‘Awright, Gay-boy,’ Kev called when Adrian returned to the newsroom in the centre of High Calder, four miles from Toller Bridge. ‘Got over your brush with fame?’

‘Piss off.’ Adrian slung his bag onto the back of his chair at the corner desk.

‘Language, please!’ Linda said, making him jump. The editor was on her way back from the little kitchen, coffee in hand.

‘Sorry,’ he muttered, feeling himself redden while Kev chuckled.

‘Adrian, can I have a word?’ Linda said, tone kinder now. ‘It’ll only take five minutes.’

He followed her meekly into her office overlooking the market square, then sat and waited while Linda readied herself. She looked tired and harassed. She wasn’t forty yet, but looked like she’d had a hard life. Kev said it was because her kids were bastards. The oldest of the three was always in trouble and Linda was forever being called in to see the school.

‘Kevin told me what happened,’ Linda said. She leant over her desk. ‘Are you all right?’

He stared and felt a flutter of panic in his chest. ‘Yeah. Yeah. I’m fine. What did … What did Kev say?’

‘That you got a bit upset.’

He groaned to himself and balled his fists in his lap.

‘I should have thought before I asked you to take Nige there,’ Linda went on. ‘It’s a horrible thing. How are you feeling now?’

‘I’m fine. Honest!’

‘You told him you had a headache. Maybe you just needed some time.’

‘I did have a headache,’ he said, avoiding her peering gaze. ‘That’s why I said it. I had a headache so I went to Boots.’

She gave a little nod and a half-smile, as if happy to play along with the fiction.

‘Can I go?’

‘Of course.’

He got up.

‘Oh, and I nearly forgot,’ Linda said. ‘Your mum called. She wants you to ring her at work.’

‘Right.’ He took a deep breath. ‘Thanks.’

‘She called twice. It sounded important.’

Back in the main office, Kev was on the phone. ‘Nice one, mate,’ he said and hung up, then leant back in his chair so that it creaked. ‘Good news, Gay-boy: Barry and the lads are finishing at four and heading out for beers. Get tanked up for tonight. You know what that means. We’ll be knocking off early.’

‘I have to go into college,’ Adrian said.

‘You have to go to fucking college?’

‘I’m getting an essay back—’

‘And that’ll take, what, about twenty minutes?’

‘It’s important!’

‘You’re not gonna come. I knew it!’

‘I’ll come for a couple.’

‘Jonno’s booked a stripper,’ Kev said now. ‘He’s asked for Big Tina.’

‘That’s a disgrace,’ Linda said, appearing in her doorway.

‘Not your party, Linda, love.’

‘Leave him alone, Kev,’ Linda said.

‘Well, if college is tonight you can come for a few at the Bridge at four.’

‘I’ll see.’

Adrian typed up the shorthand notes he’d taken at the clothing outlet in Halifax. He didn’t need shorthand in his admin role, but he’d shown an interest so Yvonne, Linda’s deputy, had begun teaching him. His notes weren’t perfect but he managed to decipher them, then went downstairs to the little meeting room and rang his mum at the carer’s agency she managed in Huddersfield. She answered quickly, then fired off questions about his welfare and when he’d be home.

‘Mum, I’m fine.’

‘It’s all over the news,’ she said in a rush, her voice rising with stress. ‘It’s him again, that’s what everyone’s saying. He’s taken this little girl and – oh, God, her poor mother!’

She was sobbing now. He held on to the receiver and closed his eyes.

‘They don’t know anything for sure,’ he tried uselessly.

‘Of course it’s him!’ Cross now. ‘And her mother will never see her again.’

He did his best to mollify her, then reminded her he had a work do tonight, so would be late home. It was a lie, but a white one. To reassure, not deceive.

‘I need to go, Mum,’ he said. ‘Try not to worry.’

He was crossing the cobbled market square, heading for the bus station, when he realised he was being watched from under one of the arches.

It was the stocky old woman he’d seen at the end of Gorton Lane, the one with the jet-black perm. She was eyeing him beadily, her lips working away.

He hunched his shoulders and hurried on, only to hear quick footsteps behind him.

‘Oi, you,’ she growled. ‘Wait!’

He turned and stared as she approached. She was shorter than him and peered up, nodding in satisfaction to herself.

‘Adrian Brown, isn’t it? Don’t lie.’

‘Do I know you?’ he demanded, recoiling.

‘Thought it was you,’ she said, half to herself. ‘Said to myself when I seen you earlier, that’s him. Knew your name and remembered where I’d seen you. Nowt gets past me.’ She smiled unpleasantly.

She had an aggressive face, with a snub nose, heavy chin and small black eyes. She had a single gold earring and her tightly permed, dyed-black mullet combined with the leather jacket made her look like an old rocker.

‘Who are you?’ he said, heart racing.

‘Name’s Wormley,’ she said and hitched the strap of her big leather handbag higher onto her shoulder. ‘Edna Wormley. Reckon I get called all sorts besides.’

Wormley. Yes, he’d heard Linda and Yvonne complaining about her, with Kev chipping in the occasional rude remark. She was a troublemaker, he recalled, forever writing semi-literate letters to the Advertiser and ringing up, demanding to speak to Linda.

‘What do you want?’

‘Just a little chat.’ She smiled. He detected a meaty smell off her, possibly from the leather jacket.

‘I haven’t got time,’ he said. He turned to go.

‘Not so fast,’ she snapped, stepping in front of him with remarkable nimbleness. He made to go round her. ‘I know everything, young man. I know your name – your real name, I mean. And I know your mam’s called Margaret. Works at Hardaker’s in Huddersfield.’

He stopped and gawped at her, feeling as if the blood had left his face.

‘I’ve got something I thought you might be interested in,’ she said.

He tried to appear nonchalant. He glanced about. The square wasn’t busy, but he might be seen – including by Kev from the office window behind him.

‘Then again, maybe you wouldn’t …’ she went on. ‘Might be wasting my time.’ Her voice hardened. ‘It’s about Sarah Barrett.’

Adrian was aware of a woman in a bright blue coat and holding an umbrella glancing his way as she passed. She looked vaguely familiar.

‘Not here,’ he hissed at the old woman. ‘Follow me.’

He led her into the shadows under one of the arches where there was a bench, though neither of them sat. Pigeons cooed unseen under the roof. The shelter smelt of their droppings.

‘What about Sarah Barrett?’ Adrian demanded now.

‘She’s with the angels now.’ Mrs Wormley smiled sadly through the gloom.

He could smell alcohol on her breath, its sweet sharpness mixed with the meaty smell from her jacket.

‘Is she?’

‘She is,’ she said, her voice breaking a little, ‘the poor mite.’ She pulled a tissue from her sleeve to wipe her nose. ‘And I know who took her,’ she added, her voice hard again.

His stomach churned. ‘Who?’

She narrowed her eyes.

‘Like to know, wouldn’t you?’

‘If you’re telling the truth.’

‘Don’t believe me? Oh, well, I’ve better things to be doing.’ She looked about her, as if about to take her leave.

‘If you know something about Sarah Barrett, you should tell the police,’ he said.

‘Talk to them buggers? Ha.’

‘Well, OK. Tell me, and I’ll talk to...