Page 13 of Little Children

He choked back a sob as he realised that there were two possible answers to the last question, then pushed the thought away. They would find him. They would be out looking, and his dad would knock down anyone who got in his way.

He kept telling himself that over and over again until he heard a key turn in the lock.

His bravery departed, and he had the sudden need to pee again.

A man entered the room wearing a mask. He closed the door behind him and towered above Noah.

Noah pushed himself into a corner as the man spoke.

‘Okay, young Noah, let’s have a good hard look at you.’

Nine

After a couple of wrong turns, Bryant parked in front of Lewis Stevens’s house on the Wickton Estate.

It was not unlike many of the housing estates back in the Black Country. Built in the sixties, it had welcomed young families who had since outgrown the area and moved on, each generation leaving the place a little shabbier than when they found it.

The boom of the seaside town in the seventies had brought the tourist area ever closer, so that the estate now sat just on the outskirts of the hustle and bustle of the town centre.

Kim already knew from Stacey’s summary that the house was occupied by mum, stepdad and four other children.

The door was opened by, she suspected, the woman of the house.

‘Mrs Stevens?’ Kim asked as both she and Bryant held up their IDs.

The woman was stick thin with short, crudely cut brown hair. Despite the month and temperature, the woman was dressed in a vest top and leggings, accentuating her gaunt frame further.

She nodded, looking from one to the other.

‘May we come in?’ Kim asked as the aroma of something burning wafted past her nose.

‘Who are ya?’ she asked before moving.

‘We’re working with the local team to help find Lewis.’

‘Oh, okay,’ she said, stepping aside. ‘Go back through to the kitchen. I’m cooking the tea.’

Kim did so as two children’s heads popped out of the lounge. She could see there was another one sitting on the sofa watching the TV.

‘Shirl, mek a cuppa, eh?’ shouted a male voice from somewhere out of view.

‘Mek it yourself. I’m cooking, putting the shopping away and I’ve got the coppers here.’

The owner of the voice suddenly appeared. He couldn’t have been more different to his wife. He looked to be considerably older, with a messy beard that was compensating for the hair he’d lost from his head. He was a good foot shorter than his wife and a similar amount wider. He could only be the stepfather, Bobby Stevens.

‘Who are yer?’ he asked.

‘They’re helping Red and Roy,’ Mrs Stevens said, taking frozen chips out of a Sainsbury’s bag.

Kim was instantly struck by the use of the first name and nickname of the investigating officers.

‘Bloody fuss about nothing,’ Mr Stevens replied, filling the kettle.

‘Out my way,’ his wife said, starting to lay plates on the counter next to the oven. Although not particularly untidy, it was a kitchen where every space was being used to store something. Backpacks were stacked on top of the fridge. Umbrellas wedged between the fridge and the dishwasher. Every space was filled.

‘You think there’s no cause for concern?’ Kim asked, turning her attention to Lewis’s stepdad.

‘He’s run off again, hasn’t he? It’s not the first time. He’ll be back when he’s hungry enough.’