Page 39 of Seven Days

Be back at six p.m. Promise.

He had promised, and then come home much earlier than six, pale and strained, and gone straight to his room. Martin had followed and found him curled up on his bed.

OK? he asked.

James nodded. He was crying, softly.

I miss her, he said. I miss her, Dad.

Martin hugged him. Me too, son.

And now he was going out again. Martin didn’t know how he could. He hated leaving the house. Outside, he saw her face in the windows of each bus or car or truck that passed him. Every girl of her age that he saw in a crowd was her. Twice, he had glimpsed someone, and, convinced it was Maggie with a different haircut and new clothes, had run after them.

Twice, he had tapped someone on the shoulder and, when they turned to look at him, seen only an expression of alarm on the face of a girl who was not Maggie.

Twice, he had mumbled an apology and shuffled away, pulse racing, breathless, his heart freshly broken.

Twice he had told himself she was not going to be on a bus or walking around the supermarket and he must not approach strangers. Still he saw her everywhere.

But it was never her.

‘Is Andy coming here?’

‘Yeah. Soon.’

‘What time will you be back?’

‘Seven. We’re seeing a film.’

‘Promise?’

‘Promise.’

There was a knock on the door.

‘That’s him,’ James said. ‘Bye, Dad.’

Martin handed him his mobile phone. ‘Call Mum’s number or the house phone if you need to. OK?’

‘OK.’

‘Love you, Jimbo.’

‘Love you too, Dad.’

He kissed him on the forehead, and watched him leave the house, praying silently that he would be back safely.

3

Martin looked at the clock on the DVD player: 19:00.

He glanced at Sandra. The minute-counter changed: 19:01.

‘He’s late,’ Martin said.

Sandra looked at him. ‘It’s one minute past.’

‘I was expecting him early.’