Like This, for Ever

don’t think it will for you either.’
    ‘Really?’
    ‘Really. Now, it’s late and you need to be in bed. I’m going to think hard about everything you’ve told me and we’ll talk again. Are you sure you don’t want me to come in with you?’
    He shook his head, but he looked a bit happier. At that age, having a grown-up take charge was always going to be a relief.
    ‘You’ve got my number?’ she said. ‘I’m just next door.’
    He smiled at her again. She watched him unlock the door and disappear. When she heard the sound of the deadlock being turned on the inside, she went down to her own flat.
    Lacey found Barney’s mother in a little over an hour. She double-checked her facts and then got up and walked out into the garden. Somehow, it was always easier to think out here. Sometimes, if she closed her eyes and zoned out the roar of the traffic, she could almost imagine she could hear the river.
    From the shed door she could see directly into the window that she’d always assumed must be Barney’s because she often saw him just behind it, working at the computer. The room was in darkness and the curtains drawn.
    She really needed to talk to someone. Someone who was a parent. Someone whose judgement she trusted. Shit, was there really no one else?
    The handset of the landline phone was in her pocket, becauseshe’d already decided she was going to call him. Maybe she’d even been glad of the excuse.
You’re number one in Favourites,
that funny cute kid had told her. She, on the other hand, had no need to save his number as anything: she’d known it off by heart for months.
    ‘Hi,’ said the familiar voice a second later.
    ‘It’s me,’ she said, unnecessarily. He’d have caller ID, he’d have known exactly who it was.
    ‘If this is a booty call, you’re about to make me a very happy man.’
    ‘Are you in the middle of something? And it isn’t, by the way.’
    ‘I’m on the Embankment, heading home. Something up?’
    ‘Sort of. I need advice.’
    ‘Blimey, I’d have been less surprised if you’d wanted sex.’
    No, she couldn’t do it, she couldn’t be in the same room as him, especially not this late, not feeling like this. ‘It’s quite late,’ she said, backtracking. ‘It can wait till the morning.’
    ‘I’ll be with you in ten, Flint. Put the kettle on.’
    Barney closed the front door and saw the pizza box where he’d left it before fleeing the house earlier. Not really wanting to touch it, he knew he couldn’t leave it there. He’d never sleep. Still with his gloves on, he carried it through to the kitchen. About to put it in the bin, he had a sudden thought and opened the box.
    The pizza was American Hot: chilli beef, spicy pepperoni and jalapeno peppers. His favourite. The sort he always ordered. It hadn’t been a mistake, it had been meant for him.
    For a second, he toyed with the idea that he might have ordered it himself, during one of his ‘episodes’. But how could he have paid for it? He didn’t have a credit card.
    Some time later, Barney realized he was sitting on the hard tiles of the kitchen floor. He had no idea how long he’d been out of it. His dad had been on the boat. Oliver Kennedy – or more likely, by now, Oliver Kennedy’s body – was on the boat and his dad was the killer. Even if he said nothing – and how could he send his own dad to prison? – even if he kept quiet, the police would find him. They always did and then he’d be completely on his own. But maybeLacey would find his mum. Maybe she’d find her in time. He dragged himself upright and climbed the stairs.
    On his own floor, Barney wanted nothing more than to go straight to bed. Somehow, though, he just couldn’t resist opening up Facebook one last time. Just to see if there was any news on Oliver. Unable to stop himself, he read through the various postings Peter and others had left throughout the evening.
    Jeez, that wasn’t his dad. He just knew it. No way would his dad be that sick.
    Without even bothering to log out, he was about to turn away when he spotted a message waiting for him. Messages on Facebook were private. Only the sender and the recipient could see them. He clicked open Messages. It was from Peter Sweep.
    My new obsession is you. How was the pizza?
    ‘Let me get this straight. You offered to use Metropolitan Police resources to help a disturbed eleven-year-old boy conduct a missing-persons search?’
    Lacey glared over the top of her mug. It was