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celebrations?’
    ‘Not many of them left,’ said Mariner.
    ‘Lucky you.’ The remark seemed heartfelt and Dyson was apparently compelled to qualify it. ‘Don’t misunderstand me. I love my parents, siblings and their offspring dearly but you can have too much of a good thing, if you know what I mean.’
    ‘I wouldn’t imagine you’re alone.’ said Mariner.
    ‘Well. Merry Christmas to you, Tom.’
    ‘Merry Christmas.’
     
    Mariner watched from the doorway as Dyson signalled and then pulled out onto the main road, his rearlights disappearing from view. The house, perched on the edge of the frozen canal was frigid now that the central heating only came on twice a day to stop the system from seizing up. After Dyson had left, huddled in his fleece, Mariner jammed his hands in his pockets and sat and enjoyed the uninterrupted silence for a while, trying once more to exorcise the images that clogged his brain.
    The sounds more than anything else were what haunted him. When he’d first ventured into that black hole of choking dust, visibility was non existent and it was the bits of noise that had emerged first; the tormented groans and plaintive cries for help grotesque way-markers in the darkness. At one point he’d been driven on by a faint whimpering. Others came to help and they laboured for an hour, scrabbling in desperation at the rubble and debris until their hands bled, until finally Mariner made contact with soft clothing and flesh. ‘Over here!’ he’d yelled to newly arrived floodlights.
    Through a chink in the debris Mariner could see big blue eyes blinking and unfocused in a ghostly face and he kept talking, compelling those eyes to stay open and engage. But when the lights came on, illuminating the tons of wreckage heaped above, the enormity of the task was evident, and finally with a gasp of breath, the eyes closed and did not reopen. For hours he’d only known his discovery as victim number three. Then when her beaming photograph appeared in the paper he learned that she was ten-year-old Chloe Evans who had come to the service with her retired police officer grandfather. Mariner was tortured by the failure. Never mind that countless others had been helped to safety, they’d failed that little girl.
     
    Mariner wrapped Anna’s presents with little enthusiasm. Picking up a takeaway on his way back to the house, he found her curled up in front of the TV watching a Christmas special of some sort.
    ‘What’s he like?’ she asked. ‘The lodger.’
    ‘Seems like a nice guy. He lives up north and wants a base here for business purposes. He’s moving in right after Christmas.’
    ‘That’s great. How long is the lease?’
    ‘Six months.’
    ‘And then?’
    ‘I don’t know. What?’
    ‘I’ve been thinking.’
    Mariner was beginning to take this as a bad sign. ‘Oh yes.’
    ‘Now that Jamie’s settled we’ve got a bit more flexibility. It’s lovely out where Becky and Mark live. I think we should consider it.’
    ‘What?’
    ‘Moving out of the city. If we sold both of our places we could get somewhere really nice. Somewhere we could do up and make into a proper family home.’
    ‘We haven’t got a family yet,’ Mariner reminded her.
    ‘I know but—’
    Chloe Evans face returned unbidden into his head. ‘It’s too soon, Anna, leave it will you?’
    ‘But it would be something to concentrate on, to get us through this.’
    ‘We’ll get through it anyway,’ Mariner snapped. ‘We weren’t victims. We got away with it.’
    ‘I know but—’
    ‘I can’t talk about this now. I’m going to bed.’ Climbing the stairs he knew he’d reacted badly, but Christ, as if there wasn’t already enough going on.

Chapter Three
     
     
    Christmas Eve
    The following day two Detective Constables from Special Branch came to talk to them and take statements. If they noticed that the atmosphere was cooler inside the house than it was outside, it didn’t show. It was a frustrating