Skywalker?’

‘Yes!’ I reply, my spirits lifting slightly as he learns how to play my game. ‘Maybe that’s what we should do. We should start calling you Luke.’

He is nodding now, his smile bright and enthusiastic.

‘Right,’ I say, my voice chirpy and light. ‘Come on then, Luke. Let’s go and get an ice cream. What would you prefer – chocolate sprinkles or raspberry syrup?’

‘Both!’ He is jumping up and down now, his hair bouncing around, his face flushed with excitement. ‘I would like both!’

We get back home in the nick of time. Luke dashes off to the toilet, desperate for a pee after eating an ice cream and drinking two full cans of lemonade.

‘Make sure you wash your hands!’ I shout upstairs after him, remembering how sticky his fingers were after his many glutinous snacks. ‘And give your face a rinse too.’

I lock the front door and turn on the television, searching for kids’ channels that will entertain him. I find one that seems to have an endless stream of cartoons playing, the loud noises and bright, flashing colours irritating me after only a few seconds, and decide it will have to do. Things aren’t going to be perfect for either of us and there will be plenty of hitches along the way but we will have to learn to solve them and be a team together. Alice and Luke. Luke and Alice. A perfect match.

He comes running into the living room, his face clear of the crimson syrup that was coated around his mouth. He holds out his hands and I inspect them, smiling and turning them over to look at the other side. ‘Well done, young man. I have to say, Luke, you’ve done a fine job of cleaning yourself up.’

‘Luke?’ And then he giggles, his small fingers covering his mouth. ‘I’d forgotten about my new nickname!’

‘Ah, but you must never forget.’ I reach over and tickle him, softly pressing at his tummy. ‘You’re mine now, young Luke. All mine!’

He lets out a squeal of delight and falls back onto the sofa with an exhausted sigh, his limbs spread out, gaze turned upwards to the ceiling. He’s relaxed. That’s good. He feels easy in this house – our house. Things are going to be just fine. I’ll make sure of it.

I’m in the kitchen preparing us both a sandwich when I hear him calling out to me. ‘Who’s that over there, watching us?’

My heart jumps into my mouth as I hurry through to where he’s standing. His head is bobbing up and down in an attempt to peek over the top of the living-room windowsill. I half turn away, refusing to look at who it is out there. I don’t want to see them and I don’t want them to see me. It’s a female, that much I do know. She’s standing over the road, half hidden behind a clump of shrubbery. I whip the curtains closed and carry Luke away from where he is standing staring out, fascinated. I find it hard to believe that Jack has already reported Fionn missing. It’s only been a matter of hours. He thinks he’s at school. So who is she? And why is she here?

I take a deep breath, tell myself to stop it, to calm down and start thinking rationally. She may not even be watching my house. She could be lost, waiting for somebody. A jogger catching their breath.

‘Come on young man. Let’s get you a snack, shall we?’ Before I whisk him away, I pinch hold of the fabric of the curtains and as surreptitiously as I can, I peek out, my body rooting itself to the spot when I see her there. A wave of dizziness takes hold before I right myself and half carry, half drag Luke through to the kitchen, fear and anger blinding me.

I sit him at the table, my mind a vortex of dark thoughts. ‘Come on. Eat up. Once you’ve had this, you can watch some TV.’

He eats and I wander back through to the living room, my legs liquid, my head a tangle of wild and insane ideas. What the fuck is Lauren doing here? She was desperate to discover my address and now here she is, waiting outside, watching me. What the hell does she want? There is no way she can know who I am. It’s not possible. I’ve changed everything – my hair, my appearance, my name. So how in God’s name did she find me?

My stomach contracts, tight with anger and disquietude. I peer out again and see her shadow shift as she leaves the street, wandering off out of view.

My phone rings and a million possibilities race around my head about who it could be – Jack Downey, Peter, even the police who know that young Fionn is in my charge. I snatch it up and stare at the screen, my anxiety loosening.

It’s Peter, the lesser of all the evils, and my God, there are many. My thoughts slow down as I listen to his voice, his gently pleading tone. I know what he wants, his need to see me an all-encompassing, cloying emotion. I now have a child to think about, however. He asks if we can get together tonight. I spin around and gaze into the kitchen at little Luke, who is sitting eating his snack, humming away to himself like he doesn’t have a care in the world.

I want to refuse, to tell Peter that I have other things planned but the words won’t come. So I go along with whatever he says, a solution already implanting itself deep in my brain. I have no choice. This is just something that I need to do. I have set this whole thing in motion and now I need to see it through to its bitter end.

39PETER

All the driving is starting to get to him. It’s been a busy few weeks and he’s ready for a break. A proper break, not just a couple of days off at the weekend. A holiday somewhere warm. With Alice. The thought of seeing her has kept him going, helping him to deal with awkward, irate customers and giving him the patience to smile and nod while being berated by his management team for countless imagined misdemeanours by the sales team who work under his direction. The guys in his team are a hardworking bunch who do a thankless task trying to bring in orders from an area that they as a company have yet to break into. It’s a big ask but they are slowly getting there, although according to management, too slowly. They want results yesterday and aren’t prepared to wait, talking already about possible redundancies if the team don’t hit their ridiculously impossible targets.

