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‘They’re not here.’ Olly stalks up and down the train platform. The ticket office is unmanned and the platform empty. He looks at the overhead timetables. ‘Wherearethey?’

‘The police will find them. Have faith.’

Olly glances at the small silver cross around my neck. ‘I’ll say this for religion: it has the audacity to give advice during moments of unbearable pain.’

He sits on a bench, puts his head in his hands and cries – big, noisy man sobs.

Faithisa little bit ridiculous. As a sci-fi fan, I know there’s no logic to it. But sometimes, you just have to believe.

‘It’s going to be okay,’ I say.

Olly looks up, forehead a bunch of muscles. ‘My solicitor said that before the court case. “Everything will be okay.” And then I lost my son. She had everyone fooled. She can do it again.’

‘The police are experts in this sort of thing.’

Olly gives a humourless laugh. ‘So is she. They gave me a restraining order based on her lies. I don’t have a lot of faith in the police. Nor would you, if you were me.’

‘Well, where do you think she could be going?’ I ask. ‘You know her better than anyone.’

‘The woman I knew was just a shell. An image for other people to look at. I never really knew her. Not the real Lizzie.’ He rubs his eyes. ‘But I do know this. She’ll be looking for somewhere to start over. And ideally some idiot to look after her.’

Something ticks in my brain.

I see a picture of Saint Michael, illustrated with big angel wings, on a Shetlands ferry leaflet.

I never gave the leaflet to Lizzie. I meant to, but I forgot. Maybe stress-related disorganisation has a useful purpose sometimes. I pull out the neatly folded page from an inside pocket of my bag.

‘What about your neighbour?’ I ask, showing Olly the leaflet. ‘The guy downstairs. Could Lizzie be going to see him? He asked me to give a message to her. About going to the Shetlands with him.’

‘Shit.Shit. If that’s where she’s going …’ Olly jumps to his feet. ‘It’s a wilderness out there. Half of those islands don’t have phone signal. And she could travel by sea to Germany or … or anywhere. If she gets on that ferry with Tom, he’s lost.’

‘She might not be going to the Shetlands,’ I say. ‘I never gave her this leaflet.’

‘Stuart is a perfect target for her right now. Let’s go.’

‘Where?’

‘Aberdeen. The ferry port. Right now.’

My work phone rings.

Bloody Tessa … at this time of night.

I think of all the times Tessa has told me not to wear myself out, and now she’s phoning me at gone 10 p.m.Ha, ha. It would be funny, if I weren’t so tired.

‘Hi Tessa. I’m about to drive to Scotland.’

‘Scotland?’ Tessa’s volume rattles the tinny speaker.

‘Yes, Tessa,’ I say. ‘With Olly Kinnock. We think Lizzie might be on her way to the Shetland Islands.’

A verbal tirade follows, but I’m barely listening because I’m running back to the car park with Olly.

‘We can’t risk waiting until morning, Tessa,’ I shout back. ‘If Lizzie gets on the Shetland ferry with Tom, the chances of getting him back again … There are too many ways she can hide or escape out there.’

Olly opens the camper van door for me. It occurs to me that he is likely to break the speed limit, given the circumstances. I never usually drive with people who break the speed limit – it’s a rule I have.

Never mind the rules. Think about Tom.