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‘Mum’s freaking out.’
    ‘I had errands.’
    ‘What errands?’
    ‘A place I needed to go.’
    ‘Just ask me if you need anything.’ The girl chivvied her along a stretch of pavement. ‘Come on, we have to hurry.’
    ‘Where’s the fire?’
    ‘Sorry, but Mum’s pretty stressed. Also, you’ve still got your nightie on, which is kind of mortifying.’
    And then they were hurrying through a gate, across a courtyard, through some doors and into a lift. The girl said, ‘I won’t tell her you made it all the way to the main road, if that’s all right with you?’
    Out of the lift and into a hallway and Mary was struck by a blankness, by the hollow sound the girl’s knuckles made as she rapped at a door.
    A woman flung it open. ‘Thank goodness. Where was she?’
    ‘By the gate. Not far.’
    Mary was pulled inside. There was a coat rack, a fish tank, a pile of boots and shoes. The door was shut behind her. The world got smaller.
    ‘Kitchen,’ the woman said, pointing the way.
    Mary was invited to sit. The girl was invited to leave. The woman sat behind a table strewn with papers and put her fingers in a pyramid under her chin. ‘Where were you going?’
    ‘I needed something.’
    ‘What?’
    ‘I needed …’
    But it had gone. It was like trying to catch light in her fist. Damn!
    The woman frowned. ‘I know being under the same roof is uncomfortable for both of us, but you can’t run off. There are roads and cars out there. It’s dangerous. Also, my daughter’s got better things to do than chase after you.’
    They gazed at each other in silence. Mary had no clue what was expected of her.
    The woman said, ‘You never could stay in one place longer than five minutes, so I don’t know why I’m surprised.’ Then she said, ‘When that social worker told me you’d been at the same address with Jack for thirteen years, I thought you might have changed.’
    Jack? The name hurt. Mary shrugged it away.
    ‘That’s a world record for you,’ the woman said. ‘Thirteen whole years.’
    Was this an interview? It was most disconcerting.
    The woman said, ‘Yesterday, you said you sent a man out to find me. Why did you say that?’
    Mary thought about that. It certainly had the ring of truth. ‘Perhaps you were lost?’
    The woman sighed. ‘Never mind.’
    Mary was taken to the lounge and put in a chair by the window. She was ordered to, ‘Stay there.’ She was commanded not to ‘even think about moving’. A boy was set up as a guard. The girl was instructed to go upstairs and look over some blinking maths papers. The woman went away.
    It was just a few minutes later when Mary sat up with the shock of remembering. So stupid to have forgotten, when it was as sharp and clean as a knife to her now. Victory Avenue. That was it. It’s all that she wanted. Number twenty-three – with its blue gate, its neat front garden, the tiled steps leading up to the door. She’d count them as she crept up to the window to peek in and count them again as she tiptoed away. Eight steps in all. Each one embedded in her brain.
    She got out of the chair and walked to the door. She wouldn’t forget this time. She’d say it over and over until she got there. But the boy who took her arm said she’d better sit back down or she’d be in trouble.
    ‘I have to go.’
    ‘You’re not allowed.’
    Allowed? Was this child in charge? He was young, with red hair and pyjamas. He stood there with his hands on his hips and insisted she sit.
    ‘Please get me a paper and pen most urgently,’ she told him.
    ‘You want to write a letter?’
    ‘Never mind what I want,’ Mary said. ‘Just get me a pen.’
    He picked up a little black bag with a zip and handed it to her.
    ‘Here. I have to go to my room to get paper though.’ He jogged to the door. ‘Don’t go away,’ he called over his shoulder, ‘or I’ll get bollocked.’
    Mary wrote 23 on the sofa and drew a line underneath it. Thenshe drew another line under the first