Peter sighs, shuffles about in his seat, checking the time as he finds a more comfortable position to try and alleviate the ache at the base of his spine. Too much driving. Too much work-related stress. He thinks about ringing Alice, if only to hear her voice, the gentle lilt of it, the way it soothes him and helps keep him grounded. Sometimes, when she isn’t able to speak on the phone, it makes him conscious that he comes across as too demanding: constantly leaving voice messages asking her to return his calls. She too, has a job and a life. He often reminds himself of this fact, aware that she is a grown woman who needs her own space. It’s been a few days since they’ve spoken. It feels longer, time taunting him with her absence.

She answers after only two rings. ‘Hi, Alice? It’s me.’

‘Hi, Peter.’ She’s breathless and sounds different somehow: cagey and out of sorts. Not the usual, calm, gentle Alice. Somebody caught on the backfoot. Somebody different.

‘I’m on my way back from Sheffield after an early journey this morning and was wondering if you fancied a get-together later? Nothing too spectacular, just an easy meal and a couple of beers at mine?’

She says nothing. Her breathing is the only thing he can hear.

He knows she is reluctant and rather than give her space, he does the one thing he promised himself he would not do and tries to corner her into agreeing. ‘Look, I tell you what, I’ll pull up outside yours at seven o’clock and if you’re not in the mood, feel free to come out and tell me to piss off. I won’t be offended; it’s just that I’ve had a sod of a day and, well, I’ve missed you.’

‘Outside mine?’ Her voice has a slight tremble to it. He ignores it, carries on regardless.

‘Yes,’ he replies, trying to sound laidback, affable, hoping this isn’t the end of them, his desperation becoming too much for her, overwhelming her. Scaring her off. It’s too soon. She needs to give them more time. It’s still early days. This thing can work, he knows it. Panic grips him. He visualises her face, creased with doubt and concern. Already, he can hear her voice as she says those words: sorry, Peter, this isn’t working out for me.

‘Outside yours it is then. I’ll see you at 7 p.m.’ And before she can refuse or tell him to go to hell, he hangs up, heart thumping, blood running hot through his veins.

It was wrong, what he did, cutting her off like that, forcing her to go along with his plans but tells himself that tiredness forced him to do it. If she really didn’t want to meet, she would ring back and tell him to go to hell, shouting at him that he is an arrogant bastard and that she won’t be there for him later, that she has a life of her own that doesn’t involve him. He has a feeling she won’t do any of those things but spends the next twenty minutes gripping the steering wheel, bracing himself for her return call.

It doesn’t come. He arrives home in a more buoyant frame of mind, time conspiring against him, pushing him into a tight deadline. He needs to shower, to change into clean clothes before heading off to Alice’s house.

He calls to Lauren that he’s home. She replies with, ‘Hi, Dad!’ and he goes about getting himself ready. On impulse, he pokes his head around her bedroom door to find her sitting on her bed, scrolling through her laptop.

‘I’m going to pick Alice up soon. I’ve invited her here for some food and a couple of drinks.’

Without waiting for a reply or giving her a chance to protest, he backs out again, closing the door softly. What Lauren thinks about Alice is none of his business. This is what he told himself on the drive back. He is a grown man and deserves some happiness and regardless of what his daughter’s opinion is of his new partner, he is going to take that happiness; he will snatch at it greedily and hang onto it for dear life.

He prepares the food and covers it, ready to heat up when they get back. His mood is still upbeat as he showers and gets ready. Once she gets over herself and her current mood, Lauren will soften. She will once again warm to Alice’s gentle charm. He will invite her to join them downstairs for food, lure her into the conversation and get the two of them talking again.

Alice is standing outside the gate as he pulls up, looking as radiant, as alluring as ever. He senses an air of reserve as she climbs in the car but his fears quickly dissolve when she reaches over and places her hand over his, her voice soft and gentle. ‘Lovely to see you, Peter. Thank you for picking me up.’

The remainder of the journey is quiet, the atmosphere sombre. The music is enough to quell his fears, to keep them at bay, and by the time they reach his house, she has softened and the old Alice is alive and well once more.

‘Listen,’ he says softly as he pulls up on the drive and turns to face her, ‘Lauren has been rather down lately so don’t worry if she appears a bit off. It’s definitely not you. It’s a family thing, a teenage girl thing. It’ll pass, I’m sure.’ He wants to add that she is possibly missing her mother but stops himself. Alice doesn’t need to hear about Sophia. None of them do.

‘I totally understand. Don’t worry, I remember those years all too well. And of course, she’ll be missing her mum.’

His breath becomes heavy. Erratic. He wants to wrap his arms around this woman, to hold her close for the rest of his life. So many women would shun a surly teenager, so many would lack compassion, be too fearful to mention her mother, but not Alice. Always warm and thoughtful. Always knowing what the right thing is to say and do. She is a gift and despite being a non-believer, he thanks whichever god is listening that he has her in his life.