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their current whereabouts.”
    Fergus was suspicious. “Why?”
    “They left something behind.”
    “OK, I’ll do some checking up and send you the details in a few. Bye!” He was gone. I
    guess not being talkative must run in families.

    Rebecca
    The doorbell rang at half past seven that evening. I was going to get up to answer it, but
    my cast got in the way, and anyway Mum got there first. It was a bit of a novelty to have
    someone ring the doorbell of the Harding house. It sounded weirdly unfamiliar.
    “Hello,” said a deep velvety voice from the darkness outside. “Is Mark here?”
    “Yes, of course,” breathed my mother, apparently hypnotised. “Come in,” she
    continued, stepping back into our little crowded sitting room. “Mark?” she called, just loud
    enough to be heard upstairs. Mark spent a lot of time in his bedroom, reading books and
    contemplating the world around him. I guess he liked his own company. I know he didn’t
    like football, which was what Joe was watching tonight. I was here as a kind of moral
    support for my mother, who also disliked football, but who disliked being on her own even
    more.
    The stranger stepped inside our house. He was tall and dark, and dressed in dark
    trousers and a white cotton shirt with the cuffs rolled up to the elbows. He held a brand
    new pet carrier in his left hand, and he extended his right.
    “Hello,” he said again. “My name is Angus, and I believe I’m your newest neighbour.”
    Mum shook his hand, and gushed, “Pleased to meet you, Angus. My name is Rose. I am
    Mark’s mother. These are my two other children, Joe and Rebecca.” She indicated us with a
    sweep of her free hand.
    I stood up to say hello, curious about the man who stood towering above my mother.
    He turned politely to greet us, a smile forming on his lips, but when his eyes met mine he
    froze, and all trace of a smile disappeared. His eyes widened slightly, and his nostrils flared, and he looked both shocked and angry. I felt my face flush, and I looked at the floor,
    mumbling a greeting. My mother was calling for Mark again so she failed to see his
    expression. Joe had waved casually from his spot on the settee, and had turned his
    attention back to the television. I looked up at the stranger through my lashes, unsure of
    what it was that I had done to offend him. As I watched his expression seemed to change
    within seconds to benign watchfulness. I started wondering if I must have imagined the fury
    I had seen on his face.
    Mark hurtled down the last few steps when he saw who was at the door.
    “Hey, Angus!” he called out, covering the intervening space like a rowdy puppy. “How is
    the patient?”
    The stranger smiled warmly at Mark, and held the carrier out for him to inspect its
    contents. “She’s going to be fine. Had an operation this afternoon to stabilise the broken
    bones of her pelvis, but she’s already starting to move her hind legs. She’s a brave little
    thing.” As if to corroborate his version of events, the kitten mewled from inside the carrier.
    “Sit down, sit down,” my mother gushed again. “Would you like some tea or coffee?”
    The stranger appeared to consider the question for a second or two, glancing sideways
    at me, before answering. “Coffee would be lovely, thanks.”
    He stepped further into the room, and I was struck by his apparent size. He was
    probably about as tall as Joe, six foot and some change, but he seemed a lot bigger. He
    stood, tall and confident, radiating some sort of aura of power. I looked again at his face and was struck by the pallor and smooth evenness of his skin, the symmetrical regularity of his
    features, dark eyes, thick dark lashes and eyebrows. He looked back at me and I felt a
    thrilling tightening rush of sensation in my abdomen. I looked away, confused and
    embarrassed.
    He handed the pet carrier with its small passenger to Mark, who took it gently, and
    placed it on the settee between him and Joe, bending