Page 20 of The World Outside My Window

She waits while Debbie helps them out of their coats, hands them colouring books and a small plastic tub of Lego and dishes out strict instructions to be good.

Sorry,Debbie mouths as the kids file into Laura’s living room.

‘Honestly, it’s fine,’ Laura says, and is surprised to find that, actually, she’s quite pleased to see them. ‘I’ll put the TV on for them.’

‘Say thank you to Aunty Laura,’ Debbie says as the TV springs to life.

‘Thank you, Aunty Laura,’ Lily choruses, while James sits mute, watching Anthea Turner talking animatedly from a school somewhere onBlue Peter.

With the children entertained, Laura and Debbie make their way through to the kitchen.

‘So what time are they due?’ Debbie says, filling the kettle and finding cups.

She checks her watch. ‘About half an hour.’

Debbie nods. She’s tied her wild curls up in a scrunchie on the top of her head, and tendrils keep escaping, springing loose. She hands Laura a steaming mug of tea and a plate with an enormous slab of Battenburg on it.

‘I stopped at the baker’s on the way here, thought you might need some sustenance,’ she says. ‘Eat. I’ll just take the kids some.’

Laura does as she’s told, and sits obediently at the table. Her hands are shaking and she’s desperate for a drink, but she needs to stay clear-headed because the police are coming round to see her.

Finally, nine days after Jim went missing, they’ve agreed to come and take some details from her. Under normal circumstances, having strangers in her home would be almost as bad as having to leave the house. But these are not normal circumstances, and with each hour that passes, and each hour that Jim is away, Laura’s courage is growing.

Debbie returns and lowers herself into the chair beside Laura with her own piece of cake and takes a bite, licking the crumbs off her lips.

‘So, how are you feeling?’ she says.

‘Terrified.’

‘Course you are. But you’re also braver than you think.’

‘I don’t feel very brave.’

Debbie doesn’t speak for a moment, then says quietly: ‘We will find him, you know.’ She reaches for Laura’s hand. Before either of them can say any more, the doorbell rings again, and they stand.

‘Ready?’ Debbie says.

‘Ready.’

As they approach the door they can make out two silhouettes through the stippled glass. Laura’s heart thumps wildly, and when Debbie squeezes her hand she realises how clammy her palms have become. She watches Debbie’s hand rise to open the latch as though it’s a frame-by-frame stop-motion video, and she thinks she might throw up. And then the door is open and Laura takes a deep breath and greets the two police officers standing on the doorstep. One is tall and blond, the other shorter, with grey hair cut close to his head. He has a friendly face.

‘Mrs Parks?’ the shorter one says, and she nods mutely.

‘I’m DS Brian McDonald and this is PC Stuart Compton.’

‘Come in,’ Debbie says, stepping to the side. Laura holds her breath and presses her nails into her palm as the two police officers pass. It’s not until they reach the kitchen that she lets out her breath and tries to relax. She can do this.

‘Can I make anyone tea or coffee?’ Debbie says.

‘No, thank you,’ the blond officer says, and Laura waits for them to sit down before she takes a seat herself, pushing her uneaten cake to one side. She stares at a point just above the youngest officer’s head and waits for them to speak, her pulse thudding in her temple.

‘I understand you’re concerned about your husband,’ DS McDonald says.

‘Yes.’ Her voice cracks.

He pulls a notebook out of his pocket and clicks a biro open. It hovers over the paper, and Laura wonders what he’s going to write in there before he leaves today. She imagines him rolling his eyes later, unsure what she’s making such a fuss about. How can she make them both understand?

‘Laura?’

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